Friendship Through Blogs

I have a lot of friends who blog. Okay, a lot, not accurate. Maybe a few.
In any case, we have slowed our communication from phone to IM to email to blog. I don't know what's happening to one friend unless I read her blog. I originally wanted to read it because it seemed like a good way to get to know her writing...and now, almost every time, I want to cry my eyes out after an entry.

Another friend writes really well, but his blogs are sporatic and when he is busy, I am left wanting. Most friends abandon their blogs after a while...maybe they feel like no one is listening. I am. I want to.

What happens to us? Where do we slip away to? The mind can hold so much...I guess I'd be afraid of unearthing it. But alas, I know that the darkness will remain dark until I shine a light. And it may not be pretty at first.
Doing any kind of moral inventory (I do it often in my mind) is hard work. But I also know that it weighs me down to know that I told an old boyfriend that I hoped that he would never know love in his life again. Wow. I was a hurt kid. I told another kid (also a former boyfriend) in my 6th grade class that I hoped he died of cancer, like my dad, and then promptly shoved him up against the lockers. Double wow. I lied to my family about being sexually abused. It's not considered 'omission' when it affects others, right? That's just lying. I stole money and just never talked about it to the person. I haven't paid people back. Countless times. It'll all come out in the process, line by line. I will have to look at the thing I have tried so hard to cover up. I might even have to look at pictures and read entries (my own homework, not the 12 steps) of myself so that I can get a good idea of who I was then. UGH. I'm only 29, but it seems like it could be a long list. I never stood up for my brother when my mom hit him and it wasn't his fault. I DID provoke him. And I didn't think he would get hit. I wouldn't play with my little brother several times when he was younger and I remember the heartbreak it caused him, and I am truly, truly sorry. I get my own medicine because sometimes now he doesn't have time for me. I wrote a nasty note about my stepdad, which was later found, photocopied, and maniacally placed around my room by my mother. I never asked for forgiveness around that. It's all coming.

I have been incognito for several days. Without Josh around, I tend to stop socializing. Or I socialize too much and I am sad that I petered away my alone time. But Josh is gone and I have no real desire to DO anything. I have been over-OA-ing it for a few days. I am eager to clean out my personal cobwebs and feel frustrated that I have not started. Another thing to leave before completion, I wonder? Maybe. Well, no. NO. I will do the 12 steps even if I am not an overeater, just an unconscious eater. I don't care if I AM an overeater...the label is not what I want, I want the relief. I want the connection to spirit. I want to not relate to my friend who hides her depression behind cute clothes, stylish shoes, amazing food, and a killer smile. I want to show people who I am, warts and all, and then get the fuck on with it. I don't want to move to Europe with a heavy bag. I want to go with a light backpack, taking only what will serve me. Literally and figuratively.

Probably no surprise to you, I am realizing that I really want to write about my life. I find it interesting. Sure, that's self-centered in a way. But take into consideration that I don't feel like I have been there for most of it. Having a stellar memory has almost made the memorizing of my life more important than my life itself. Ah. I know strange details about the past that are perfect for picking through...I just don't. Man, it seems dark in there.

I always laugh when I tell people about my "little habits" as a kid: getting up early to play by myself so I wouldn't be disturbed, buying MY OWN kitchen items because I didn't want to use my parents' stuff (it was messy or burnt or lost), having two imaginary friends that I mediated (this one is especially interesting...), feeling nostalgia for a stethescope my dad gave to me from a "friend" (which was really a doctor trying to save him from brain cancer). Oh there are more. So many more. It's like I am telling people about another kid. A weird kid. A kid who is obviously sad and lonely...not me! I wonder what it will be like to connect those things.
I am afraid to read the tombs of my life that I wrote just so I could read them again. I am afraid of finding out how long I have really been sleeping. I am afraid of being as sad as my friend.

I am afraid because I want there to be something on the other side of taking a moral inventory. I want to be able to say that there is some relief, forgiveness, lightening of the load. I simply want to be able to live life in the fucking PRESENT.

I won't write well until I can look at myself. I won't be able to have any kind of relationship with my future kids until I stare my past, my follies, straight in the face. I have to admit that I am only human, and that I will stay human. I have to admit that my humanity includes all kinds of mistakes. Until I go there, I won't ever get there.

I'm kind of depressing myself. I relate to my friend...we both like to hide. The other one likes to seek us out. We don't always like that, even though sometimes we crave it. I have other hiding friends.