It just got to be far too much for me – all the rejection – and I snapped over email. Wrote a long, self-pitying email to just about everyone. I was getting very angry and just vented. Reading it the next day, it was pretty silly. I sort of chuckled and proceeded to write a disclaimer to all the recipients. However, I figure confession is good for the soul and I just had to stop fighting it, to get on with things. Whatever “it” actually is.
I feel rather like I’ve been slowly disassembled, or peeled like an onion, stripping away all of the healthy protective layers to get to the tender heart. Like an artichoke then, I imagine. And it sucks because I feel crappy and confused and the ease and comfort of friends, family and familiarity are all gone. So I get down to the brass tacks, as it were. The center of me. Or I’m getting there as the days wear on and I continue to over analyze my life. But frankly, in an unhappy and lonely way, it has been a good thing. Stripped of all my essential defenses (even sense of humor, which no one seems to get) I am just fine. No hospital style hallucinogenic episodes or crippling sleep-inducing depression. I’m a little tattered, but all my pages are still there and my spine is intact. So it really is all right.