This post was written 5/7/17 and was recovered from my deleted entries. I've decided to keep some of my old writings. 

It is not possible to live authentically. We are all different people depending on who we are with, and even when we are alone we re-play interactions and events over and over again, analyzing them to such a degree that we make ourselves anxious and left feeling inferior. Think about it. Who are you really? You don't know. You can't know.

I cannot recall a single moment in my life where I've been authentic. I'm too worried about pleasing other people and being judged to be the person I am, whoever she may be. I play so many roles that there is no way to be her. I'm a mom, wife, about 68 different people to different friends at different times, a social worker playing 81 different Danas, a daughter, sister, aunt, awkward Target shopper, binge eater, body hater, judgemental bitch, and the road rage-eous driver I've ever encountered. And those are just a few of them. None of those people are real. None. Of. Them. 

I wish that I knew me so that others could know me. I know what I hate about me, but there are very few things that I like. I am funny. Really funny. I am incredibly empathetic. I feel everything very, very deeply. That's it. That's all that I like about myself. 

If I were to know Dana, she probably wouldn't like me. I'm so negative and jealous and sad. I am afraid of people. I am afraid of not being liked by others. I judge people harshly. And I am not authentic. I am a phony, a Dollar Tree knock off if you will. And it sucks. A lot. I'm 33 years old and can't be me. I'm 33 years old and I'm afraid to be me, to know me, to share who I am with others. I'm 33 years old and don't know what makes me happy. I don't have any hobbies. I don't have a social life. I have my phone that leaves me envious of others. It makes me uglier than I already am. That's another thing. I am too ugly to live, inside and out. I hate me, whoever I am. Hate. And it's very hard to go through life hating the person who you can't escape, the person you don't know, can't know...but are stuck with.

I long to change that. I am actively trying. It's not working. I'm more insecure now than I've ever been in my life. I feel my age creeping in. My body is unhappy. My mind does not stop. I go through the motions of every day without living. Press play, pause, rewind, repeat. That is my life; a cassette tape, an outdated, dead technology.

It's sad. I am sad for myself, for Dana, the perso
n I don't know. I am sad for my family, for my friends, for everyone in my life. I am not a likeable person and that, too, is sad. 
The times in my life where I feel some semblance of happiness are in the moments where I watch my daughter when she isn't looking. They're in the fantasies I've created in my head that I can share with no one. They're Disneyland. They're sleep; sweet, beautiful sleep. Sleep is where I can escape from the person (people?) I am. That, too, is sad.

This post is not a cry for help; I am not asking for sympathy or validation. I am simply at a crossroad in my life, and it seems that no matter which direction I go, the road is broken, ugly, and empty. No amount of meditation or magical "love yourself" Pinterest quotes can change me right now. 

I hope to eventually forge a new path, one that is yet to be discovered and leads to Dana. She can't be as cruel as whoever it is I am tonight. She has to be better, I just know it. For now I will work on my stamina and build up the strength to cross that path. I'm not ready right  now, and may never be. But I hope I get there soon, and the internet says that as long as I have hope I have something.

...But what?


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