Archive for tears

All the world is made of faith, and trust, and pixie dust. ― J.M. Barrie

Posted in Italy, paris with tags , , , on September 13, 2012 by ana

I’m packing for what will be the first of two moves this month. I have been home from Italy for two weeks but the trip feels like it was a few months ago. All in all, the trip was wonderful, and so much of it is engraved in me. There were sweet parts and sexy bits. There was silliness and sadness. There was restless sleep, afternoon naps, tanning in the garden, and lots of iced tea. We spent hours reading cookbooks and watching British food shows on dvd. There was pizza and french fries at a beloved pizza parlor, cooking and dancing in the kitchen, and a five am bottle of wine, and toast with butter and honey for me, one night when no one could sleep. I tried to stay light but failed often.

My first time in Lecce I was so present.  This time I was often in my head; many times without even realizing it.  It was, all at once, refreshing, fun, inspiring, relaxing, and difficult to be there. But I wouldn’t change it. There is something magnectic about Lecce that feels very grounding to me. I think it has to do with the stones the old city is built from. The way they hold the dry heat. The walls feel like they are holding you.

The first night I was there, last summer with my mom, neither one of us knew what to make of the place. There was something  simple but also mysterious about it. We lost ourselves in the maze-like streets of the old city, which have no sidewalks. The streets were still packed at midnight, and it reminded me of something my friend Trish had told me was one of her favorite parts of living in Eritrea. She said that in Asmara people went for walks at a certain time of the evening to greet each other and convey messages.

In so many ways Lecce steals my heart. This time as I walked around I kept telling myself, just breath all of it in and  bring it back to Paris with you. I returned home inspired and excited, and then a week later it all went to shit. The guy in Italy is lovely in so many ways but there is something missing; an emotional vulnerability. It’s like it is almost there but not quite, not ever. Ours is the dance of the constant mixed signal. Both from me to him and him to me. Face to face it is lovely.  Apart it is wretched. That coupled with the search for a new apartment, a dwindling bank account, and the natural fear of starting a new business I just felt completely miserable last week. The night before we found our new place, I looked out the window at the Paris skyline and just freaked out. I felt alone and scared. I just kept thinking, this has to work. I’m taking the good kinds of risks. My heart is in this. It just has to work.

I wrote Stevie an email and said, just tell me everything is going to be okay. I just needed some reaffirmation and a little transcontinental, transatlantic hand holding. When I was in LA freaking out about Paris I realized that what I needed was to create my life in Paris. To create a routine- yoga classes, Sunday markets, morning meditations.

After Steves wrote back, I woke up the next day feeling a bit more grounded but still pretty anxious. Then in class it occurred to me that the next part of the Paris puzzle was to create more stability. A lightbulb went off, and I did what every good New Yorker does. I got myself some storage space. Words can not express how much peace a tiny closet with a padlock has brought to my life.

Then, of course, shortly after an apartment was found. A really nice place, albeit for two months, but it has a pool right across the street and really high ceilings.  It’s not available until October, thus the two moves in one month, but it will be perfect for fall.

With that all sorted, the Italian guy and all the emotions I feel about him came back to rattle me. I think there is so much of what I want in a man in him. It’s like a carrot that gets dangled in front of me and it makes me crazy. But the answer to this part of my journey is the same answer that has always been there. This is about me and making for myself the life of my dreams. Italy is like Neverland. So, I guess that makes me Wendy. In the end Wendy leaves Neverland and decides to grow up. I think it is the same for me. It doesn’t change how I feel about him. He has been incredibly catalistic in my life. And that has to be enough. How can that not be enough? That is huge.

My last morning in Lecce I had breakfast with a friend before my flight. He picked me up at five am and drove me to the airport. It was still dark, and he talked about his sister and his mom. At the airport we happily ate shitty pastries and talked about Game of Thrones before saying goodbye. I love that in this small city so far from anything I know live people that I adore. That is amazing. I dislike that I try to hold on to it, change it, posses it. I hope to one day  make peace with that  because I want to be that kind of person. I want to love with out trying to posses or change.

The last part, that I have figured out so far,  of creating stability in Paris is taking better care of myself. The last two years have brought long streaks of being in self-destruction mode. Not self-destruction in a super terrible way but in that way that heartache can make you drink too much, smoke too much, and either eat too much or not at all. I think there is a time and place for that kind of living but I’ve had my share of it and it is time to be done with it. I’m turning 39 in a little under a month and a half.  I want to feel better than I ever have, and I want a baby.  It took me so long to figure out what it is I want in my life but it is so clear to me now. I want a business, a child, and a partner. I think for a long time I looked to making my life with someone as an extension of what I wanted to make of my life but I don’t think that is now the case. In truth I don’t think that would ever make me happy.

Posted in paris with tags , on May 18, 2012 by ana

Today, Paris feels hard and lonely. This week has been tough. I had a job at a famous bakery, and I lost it after two weeks there. I’m not completely crushed, and I’ve managed to pretty much ignore any bruises my ego feels, because it didn’t feel right for me.  This job fell in my lap and as quickly as it came it went but I learned and observed and got better at things that weren’t my strength. Maybe that is all I was meant to get from it. Still, there is a low level panic that permeates everything at the moment. I think I’ve hit a wall and I’m not sure how to climb over it.   A tiny part of me wants to run home but I’m not even sure where that place is anymore.

The other day I thought, I have no idea what is going to happen in my life, no clue, I can guess or daydream or hope. I can look at the past and see how I have always managed to make wherever I am my own but what will happen in the coming years I really don’t know. There are things that I want now that I never wanted before and there are things that I have always wanted that always seem to elude me. Somewhere between those two sentiments I hope lies the answer. The low level panic… Well, that’s just one big, unshakeable, nagging, almost imperceptible question. Can I do this? And by this I don’t just mean Paris or learning French. Can I create the life that I want for myself. And, of course, the answer is yes. But right now I feel vulnerable and shy and uncertain. I will arrive wherever I’m supposed to, that much I know, but in taking the step to move here I have opened my life up to more uncertainty. Maybe that is what I needed. Maybe that is where I need to make peace right now.

It is too easy for me to to romanticize experiences in an attempt to build a linear narrative around my life. I’ve been trying not to do that as much anymore. Paris has been cinematic and magical but it’s not perfect. It’s still the next day of my life and the next and the next. All the things that preoccupy me still preocupy me that doesn’t change with a move. I feel lonely at times but it’s the same loneliness that has always been there on and off through out my life. A loneliness that is appeased by spending time by myself.

I have made friends. I have laughed. I have danced. I had a sweet romance that I wish I could have held unto but couldn’t. Now that it is gone it hurts. In my head it is easy to let it go, to say this why it came into my life and why it left. I learned a lot. I got more than I bargained for, in a good way. That boy left an unexpected emptiness. I want to say that it was nothing. I wanted it to be nothing but I miss him, and I don’t think we will ever see each other again. It is better that way. And even knowing this, a part of me hopes that there will be an email or a text, a part of me can not conceive that we will never be together again but most of me knows that that is the way it is. I loved this boy briefly, openly, and as unselfishly as I could. The intensity was returned. I think it is easy to love like that if there is an expiration date and maybe it wouldn’t have been so easy to surrender if I knew that I could have him for awhile. I know that I learned a lot about myself in this experience, about how often I try to change and force things to be things they are not. I feel loss but I hope that soon that feeling will go away.

Walking to class today I thought, feeling loss is a way of still holding on. I can’t wait for the feeling to pass and become just complete joy in having had the experience. I can apply the same sentiment to so many other moments of my life particularly in the last few years. I have lit candles at the church by my house. I have done what I do best when my heart is squished- drank, smoked, written long emails, talked about it, and walked, and walked, and walked. Was it the boy or is it that I simply want love in my life, tenderness, laughter, warm skin beside me. A little of both, more the latter I suppose. I try to let go but I think I just need to sit with the feelings and try not to force them to be one thing or another.

A few days ago I walked to the canal. I sat by the bridge where we had said goodbye and tried to release the whole experience.  I sat on a bench and watched the water flow by. Quietly and methodically I read and erased every text he sent me. Some of them were beautiful. I said a silent thank you after I erased each one. When I was done with his I did the same with all the ones I’d written him, then I erased his number. I felt lighter.

I miss Stevie. There have been moments this past week when I would have given anything to sit in her sunny living room. She wrote me a beautiful email:

You’re also, deep down, a hopeless romantic.  Don’t lose that.  It makes you special because it’s not that phony, fairy tale version of what “hopeless romantic” entails.  I think hopeless is the wrong word.  Maybe it’s more of a magical romantic, like magical realism.  You’re an Allende romantic where love is real but capable of beautiful, magical things.

She is right about me and romance. I want to keep that but I also want to shift.

I thought this move, this year, was a leap, a moment of things taking off in a new direction but maybe it is simply a crossing on a bridge. I feel I’m growing up. The boy opened my heart in a way that I didn’t even realize needed to happen. I once read somewhere that when the “new” world was discovered entries in a ship’s log book said that after weeks and weeks, or however long it had been, for the first time someone saw a branch floating in the water. A few days later a bird. These were signs that land was close by but at that time they didn’t know to read it that way. I feel that when I left Leo it was the beginning of a journey, maybe not to discover a new land but something that had always been there. There have been branches and bright stars and hummingbirds but I have yet to reach dry land. And there have been moments when I thought I would drown. Moments, like right now, when it feels that all there is is water all around me and no dry land in sight. But maybe it is just a little further past where I can see at this moment or maybe I’m not meant to reach dry land. Maybe I’m just meant to look up and be constantly in awe of the stars.

The fact that I’m scared shitless is exactly why I have to do it.

Posted in 37 with tags , , , , on August 30, 2011 by ana

Last night I had an anxiety-ridden dream or maybe I woke up in the middle of the night had a mini panic attack and fell promptly back to sleep. Either way at some point in the middle of the night, awake or not, I freaked out. It was really strange. I can’t say anything like that has ever happened to me before. Basically, I started thinking about Paris- how I only know 2.5 people there, how I don’t really speak the language, how it’s going to be winter when I get there. And that turned into- you are insane. You have completely lost it. This is all going to explode in your face and you are going to feel more lost, more alone, more distraught than ever. Are you crazy? What are you thinking?!! I don’t ever talk to myself that way. The decision is pushing buttons and stirring things up.

Some of the fear comes from the voices in my head that say you are too old to be picking up your things and moving, your time to have babies is running out, you are always chasing something, settle down. Those voices are cultural and relate to my family as an entity, how I was raised, and what is expected or hoped for for me. These voices are not so much my parents but my large, opinionated, loving, and conservative puertorican family.

There is also the voice that wishes she lived closer to her family and worries that every decision I’ve made since I left Puerto Rico has physically moved me further away from them. And the voice that wants to settle down, on her own terms, but settle down no less. That voice wonders if I’m walking towards or further away from all I want.

All those voices make the voice that made the decision to take a leap feel small. That voice was strong and clear when I made my decision but all the doubting ones have made it cower. It’s as if the woman I have become, who is confident and centered, passion-filled and inspired, excited and present is having a fist fight with the girl that often feels awkward in her skin, who feels nothing quite works out her way. The part of me that knows that she can do this, that knows she must do it, has gone to take a nap until the confident one has put the awkward one in her place. And it might take a minute because the girl has been around for a long time but the woman has only been around for a bit.

This morning I cried while I was meditating. Lately that seems to happen when I try to meditate. I say try because I struggle every single day when I sit down to do it. Today I asked myself why I was crying. What the deep sadness inside of me was about. And the response I got was the feeling of how intensely the breakup with Leo had rocked me to my core. That feeling brought on more tears but also a feeling of pride and of strength and a deepening of the knowledge that the person I have become was born out of our parting ways.

duh!

Posted in 37 with tags , , , , , on August 27, 2011 by ana

Maybe seeing Leo last week, rolling around, and pressing up against each other wasn’t such a good idea.  In the moment it seemed okay. The next day, this past week, I’ve felt fine. But the past few days I have been so emotional. I want love in my life- it’s no secret. And while I feel that I’m over Leo I don’t know that I’m over the heartache.

I spent the weekend in Napa with pregnant Nai and then drove down to visit Willa and spent a few days hanging out with her gorgeous one year old baby.  Both my friends are happy and in love. I’m happy that they are happy but I feel lonely. It’s a funny feeling to want something that feels completely out of my reach, something that I thought I had and that I thought was coming. I feel that it is time for something new but I think I’m still in the thick of it just in a different stage.

My fling in Italy helped and didn’t help. Something I thought would be light and breezy turned into unexpected feelings and strong desire I have had a hard time letting go of. The emails back and forth were probably not the best idea either.

Were the feelings for that man strong because he was the first man that I was with after Leo? I have wondered that more than once. Or was there something really there? Does it even matter?

No.

Willa and I went to the beach. It was a beautiful, foggy beach with seals, cliffs, and redwoods, and I was all weepy. What I realized in talking with both my friends is that I’m angry. That I still somehow feel that the tables were turned on me. That I ended up so far from where I thought I would be and still there is the strong undercurrent, the knowledge that it was the best thing that happened to me.

Nothing like a six hour drive to clear your head. I drove the five freeway home with a vengeance and almost got pulled over.  The night before I left Willa said, “there is nothing you need to fix. You are perfect as you are and love will walk in when it will.” Anouk in an email said the same thing, perfect as you are. This is a revolutionary concept for me. I always feel like there is something I need to fix.

What is it then that is going on with me? What is it that keeps me from feeling completely full, from seeing the abundance I have in my life each day? I drink strong coffee in therapy and say, “there are so many ups and downs lately. I’m sad, and I’m also happy. I’m scared and excited.” I voice the fear that is creeping in about moving to Paris and all the things I have been learning about myself lately. “I think maybe I don’t need to go looking for a purpose. I think I just need to be me. Like you said, live each day fully. Do the things that fill my soul.” I voice my deep desire to connect with a man. To have a relationship that is a collaboration more than a compromise. I say, “I want a lover but sadly those never appear when I go looking for them.” I talk about how inspired I feel, and wonder why I am complaining. I am a broken record. Well, not broken, skipping.

“When you feel disappointment,” she says,  “you start to doubt. You keep expecting something to happen that will somehow create this ideal life you have in your head, this magical fantasy life keeps you from seeing the fullness, the excitement that is already there.”

She is right, I keep thinking I will find an enchanted doorway, a lucky coin, a magic lamp that will put me in some paradisal version of my life where macarons are eaten every morning for breakfast, everyday feels as exciting as brand new love and is filled with great sex and fabulous outfits and incredibly fulfilling creative endeavors. I know, ridiculous.

Later she says, “you always look for the wonderment in life.”

And I interrupt and say, “I know it is my downfall.”

“I was going to say is one of the best qualities about you.”

I need to stand in my own life complete and whole, absorb whatever comes my way, and be present to all of the amazing, dark, lovely mess that life is.

She says, “I’m excited for you.”

She says, “you need to write love letters to yourself. From the one that longs to the one that longs to be desired.”

And we talk about Paris. How it has been there for a long time, the thought, the idea, and now the leap. In a previous session she said, ” you keep asking for signs when they come you have to take them.”

And so Paris, Paris, Paris in January. Is it really happening? I feel the same way I felt before I moved to LA. I dosn’t feel real yet but it is there.

I have been trying to push myself. In the summer the restaurant doesn’t get busy until the sun starts to set. Chili and I talk about where we are, where we are going. I tell her, “I had a revelation the other day. I work hard but I never push myself.”

And she says, “my drumming teacher used to tell me- if you show up to rehearsal and do the same thing you always do that’s not practicing that’s just repetition. In order to practice you need to push yourself.”

For the last seven days I have been waking up and doing the opposite of what I always do. I haven’t reached for my laptop or phone. I have written “morning pages” stream of consciousness writing at least three pages long. Then I’ve sat down to meditate aiming for ten minutes maybe getting seven. Hey, it’s still something. I have gone running and not given up. And I’ve been working on being, on living life exactly as I want my life to be. I have been trying to live perfect days. Or at least doing my part.

Today I started sorting and organizing my room. I live with a very lovely and anal (no pun intended) gay man. I know that what I call neat is for him chaos. I live in his house for free so I try to keep things, try being the key word here, somewhat organized. I have a lot of stuff. Among it are boxes upon boxes of letters and journals, almost 20 years worth. I have moved with these boxes from Midtown to Harlem to the East Village to Brooklyn to Burbank to Hollywood to Koreatown and back to Burbank. Each time the boxes get heavier. Do I really need to hold on to all of it?  Watching The Cook, the Thief, the Wife, and her Lover, one of my favorite movies, I started to go through some of it. I read old letters some written to me, some rough drafts of letters I’ve sent. I read old journals from art school, from when I was seventeen, and from a few years ago. Certain themes emerged. The therapy workshop that I did was all bout shadows and patterns and looking at your defenses, and boy were those blatantly there. They sent me for a spin. They drove me out of my house to Stevie’s, where I am the resident squatter, because I can’t really write where I live. And writing I have been. And in between I had a long heart felt  conversation with my lovely designer friend who lives next door to Stevie. A conversation in his kitchen with cigarettes, tears, and trout steamed with lemon slices. His beautiful gowns hanging near by. I walked with Stevie’s man to buy bread and felt so much love for their neighborhood as we walked past succulents and lavender and blooming myrtle. I bought a perfect peach and felt the thing that I love to feel most these days- everything is okay. Everything is fine, perfect, magnificent just as it is.

 

And then the sadness returned but it didn’t last

Posted in 37 with tags , , , on June 19, 2011 by ana

I take the 5 to and from work. That part of the freeway, late at night, when there aren’t a lot of cars on the road, and I’m ready to tuck myself away from the day, has come to represent a certain solitude and freedom in my life. How many times in the past months have I cried my heartache out, singing out-of-tune to some song driving home in my car. I wouldn’t quite say I was crying my heart out last night but I was sad. Sometimes when I’m tired I get kind of blue and melancholic. At work I was exhausted, and I missed Leo with a deep longing I hadn’t experienced in a while. It took everything I had not to say fuck it and text him to meet me for a drink. I don’t think I really would have but I wanted to. The thought of how I would feel after stopped me. The pointlessness of it stopped me.

On Friday I had the penultimate project of my therapy workshop.  Each time we do process work it feels to me like I’m removing barnacles from my soul. So that was probably the main reason I felt emotional and exhausted. So much of the investigation, of the work in the workshop, is about finding what holds us back, what the defenses and patterns in our lives are, and for me it has also been about learning to trust, about not being so driven by a timeline, and learning to really believe in myself.

I did my project in my friend Vee’s back deck. The afternoon sun had burned off all of the morning June-gloom haze and butterflies were fluttering about. Part of my project was to build a castle out of cardboard and cover it in glitter to sacrifice  my attachment to fantasy. I listened to Vespertine, which is such a brilliant album about creativity, sexuality, potentiality and dreams. While building the castle I thought about the last time I had spent an afternoon being that messy and carefree, which was probably when I was in summer camp in my early teens. I then was stung by a bee. The crazy thing is that the only time in my life I have ever been stung by a bee was at summer camp. In one of my one-on-one sessions with my therapist we’d talked about hummingbirds going from flower to flower, unknowingly pollinating other plants, and in the process making something magnificent grow. That is what showing up, and doing the work everyday does. Regardless of what the work is, if you do it consistently something grows. That is what bees do too, so later at home, I looked up the symbolic and mythological significance of bees.

Bees also symbolize eloquence , speech, and intelligence . In Hebrew, the word for bee, Dbure, has its origins in the word Dbr, speech.”

In modern psychoanalytical thinking, honey symbolizes the “higher self” , the ultimate consequence of work on one’s inner self. As the result of the transmutation of ephemeral pollen into a delicious food of immortality, honey symbolizes the transformation by initiation, the conversion of the soul, and the complete integration of the person.”*

I mean seriously could anything be a more magical or auspicious? Am I crazy for taking the sting as a wink that I’m on the right path?

When I got home I had a package from Leo with some mail and a cd- Belle & Sebastian Write About Love but all I could see from the cover was just Write About Love, and I thought- well, I am.

The next morning I met up with some old friends, from the summer camp I had been thinking about while making my castle, who were in town. On my way to meeting them I was thinking about community. How often I had shunned it. How much I had hated in High School growing up in such a small, tight-knit community, and how I had come over the years to love that I had. I sat with my friends having coffee, loving how we had shared such a formative experience, how we all shared the memories of running around barefoot, of living practically without electricity, of laying on blankets at night looking at the stars. Then Leo drove by. I caught the tail end of his little convertible. It was the closest I’d come to seeing him since November and it didn’t quite throw me off kilter but it definitely set me on the path to missing him.

All weekend long all these meaningful connections kept dancing around me. One of my camp friends had mentioned the last day of camp, how amazing that last morning was. We would all be woken up super early, while it was still dark, and there would be a path lit with with small flames. We would all silently make our way to the woods or the beach, and there there would be a bonfire and the older campers would be singing Neil Young songs, and we would all sit around the fire and listen to the camp director or a counselor talk about something meaningful to them- community, honesty, love… At dawn we would all say our goodbyes and it would be cold and everyone would be crying. That was the thing about camp. It brought in to my life some of the magic of everyday life- the sitting around watching a sunset, or walking at night with the fireflies kind- which is the best kind. My friend said, “Isn’t it amazing that our camp would do this beautiful ritual. That they would close the summer with a ritual instead of an awards ceremony or something like that.” I had totally forgotten how powerful those morning were. How wild that she would be in town reminding me of it it over the weekend that I had done a personal ritual as part of my workshop.

After coffee, I met up with Stevie. She was getting a mani/pedi, and I desperately needed to cover my grays (which aren’t so many but are noticeably there). We went for lunch after, then spent the rest of the afternoon drinking bubbly, listening to records, and talking about creativity. It was a lovely afternoon, and I was really bummed I had to go to work, which for the most part ended up being light and breezy. That is until I started to crash from the past day and a half. I started feeling so heavy and sad because I realized I had to come to terms with my loss once and for all. I had to make peace with it and let it go. That there could have been so much love between us. That there still was. That it couldn’t work out. That it can’t. That I ultimately don’t want it to. That is the wall that I have, over and over, come up against. Back in September I read a piece in The New York Times that spoke intensely to me. I thought about it last night. And I thought- in love you often have to completely let go of something before you can begin to harbor hope again.

*lune de miel

*modern love

 

 

The one where I take out the riding crop and whip myself repeatedly

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , on April 13, 2011 by ana

Today was super shitty. It was full of self-loathing and self-pitty. I think it all started with a package waiting for me by the door when I went out to deposit my tips at the bank. It was from Leo.

How many times can I possibly say I miss him while I continue to put one foot in front of the other?

I open the package. It has the mail that somehow never gets fowarded. There is a letter from the bank saying that I bounced a check, some catalogs for fancy housewares and a letter from my credit card telling me how I can lower my balance. The combination of all these things and the fact that they arrived from my old home, my home no more, just send me spinning.

I’m so broke. This year is flying by. Summer is just around the corner. What am I going to do next? Nothing ever works out the way I want it to. I’m so mediocre.

I decide to meditate but find it nearly impossible to quiet my mind.

I can’t meditate. What am I doing with my life?
I’m thirty-seven. Before I know it I will be thirty-eight. Focus on your breathing. Focus on your breathing.

It’s almost time for work but I want to do some reading.

Why do I always read so many books at once?
This is so overwhelming. My mom is always overwhelmed. I must get that from her.
I have to finish reading all the books I’m half reading. I’ll never get it done.
I read so much more in NY.

I can’t sit still and start getting ready.


What I’m going to do with myself. What is my next job going to be? I don’t want to live hand to mouth anymore. I don’t want to consume as much anymore.
Why do I always rely on pretty clothes and baubles to give my life meaning.
Liking beautiful things is not terrible. Buying things that I find stirring makes me feel inspired. Buying things makes me feel less creative.

I’ll never meet anyone.
I wish I had someone to distract me. I should put myself out there.
What does that mean? How do I do that? It’s really hard to meet people in LA.
I work at a restaurant. I meet lots of people everyday. I don’t have any single friends to go out with.

I walk down the long hotel-like hallways of my building.

Be present.
Come on stay present. Left foot, right foot. I’m a failure.
I never finish things. Nothing is going to change if I move.
I have to figure out what the hell I’m going to do with my life.

I call my mom while driving to work.

“I feel so lost,” I tell her.

“I remember feeling how you felt but I don’t know what to say to you,” she says.
“I’m consumed by my own sorrow.”

What am I going to do with my life?
What am I going to do with my life? What am I going to do with my life?

“You just have to be more provocative in your writing, in your acting,” she says.

I’m so mediocre. I’m such a loser.
I’m such a failure.

“Just ask yourself what am I trying to say here that has never been said in this way. I can see what you have to do but I’m not quite sure how to tell you to do it.”

“I know what you mean,” I say. “Sometimes that happens to me with Lela. It’s just if I knew what I had to change I would change it. Carolina gave me a great idea about contacting everyone I know in NY about work.”

“I don’t want to stress you out in anyway but if you are going to go to New York you can’t just go there to see what happens. You have to go there with a concrete plan. You have to go there with interviews and meetings set up.”

I’m not good enough. I have no skills. I’m such a fraud.

I get to work and feel like crying. I continue to berate myself all night long. At the end of the night I drink an ube milkshake we had as a desert special and go home. I feel fat. My feet hurt. I whip myself over eating sugar when I said I wouldn’t get my fix at work then I try to put the riding crop away.

Posted in Uncategorized with tags on January 26, 2011 by ana

Today was filled with epic crying. Driving around unable to ignore the enormous loss I feel I cried and cried and cried. I’m so angry at him, at life, at me. And then I drove past the Palladium and while I usually avoid any architectural memory of us I couldn’t help but see us there frozen in time watching Belle and Sebastien as everything was falling apart. I saw us going for a late dinner after, sitting at the bar at Mozza still able to have a good time even amidst the heaviness. And then I cried for his heart and for mine. What a shame life could have been so different now. But I don’t regret it I know I made the right decision.

Someone dear wished me lots of adventure and happiness this year, and I was thinking how right he was to wish me that, how much I want that.

Like a piece of gum stuck to a shoe

Posted in 37 with tags on October 28, 2010 by ana

I woke up this morning practically in tears and have not stop crying since. I feel so much despair. My life is in chaos. I feel that a break-up is eminent but I don’t know how it is going to go down. Why don’t I just get up and leave? Because I tend to do that when things don’t go my way? Because we are in therapy? Because I’m afraid? I think I secretly know that things will feel much better once we break-up but I love him, and I still harbor some hope.

I said all this to my boyfriend this morning, and he tried to cheer me up. He said his life was in chaos too. I know his life is in chaos too. It’s weird he’s gotten more parking tickets this month than he has in all the time we’ve been together. I cried, we hugged, and he asked we give it a little longer. Fine. But I think I know in my heart of hearts that nothing will change. I feel so tricked! By life not by him. By me. How could I not see any of this? Did I really believe that we would end up together, that somehow one day he would wake up and say this is it. I miss those moments when we looked into each others eyes and felt so in love. I had so much faith in those blissed out moments. I felt so safe in them.

Yesterday was one of the hardest nights I’ve had in a long time. I have been feeling pretty horrible on and off for awhile now so that tells you just how bad it was. It felt like I was borderline of a panic attack. So many insecurities were swimming in me and the self-loathing and self-doubt were high.

The day started intensely with our couple’s therapy. Among the many things we talked about were my self-esteem issues and how they play out within the dynamics of our relationship. I have been working on my self-esteem stuff really hard for some time now. The low self-esteem is so deep rooted I often don’t see it but it informs everything. It drives me bananas because I don’t always feel it but I know people pick up on it. It’s the energy behind everything. It comes through when I look at my audition tapes. It’s what people pick up on when they say I’m shy. I try to pretty it up but it’s always there and I feel like now is like the battle of my life. Like if I don’t shine a light on it it will continue to torture me forever.

I hashed a lot of this at lunch with a Alicia at M cafe. Who said, “the word confidence means to walk with faith.” My therapist also said something similar. She said the opposite of doubt is faith and faith is our connection to the divine. Why do I have so much doubt in myself? I don’t think I always did. Or at least at times I have kept it under better wraps.

It’s like my thighs. I go out of my way to hide their meatiness, their cellulite but in doing so I have also never embraced my figure, which is curvy, which is nice. There is something very bombshell about feeling truly loving towards your body. And I want that. It’s not in the workouts but in truly adoring and showing off my body that it shines. I know I have to find that place in me not only about my body but about myself. I know that if I can hold myself in high esteem, if I can truly believe in me, there is nothing that I won’t be able to do. On the surface I truly like and appreciate who I am, and I don’t know quite how to change it at the core. How to heal the old wounds that silently whisper I’m not quite as good as everyone else.

And that is what caused so much pain in me last night. The doubt that I will never have the savvy or the means to make enough money or stop being a waitress. The doubt that I don’t have whatever my co-worker has that helped him get a new better agent. The doubt that I can act and book work. And the nagging question of what it means to that wounded part of me to stay in a relationship were clearly a part of my partner can’t deal with loving me completely.