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Tuesday, Jan. 29, 2002 / 6:32 p.m. ~I'm a "Stupid Bitch"~ Have you seen this? Someone linked to me from there today. I think it's funny that after all this time they still won't let go. Didn't I predict they would look for me to unlock my diary? Yeah. Does anyone else go through drama like this here, on Diaryland? I'd love to know. Of course, no one has said anything directly to me lately, regarding past unpleasantness. I mean, no guestbook entries, no notes, no email. If they are writing about me someplace new I've not been made aware. But with feedback from only one person (you are fabulous, Roadiepig!!), it seems hardly worth it to keep this up sometimes. I mean Roadie and I could do this through email and it would be fine. I think there's only one person I read with whom I don't communicate at all, ever, and that's because I have no clue what to say to her. She doesn't want to hear it, from me or anyone else, so what can I say? But me, am I like that? I write, you read, you really have nothing to say at all? Just Roadiepig, and the weirdos at Bitchfest? Ack. Another crappy day. I'm going to live and be happy now....home.....my whole being changes when I walk in the door. It's like a huge weight is lifted from my shoulders, and though that's awfully cliche it's so appropriate. I sigh, I drop my purse on the floor, I sit to remove my shoes, I give Norma and Gladys big hugs and all is right with the world. I never want to leave. But I've given serious thought to discontinuing this diary. That is **NOT** an appeal for guestbook ego-boosting, or emails begging me to keep writing, or any other sort of stroking. Anyone reading this will have no effect on my decision. If I decide to stay it will be because it's what I want to do, likewise if I delete every single entry and never come back again. And I know someone who did that! I was SO schocked! It's something I've felt conflicted about since the very beginning. I wrote about it all the time, I still do. Today, checking stats, checking referral pages, reading that crap again (and I've read it before, remember it was all written from December 9 to December 11) reminded me how I don't get what I want from keeping a diary here. I once thought this was a supportive atmosphere, but I don't get that anymore. I met Roadiepig, and for that I am glad. Very. But that's it. As he wrote of being dismayed when someone took him off her/his favorites list, not understanding why, the seeming suddenness, it can feel like we know one another, but we don't. It can feel like you're best friends with the diarists whose lives you're reading....but you're not. They can stop reading you, they can turn on you, they can lose interest, it goes on and on. And what is the point anyway? I think it's to write, to open one's self to strangers, and to get feedback. Support, understanding, friendship. When that doesn't happen, it seems to be an embarassing waste of time. Why bother at all? These are rhetorical questions I'm asking. I'm merely asking aloud. Do not answer, please. I was thinking about self-esteem today. Does it really come from outside of ourselves? Isn't it more likely to come from within, in spite of other people's views of us? Someone like me, someone who has no one boosting her, no support network, family, friends, no web to fall back on, no encouraging words save for the emails from my pal Roadiepig, someone like me might crack. Someone like me might lose any semblance of self-esteem, might cave when reading strangers' writings, calling me "bitch", etc. on a web site. But I don't. And to toot my own horn, that's fucking amazing. People have called me strong in the past, and they are fucking right. To survive what I've survived, on my own, and you know nothing of it, no matter what you're thinking, and no, my father didn't rape me, I'm not addicted to drugs, but I am on my own, and I survive, in spite of every single person out there who would choose to see me go down. What I've survived is my own past, and you won't know it. I know it, and I know who I am and what I've had to live through, and I keep going in spite of all of it. Every day, one foot in front of the other, making the money, paying the bills, taking care of the cats, the apartment. No one buys me things, gives me things, helps me out. It's all me, baby. Even the loneliest, most sucidally obsessed Diarylander out there has a boyfriend, a girlfriend, a mom, a dad, a best friend, or three or four, and more. I have none of the above. Think about it next time you start feeling sorry for yourself. So, I'll be fine. I'll keep going, but I don't know if you'll see it, if you'll read it. If you click here and it's all gone one day you'll know what happened. Or if there's a password and you haven't been given it, you'll know why. If you keep reading, but you don't think I'm real, you have nothing to say to me, that's fine too, stay exactly as you are, that's most of you anyway. Whatever makes you happy with yourself, but you are eavesdropping on my life. Keep that in mind. It's a privilege, not a right. Cost of the War in Iraq
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