I was speaking with a fellow blogger yesterday about a photograph and quote that he posted. It was a photo of one of my idols, Marilyn Monroe. I told him that I felt her pain. He then asked what emotion(s) do you feel when you look at it. All of a sudden this torrent of words flowed out of me. I was so floored by what I wrote and how I felt, I became exhausted in mind, body and spirit. I then thought more about it. What is my emotion when I look at that picture of Marilyn. It’s a simple photo. She, laying on a bed, reading a book. On thinking ability, no less.
That’s where my fears of inadequacy creep in. I think about not going to college, so I don’t feel smart enough to write well. Speak well. Act right. Be normal. What the fuck is normal anyway? As Salvadore Dali said, I am not strange, I am just not normal. On that thought, why be normal? I’m happy with my angst, my eccentricities, my stupid horse laugh, and my mannish sounding speaking voice.
I have this insatiable need for validation. To be told I’m smart, pretty, funny, loving, etc. I tell you all that I fear nothing, but I do. I fear being forgotten. Of being bi-polar. Of not doing everything that I want to do. Of getting fat again. Of not being enough. Of, of, of, of all of the above and more.
I fear the fact that I may get thousands of likes but that one dislike kills me. Why should I give a shit, really??? I’m good, I’m happy, I’m loving and I’m loved. What more could a silly blonde girl want?
I fear that I’m a narcissist, arrogant, and I fear being alone. I fear that I will drown in my own abyss of self-destruction. Of which I have control of right now, but what about tomorrow? I fear that the words within me will stop. That I won’t be able to find them. I fear that I will be exposed. That you will find out that I’m not what I say I am. That I’m not a sparkly girl. That I’m a moody girl that cuts herself metaphorically with music and the written word.
I don’t say these things to get you all to feel sorry for me. I say them because these feelings are real. My biggest fear is being forgotten. I think it’s why I act the way I do. So you don’t forget me. I’ve said before I’m like a cheap red wine. I’ll show you one hell of a good time, but you’ll feel like shit in the morning when the buzz has worn off.
I don’t want positive reinforcement from this post. I’m just saying what I feel. Bleeding as it were. I want to keep bleeding. I want to hemorrhage. Hemorrhage a fantastic novel, I hope. We’ll see.
I told all of this to my dear friend, the Biker Renaissance Man today. He looked into my eyes and said, you will never be forgotten. You are our Nae. We come to you to share our stories. Our sadness, and our joy, because you love us and you applaud us. You feel everything we feel. He took me in his arms, hugged me and then gave me a fist bump. He said, you will never be forgotten because of what you give us, and that is connection. I was so overwhelmed that I couldn’t speak. I just let him hold me, and in that hug I knew, I knew I would never, ever have to fear being forgotten.