How do I change? How can I ever either become the person I wish to be, or come to terms with being who I am?
That immediately begs the question: who is the person I wish to be? What is she like, and how will I know when I have become her? The problem with asking that question is that it encourages the creation of an impossible standard. If you ask me who I wish to be, I might say: beautiful, successful; confident, 25 years old etc and then we’re getting into realms of fantasy straight away. What I really want is to be not-me. Once I would have said: what I want from life is to feel loved – not just to be loved, but to feel loved by someone whom I also love – that kind of mutual relationship which creates a ‘couple’. But is that right? Once I would have said that what I wanted was the opportunity for a series of relationships.
Oh, I don’t know. I went down and had breakfast in between and now I’ve lost the thread.
Back to the question: what is wrong with being me? Maybe that wasn’t exactly the question, but it’s a question.
No answer to that. I went off and did something else then just came back to Word to look at C’s Dad’s book and there it is.
Am I going to write any more of this today?
Stink of cat pee in this room. Someone to clean carpet? It’s the hall carpet. What to do. Just get rid of it? Or find someone who can clean it. Or put it up in loft. Go into loft and check leak. Where is the water coming from?
No, I don’t want to do any of those things.
What is wrong with being me? Procrastination. Well, that’s something I can do something about, right?
If I can’t become someone else, what is the point?
Chaos. Procrastination is part of that. Dyspraxia? I have finally sent email to dyspraxia people, after two months – hooray! Must mean that there’s something I want to do even less, ie C’s work, although she is keen to pay me for it, am I keen to do?
What is so awful about me? I give up. No, I don’t mean I give up on the question, I mean that is one of the things that’s wrong with me. I give up on everything. I have no self-discipline. I am lazy. I run away. These seem like things that it ought to be easier to do something about than the chaos. Given the (possibility of) dyspraxia.
Why do I hate myself so much? Why not? Why wouldn’t I hate myself, given that I know all my faults and I can’t escape from them? I am stuck here with them. I have to do this work and I don’t want to. I don’t want to do anything that I have to use my brain for. I am afraid of failure.