adj 1: having only essential or minimal features; “a stripped new
car”; “a stripped-down budget” [syn: stripped-down]
2: having extraneous everything removed including contents;
“the bare walls”; “the cupboard was bare” [syn: bare]
3: with clothing stripped off
Christina Aguilera had an album called “Stripped,” possibly my favorite album of hers where she bares her soul, per se, revealing the most intimate parts of herself.
They say that true artists can tap into the depths of their pain to make the most amazing pieces- turning that pain into creativity.
I don’t know if that’s the case here. I mean, I’ve always wanted to be a writer- still do- but I also find being able to release my pain in writing makes it all better and then (really?) no one can see my tears (cause big girls don’t cry, right?).
This is me. Stripped.
My new doctor here had prescribed Lexapro for me (anti-depressant #3) and gave me so many samples I didn’t know what to do with myself. Then? They ran out and I had to get a scrip. Well for the love of everything holy, Lexapro is $99 after my insurance pays their cut.
Uhh yeah, no thanks.
And then? I really didn’t wanna spend $25 going back to see the doctor to start from square one. So, I am without anti-depressants and left to really deal with myself. And it has not been pretty…
I wake up in the morning and look at myself in the mirror aaaaand then I’m done. I can’t look too long. I want to lose like 10, 15 pounds. Not for anyone else but myself, but I’m too lazy to motivate myself to workout. I hate my hair in this in-between stage. I’m glad I cut my dreads. I bet my grandpa would have been proud. I raised $1,000+ for cancer research, but now? I’m stuck with thick, unmanageable hair. I don’t feel like I have clothes that fit my body and this phase it’s going through…
Point is, there is no part of me that feels “beautiful” at this moment in my life, so having to stare at myself in the mirror means having to deal with my issues- it’s like staring at damaged goods.
Yeah I said it.
That’s how I feel.
Four years of therapy and that’s how I feel y’all.
My dad always told me how beautiful I was, but he’s my dad, that’s his job, right? Even when my husband makes a comment, I shudder at the thought. I often joke with him that he already married me, so the mask is off. Watcha see is watcha get friend, I’m not on the prowl anymore. That means dark circles under the eyes, saggy boobs, fat belly and sweatpants with holes in the crotch that I refuse to part ways with.
I don’t take compliments well. I never actually realized that til more recently when I sat in my AP’s office and she rattled off compliment after compliment and what did I do? I cried.
Score. One point for the loser over here.
Why? I don’t know. But as I begged her to stop giving me compliments I had to leave the room.
It’s so much easier to hate yourself and doubt your abilities than to actually walk around with the confidence of a goddess.
Oh and this confidence? That I apparently exude?
It’s all a facade.
I decided that today.
I decided that I am super funny and social and likable (or at least I think I’m likable) and can work a room like nobody’s business because, well that’s so much better than walking around like Sad Sally all the time trying to tell your sap story and making people feel sorry for you.
And? If everyone thinks you’re confident, then they’ll think you’re not one to fuck with. That you’re a tough cookie. That you’re a force to be reckoned with…
oh, and that you’re lots of fun to be around.
It’s only when I leave work or I leave that party or I leave that get-together that I really have to face myself.
But you know what? I need that.
It’s like a high that I don’t like to come down from. I like feeling cool or that I’m lots of fun or that I’m the life of the party.
And my husband?
You know how they say opposites attract? Well what happens when two people who are so much alike attract?
Minus the depression thing- we are both argumentative, we are both stubborn, we are both always right, we both like to be in control, we both love hard and…
We. Fight. I mean we fight. We fight hard.
But he deals with my highs and my lows like no one else could ever. I really think about all of the mood swings he’s had to deal with…
He married damaged goods.
I hope he knows that.
I find myself perplexed about the root of this pain. I guess we didn’t get to that part in therapy.
We talked about my “I’m from a big, loud aggressive family and I’m not like everyone else” syndrome.
We talked about my daddy issues (cause really, every girl has them).
We talked about my mommy issues.
We talked about my “I feel like a horrible mom, I can’t stand the sound of my daughter’s crying and it is truly incessant and makes me wanna hang myself” issues
We even talked about that experience… the one that really defined my sexuality… yeah that stuff.
So what’s my problem?
I wonder if it’s because even though both my husband and I are working, we are still finding so much of our money going towards bills (oh and daycare, bloody $130 per week daycare- ARGH!)
I wonder if it’s because the reason we are in this shotty financial situation is because we took a leap and moved to California then it just so happened that I couldn’t find a job there and we found ourselves being buried in a hole of debt.
I wonder if it’s because I’m still struggling with the day-to-day of being a Mommy… or more importantly of being The Pea’s Mommy. That this child hardly sleeps some nights, is having bizarre night terrors and cries and cries and cries for no apparent reason or just when she doesn’t get what she wants. And this? This ridiculous, non-stop crying? Drives me FRIGGIN insane. When she does not stop crying and whining, I can feel my blood boiling. And so, of course, these negative feelings that I have towards my daughter’s behavior makes me feel like a horrible mom.
I wonder if it’s because I have this insane need to perform. And perform well. And anything less than friggin amazing is not acceptable. So if at work I get feedback, I only hear the negative parts and I internalize it and get sick.
I had an observation today and so my internalization started Tuesday night when I couldn’t sleep and fell asleep at about 2 am. Then all day on Tuesday I was on the verge of tears, my stomach was in knots, I was disgustingly nervous and thought I could puke. I mean why? It’s painful.
Oh, I wonder if it’s because I miss having friends whose houses I could go over (hi Jill!) and drink beer on their couch. I miss having friends that my kiddo can play with so they can do kid stuff and we can do grown-up stuff.
I wonder if it’s because the source of my being (probably in this exact order) goes:
(which includes chef, disciplinarian, teacher, doctor, boo-boo kisser, and other duties as defined)
(which also includes disciplinarian, doctor, therapist, sometimes even their Momma… and other duties as defined)
- Extended Family Crisis-Manager
(Notice I said extended family)
- Product Review Website Owner
- Freelance Writer
and somewhere… way down the list. I think there may be room for me to pencil myself in. (Me time? What’s that?)
So, let’s re-cap: I am a basket case, disguised as a confident, strong woman.
I hide behind a mask (and my glasses- my glasses are my security blanket. I hate seeing myself without them. NO thank you to Lasik or contacts, I’ll pass).
I push myself too hard.
And I have expectations for myself that are probably unattainable.
That’s me. Stripped.