Facing Me

I am sorry my readers that it has been some time since I last made an entry, but as most of you may know, this usually indicates that something is going on.

Once again school has taken up my time and now that I am in the final week, I am left with so many questions.  I realize that I have strict logically supportive opinions with correlating ambiguity.  

I was recently asked why I do not talk about myself much in conversation.  My first thought was "You don't ask the right questions if you even ask me a personal question to begin with."  Then I thought, "You want me to be a narcissistic freak always posting things about ME on Facebook because I am too self-absorbed to realize that there are other human who inhabit this planet?"  Strike two.  Third, I am a private person.  I have my life, my friends, and all you need to know is what I let you know.  Many of you have read prior posts and understand the privacy.  After a period of abusive solitude, I value my life as a whole.

Tonight someone told me they wanted to get to know me.  I was asked questions that I had trouble answering with the retort ringing "Why do you care?"  I answered as if I was choking down the words and then the person stated, "I know you are divorce, but I want to know more about you."  I know divorce is not uncommon and it is something that I may nonchalantly discuss, but to have it remembered felt weird considering its association.

After almost five years, I still get the looks, the questions, or the unnecessary empathy as though I am weak.  I have built an empire on my independence and been scorn for it.  I have created characters based on my experience as a method of freeing my imprisoned mind to appear normal outside the walls in which I live.  Some days I am 21,  I drink all night flirting with men and women with the cognitive thought that I am young and have nothing to lose.  Some days I am 35 in a midlife crisis, quietly shunned by society with no understanding as to why I am single at this age with no spouse and no kids.  (Easy, I'm a leper folks.  It's the ONLY way to explain that.)  Other days, I am an 80 year old woman whose husband passed away after their 50 wedding anniversary, but does not lack the energy in life as I race folks in my wheelchair down the hall and flirting with the male nurses who are always willing to give an innocent old woman a kiss on the cheek.  Then there are those days where...well, I'm basically dead, at least physically.  I have no age because time is just a figment of human imagination as a form of measurement as an explanation to why things change, but I then exist in color or maybe in a moment completely untraceable.

So maybe I do not tell you everything about me or even tell you at all knowing you would blow a gasket out your rear.  Maybe it is better to know me in silence...or through my screaming text (writings) of insanity. :P