A Dolly For Sue.

"It's a girl! And she's gonna be a piano player!"

That's all it took. Mere seconds after my birth, I was defined. I was a girl and I was going to play piano. My long fingers (my father's passion for tickling the ivories was unknown to the doctor) created an identity for me; the first of many, I assure you.

Through all the years, that's always been my thing. I know who I AM. I can identify myself in dozens, nay, hundreds of ways! I can use analogy, metaphor, cute pop culture references, science, song lyrics, medical terms, foreign language (to an extent), my friends' words, quotes, puns, lists, and the occasional knock knock joke to define myself in a way that you are guaranteed to appreciate. And to boot, I can probably make you laugh! See? There's another one, one my best friend's dad pointed out... I am The Funny One.

But guess what, guys.
I am not a piano player. Sure, I can smash out a few Christmas carols and one or two classical pieces that I picked out by ear. And I can play the SHIT out of the Simpson's theme song. But I am not a piano player. Nor am I a teacher. Or an actress.  Or Daria. Or a lawyer. Or a Red Cross volunteer. Or a college graduate.

And of all the dichotomous lines I walk, I think the one between my projections/the things I get people to think by the clever labels I promote and who I really am is the thinnest. Because to be good at sleight of hand, you have to use the truth to distract people, about 70% of the time. The rest is all buzzwords and being clever and smiling in just the right way.

Lately I've lost some friends. And it hurts. And I really hate it. Because some of their critiques were valid. But some weren't. And when it comes to what people say to me, I get lost in that gap so easily.

I always have been able to get waist deep in other people's problems like most people breathe. But I don't do it for power. I don't do it so I can feel better about myself. I do it because it hurts me not to. It's why I don't believe in altruism. I do not get involved in trying to help people because it's the right thing to do. I get my hands dirty because it makes their pain stop. And when they hurt, I hurt. I want MY pain to stop. And so...

But that way lots of freakin' drama lies. And though I prided myself on never, ever giving up on anyone or anything, ever.... my life is a lot easier without those people in it. Sorry. It just is. But I still find myself exhausted all the time, thinking of those people, lost and needing someone who can love them. I look at my Usual Bar sometimes and I see all these people who are somehow not quite right. They're birds who don't fly, they swim. They're trains with square wheels. Elephants with polka dots. And I love them. I love them for their broken pieces, like I want them to love me for mine, because I am still convinced that I am so fucked up. I look around and I see the same patterns, the same, well, choices that I myself have made and seen made before. I used to sit and feel at home in this place, like it was what I really wanted. Like it was so great. Like, DAMN, this is who I AM!

But much like the acting. Like the law career that never was. Like that fucking piano prodigy I never morphed into... this place, with its dying hopes and cliques is just not who I am. Because so much of what's wrong with me is all up in my head--shocking! And so now the work begins. Which fucking sucks. Because being a better version of yourself is awesome. But the adaptation and pain of the changes that lead to that are just horrible. Because I know it's all in my head. And I know I can do this.

So, here I am, a little Dolly for Sue, on this Island of Misfit Toys.
But don't worry, darlings. I have so many dreams left to dream.