Foggy

I haven't written in a long time. Not too long ago, when I thought I should, I felt that, actually, maybe I shouldn't.

Even though I still love you, the memories that bring me so much happiness are slowly making their way into the past. Just now, I went back to read what I had written on this blog and there is a mixture of emotion. I remembered how happy and in love I felt as I used my gift to express it into words. I also remembered how many times I would check my email to see if you left any comments. I remember the feeling I got when I realized you weren't going to comment. I used to think my writing made you happy. Now I don't know if you feel anything at all when you read my stuff.

I know that you know that I love your praise and your attention. But you seem unwilling or unwanting to give it. When you do reach out to hold me or tell me how much I mean to you is when I've gotten to the level of being really hurt or upset.

Lately I feel lost and in a daze. I'm afraid that I've given and given and given to the point of exhaustion and depletion. I'm embarrassed by my obvious cries for attention and people pleasing and I'm even more ashamed that they didn't work. All I've done is desensitize others to the essence of me. Now people and perhaps even you have simply gotten used to me, and I am no longer something to be cherished. I have done my job too well.

I don't know who I am anymore, who I want to be isn't working. I don't feel creative, I don't feel like a desireable woman. You wrote me something lovely and a couple of close friends noticed my lack of vitality and tried to say nice things to me but I have fallen so deep into thought I can barely understand the words.

I wish you still found me interesting, like you once did. Now a days I come in a distant second to our comfy bedroom and HD tv.

Somewhere I went wrong.

I blame myself.

Miss you.