I do have the first years of my life autobiographically notated. I've even completed it up to my second child.
There is a theme that I have noticed as I reread and snip bits to post here.
I have been, from birth, nauseatingly hopeful. It's like a genetic flaw I cannot help. Some aspect of self that just would not stop.
Over and over I stepped up, trusting and hopeful to whomever would give me even a moment of a glance. Because from birth, I have been equally needy. And that IS nauseating.
Over and over I am willing to let my anger fall away on the chance that this time, I'll get what I am craving. Attention. Love. Adoration. Success. Recognition.
On the one hand, it means that while I do learn from my life, I was not letting the hurts and dead ends stop me from trying again. Perseverence.
On the other. I wasn't learning to look before leaping and kept leaping back into the fire.
I'm still reading and assessing. I'm still lonely and tired and depressed and just sick of myself.
And for some unfathomable reason I am beginning to really be annoyed with....
I am still stupidly hopeful.
