I’m not sure if that’s the best way to spell out that particular bit of onomatopoeia. I’m going for “baby crying” sound.

I’m not doing well today. I feel ready to cry at the drop of a hat, and it’s not hormonal. It’s mental and it’s chemical, I guess. It started a little earlier in the week and really came to a crest this morning.

It’s the usual shit I get upset and depressed and distraught about - finances and relationships. In terms of finances, I am doing better than I have been, but it’s tough to think that about the things that I CAN’T have or do right now because I’m still busy paying off the mistakes I made years and years ago. I can’t buy a car or move out and pay rent on a place of my own - yet - because I need to have some savings. I won’t have solid savings until this debt is paid down a lot more. I’ve increased my monthly payments and it’s been fine… but I wish I could just have it over and done with. It’s a horrible weight just hovering over me, knowing that this will continue for another few years. In a better state of mind, I’d be aware that it’s only another 2 years, and maybe less if I’m able to increase my monthly payments even more… but right now, I’m focusing on the fact that I’m turning 28 in less than 3 weeks and that I’m not able to move out on my own again yet.

This directly impacts any potential relationships. I can’t bring anyone over to watch a movie or make dinner or hang out - it’s my parents house. And this has an effect on friendships first and foremost - I can’t even consider relationships.

In addition, even if that WERE an option, I don’t have anyone beating down the door. I was talking with a friend a few weeks ago and he was worrying about the rest of his life and being alone - which is sort of funny because he has girls interested in him that he’s dated fairly recently. Still, because they turn out to be “crazy” or just plain scary weird and clingy, he feels that he has a pattern of dating crazies and that only crazies are attracted to him. I had to call him out on that one since I have expressed my attraction to him and I am not crazy - at least in the same way those chicks are.

And it makes me think - someone who has chicks he doesn’t care for vying for his attention, fixating on him and calling him 10 times a day, and who doesn’t think he’s hot shit worries about being/dying alone. I understand where that worry comes from, but a little differently than he does. I guess it comes partially from knowing what it’s like to be almost 30 and to have never had any sort of relationship, to not have a good relationship with my family that would help ease that other loneliness, and all that comes with lacking that sense of love and comfort that all people want.

I don’t have anyone even remotely interested in me, have been told that I SHOULD play the games that chicks play, told that I need only lose weight and dress a little more provocatively, told that I can’t be an open book… etc. etc. - being alone is a very real, very palpable, and very immediate feeling and worry.

Honestly, I know I’d be OK if I ended up alone in the end - so many people do through death, divorce or other reasons. Being alone in my old age has been the game plan all along… but before I die, I’d like to know what it feels like to be the recipient of affection (and hey, physical affection would be a good thing) from someone who thinks I’m the bees’ knees… and not just a “great friend”, a “good sister” or “good daughter” - and have it come from someone that I feel the same way about.

I don’t want a stalker or an admirer - I want something real, not a crazy person who has an image of me in their minds that doesn’t jive with the reality of me. I’d like to be part of an equal partnership where I’m not clinging and not being clung to… even if it doesn’t work out in the end.

But perhaps it’s just not meant to be for me. Perhaps I’m not going to be truly aware of the meaning of “’tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all…” (thanks for that one, Saint Augustine.)

I guess another thing that’s funny is that when my friend was telling me about his worries, I told him that I was 99% certain he was not going to end up dying alone - even if the thing that prevented him from being alone was his old spinster friend Eva and her cats. He replied that he didn’t think I’d end up alone either. But it’s hard to accept that sincerely… though he’s not someone who says things just to speak or because it’s the polite response to make - at least not to his close friends. I have to accept that it was sincerely meant - but that doesn’t mean I have to believe it.

Really… I’ve got a pretty great personality, but I’m no prize otherwise. There are some moments where I’m feeling great about myself and I think that whomever I chose to be with would be terribly lucky. Then I think realistically about how I’m not exactly the pretty thin girl that any guy is going to want to introduce to his friends or family. I’m OK to introduce as JUST a friend… because no one will criticize a guy for having a fat unattractive female friend. There, having a great personality is OK. In that context, you become pretty much androgenous or asexual.

Any guy who’s been called “a nice guy” or has been a victim of the “best friend syndrome” understands that, I think - being disconnected from your gender/sexuality/position as a person with desires. You become “just” a friend. Just a person, without the threat of emotional entanglements, guilt, commitment, responsibility, etc., etc.

When you sit in that role long enough, it’s very hard to even think of yourself as an attractive female, much less an attractive human being. Speaking for myself, I’ve somewhat ceased to care. I wear makeup less and less. While my logical excuse for not buying new clothing is that I don’t want to buy clothing in my current size and want to wait until I lose weight, I know this sort of apathy is part of it. I hate that I don’t care about my appearance as much - but it seems pointless. It used to be that I’d dress up nicely and get all made-up just because it made ME feel good and “powerful” and polished and confident. At this point, those things don’t count. I am so used to not feeling good and polished and confident, it doesn’t really matter anymore.

Pride also keeps me from buying clothes in this size, and my deep personal shame over what I’ve become is really what is driving me to go on the treadmill and eat more healthfully and be conscious of my health. Is it enough to make me anorexic? No. Is it enough to make me exercise EVERY day? No. Five days out of the week? Yes. Is that enough? I don’t know yet. I have to be patient - I won’t see results right away.

Then I think to myself - why does it even matter? I can probably talk myself out of feeling ashamed as soon as I’m no longer living with my family. They’re the only ones constantly reminding me that I don’t need that glass of orange juice because it’s pure sugar, or that I need to lose weight if I want to wear a bathing suit this summer, or that I’ve let myself go and need to “fix” myself.

It’s so messed up. I’ve got the battle in my head all the time, and my external stimuli are equally conflicting since the two groups of people who are supposed to love me unconditionally - my family and my friends - are at opposite ends of the scale. My family (most of it, anyway) harps on me about losing weight, losing weight, losing weight, have you gone on the treadmill today?, will you have a bathing suit that you fit into this summer?, what are you eating?, why are you eating past 7:30? It’s sickening - physically. My friends tell me I’m fine just how I am and that the only reason I should change myself is if I’m unhappy or feel unhealthy. Then my father will tell me that of course my friends support me - they’re going to lie to me to make me feel better… that’s their job, and that it’s his job and the family’s job to tell me the truth about the world and how I am seen in it… that I am a fat girl and that this is going to ruin my future if I don’t change myself.

And I have no escape, other than cloistering myself in my room with the TV and computer and my books as distraction. But it’s only distraction - nothing gets solved. Nothing gets better. At least I can turn up the TV and cry in relative peace.