I'm just your average, everyday, divorced 38 year old girl -- overweight, tragically unhip,
and trying to make a life for myself. I live with two furry beasts, Dave and Abby, whose
feline mission in life is to choke me with their fur. Nothing special.
Friday morning. I haven't felt like writing in quite a while, haven't felt that I had anything significant to say, anything new. And then Anonymous came along and I started to question whether or not I wanted to keep writing at all. There are no simple answers for what is wrong with me and, honestly, why keep writing when it doesn't even make sense to me?
So I wrote a post where I emptied my anger and frustration, and figured that would be it for a while. Then Becky (no link) sent me an email that nearly stopped my heart with its honesty and intensity. She told me that my blog was "the hardest to read" because she so closely identified with what I was writing, what I was experiencing. After I recovered from the shock, I started to cry.
How is it possible that someone as ordinary as me could possibly make such an impression on someone I've never met? She wrote, "Everyday there is a new entry, my stomach kind of drops. I know that what you’re writing will ring so true in me that it hurts. I see so much of myself in what you write that it scares me. I don’t want to eat until I’m sick, I want to love the way I look, I want to love me." I want that, too, Becky. For both of us. For all of us. And, although I don't know where the path through this is, I know that I'm not going to find it by sitting here in my chair, not writing, not exercising, and not caring.
So, for Becky and me and all of the others trying to find their way through this "tedious cycle", the battle goes on. I'll keep writing and try not to forget again that there are others who fight and might benefit from what I say here. Fight on, friends.
