I wish there was something happy and magical and uplifting that I could write in this space today.
I worry that my blog is too depressing and people will think that all I do is complain.
I try to be better. I try to find something positive to say.
But today I’m really down.
This morning, we set the Pack ‘n Play up on the front porch and let the daughter go to town. She had her rings and her monkey and her lemur that makes a weird noise when you squeeze it. She was happy. I was happy. It was early still and the heat of another July day in St Louis hadn’t set in yet. A light breeze drifted through the big trees in front of our building, shading us from the worst part of the glaring sun. It was one of those perfect moments when, for just a few seconds, I was completely content with my life. I was able to forget the things that keep my up at night, sick with anxiety. I could ignore that dull icky feeling that is a constant part of my life. I had my husband, I had my daughter and they were happy.
I don’t know what happened. I can’t pinpoint what it was that made me want to just crawl into bed and shut the door. I don’t know why I just wanted to be alone.
I don’t know why I often feel the desperate need to be alone when I barely see anyone other than the baby and Brian and the cashiers at Target. I want so badly to have a connection with other people but, at the same time, I’m afraid to go out and find it. I am not a very outgoing person. I’m not one of those people who is comfortable striking up a conversation with a random stranger. Yesterday, there was an older lady in the laundry room with me and, since Lorelei was with me, she started talking about her grandkids and asking questions about my daughter. It was nice, but at the same time I wanted to disappear. I felt awkward and stupid.
Even online, with the relative anonymity that the internet provides, I feel like that nerdy girl in high school with the poor fashion sense and bad hair who hated wearing make-up and preferred to be over-committed after school than have a real social life. Sometimes, I remember so clearly the feeling I had at all the senior parties as I sat mostly in the background and wondered when one of my (very few) friends was going to show up so that I wouldn’t be all by myself. There are a lot of really wonderful women who’s blogs I frequent that I feel like I know. I want to meet them in person. I want to hug them and tell them how awesome I think they are and how much I appreciate everything they’ve written. I feel really lucky that I stumbled upon one of their sites which led me to another and another so that everyday I get to feel inspired or I get to laugh or even I get to cry. But what do they think of me? Do they want to meet me? Do they come here and read my whining and ranting and even my gushing baby loving posts and think I am a big fat loser?
I know that they probably don’t think that. In fact, I know that they don’t think that. But I’ve always been the self-conscious shy little girl and I don’t think that’s a part of me that will ever change.
But I will try. I will take risks and try to forge friendships and try new things. Because I don’t want Lorelei to have this crushing feeling of insecurity. I want her to be brave. I want her to be the girl who runs up to the kid who is sitting alone on the sidelines and ask to be their friend. We need more people in the world like that because there are already enough of us who are too scared to be the one to make the first move.