“I don’t know who I am.”

“I need to find myself.”

I’ve tried. I continue to try. Reading. Writing. Walking. Music. Sitting. Watching. Observing. Nature. Jewelry making. Man watching. Eating crap. Eating healthy.

I don’t care. None of them work. I am quickly bored. Writing is the exception, but I spend as much time staring at a blank screen as I do typing. I am constantly bored. I wonder what the ratio of heaving to normal breaths are. It’s high. It has been suggested that I need to try different things to see what I like. See what might help keep me from being bored…

I’m bored by my own company. I will never be able to leave myself behind. Is it a frame of mind? Something I can change? How are others able to sit in the sun and listen to music happily? What am I missing? When my ex is about to come get the kids, I look forward to the few hours peace I’ll get. No fighting kids. No questions. No noise. Blissful silence. Then daddy comes and takes them away. Immediately a sense of dread about being alone fills me up. What will I do? I don’t know.

It often involves me getting in the car to drive. Anywhere. I think if I had no commitments I end up in Florida, Oregon, or New Hampshire. The farther away the better. Driving takes up just enough headspace to keep me from getting bored. Sleep means I don’t have to think, and food breaks are of course accompanied by electronics. I don’t eat meals anymore. I subside on chocolate and coffee. This unhealthiest of diets leads me feeling more sluggish. And with that a decent into further ill health. My broken heart and brain powerless to stop my onslaught. With electronics comes the need to post on social media about the amazing time I’m having, in my exciting life.

I think I’m not trying to show off. I think I’m trying to fool myself that my life is worth living. I am a fun chick, doing fun things, for no money. I’m cool because Facebook says I am. Maybe I am trying to show off. Why would I do that? I don’t know. People who care about me, care about me anyway. Elementary school ‘friends’ don’t care about me, and I don’t care about them. They may think that what I’m doing is interesting, but I have no link to them.

I went to the Art Institute recently. Well two or three years ago. I walked around trying to be inspired. There were many pieces of art that I thought were powerful, beautiful, amazing. I’d look. Eyes wide. And then move on. I got bored quickly but convinced myself to stay. I watched as others looked at pictures, tilted their heads, held their chins, trying to, or maybe succeeded to, find some deep meaning that I was missing.

Surely, I must enjoy something enough to actually enjoy it. I can tackle the ‘bored in my own company’ thing, later. Relatively recently… Actually – every day… Not the idiomatic ‘every day’… Something that occurs once or more per day… I’ve been reminded of how limited my life is. By choice – no – by lack of fighting back. Others would say it’s my fault. Most of these others have not suffered similar ‘ailments’. So, I see people I know and those that I don’t, enjoy things I can never imagine myself enjoying. Not because of a lack of desire to enjoy, but a strong feeling that me doing that activity is impossible. I will never do it. Now, I’m not saying I would rush head-long into anything, but I’d like to have a chance to decline sailing, skydiving, traveling, picnics in the park, spontaneous drives. I’ve no idea if I would enjoy any of these things. It would be nice try. To possibly meet people. To have great stories. Not to impress others, to have as memories for me.

When I die, I know I will die with huge regrets. I imagine that my children, and my relationship with them, will be at the forefront of my mind. I know I going to bombarded by the could-have-beens. What I could have done. It will seem, from my vantage point of near-death, that I could have easily changed my circumstance. Maybe I can. Likely I won’t. Never say never.

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