We had our fake Easter yesterday. For various logistical reasons, my family had to delay it for a week. Although, if I really think about it, it’s fake Easter for me even if we celebrate it on the real day because religion and I don’t mix well. Much like Christmas is all about Santa Claus for me, Easter is all about some huge creepy-ass bunny. I actually prefer to think about these characters the way they appear in Rise of the Guardians. So the Easter Bunny is Australian and sounds remarkably like Hugh Jackman. And Santa has swords and tattoos. [I really enjoyed this movie, by the way. I’ve seen it many times.]
Of course, this isn’t so much about Easter or my love for animated movies (especially those that explain mythology so creatively). It’s about the many sources of my anxiety and sadness. And whenever that’s what it’s about, two things happen. (1) The post gets stupid long… and (2) I hate myself for posting it but I do it anyway.
[And I know I keep posting about all this shit. Please do NOT feel obligated to comment.]
I’m proud (I think) to be able to tell you that I did not fall apart, cry, or otherwise break down in front of anyone yesterday. The reason why I’m not so sure I’m proud is that I hate that smile-and-fake-it thing… and I hate when I do it. But I have to. It might be different if it was just four of us—Mom, two sisters and I. Then I might not feel the need to fake it. As much. But others were there.
Inside, I felt sick the whole time. It’s impossible not to compare my life to others’. My sisters’ lives aren’t perfect but I would trade with either of them in an instant. [Not that I would give up my kids but I think you know what I mean.] I know they’ve had to deal with some shit. But it’s nothing compared to my disaster of a life. I blame myself, as always. But seeing them is like having every bad thing in my life thrown in my face.
It’s not them. They’re not doing anything wrong. People talk about their lives. And everyone has good things to say. Except me. I’m sure they have bad things, too. Everyone has problems. But they have good things. Really good things. I do not have anything good to share. You know, beyond we are all alive. But anything special? No. It’s all bad.
‘How’s your back?’ No better. ‘Job search?’ Nothing. ‘Get that new oven yet?’ No. […etc.]
I feel bad that they have to hear all my negative answers. But those are the real answers. What am I going to do? Lie? I don’t have it in me. It’s hard enough for me to fake it as much as I do.
I’ve been trying all day to stop my upsetting thoughts before they snowball into a big mess of everything that’s wrong in my life. (And using some advice from a really sweet friend.) But nothing is a quick fix. And the snowballing happens so fast that I fail. I wish I could pick one little thing to work on but there are no little things. They’re all huge… and interconnected. If I pull one brick out, the whole thing comes crashing down.
Imagine having to spend most of your time alone with someone you don’t like. That would suck, right? I do it almost every single day.
But I did get some candy from the Australian Easter Bunny.
But I didn’t get the Australian I really wanted…
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