Tears of a Clown, Baby.

Celeste is like my therapist. She knows when I'm lying to myself, and whether I've realized I'm lying to myself or not yet. She knows when I'm hurt. She knows what will or won't hurt my feelings, and sometimes disregards that in favor of telling me the truth. She's real. She's been through it.. lord have mercy that woman has had a life worthy of a book. She doesn't judge me out loud. And even better? When I'm talking to her, I don't see judgement in her eyes, in those little telling gestures, the inflection of her voice.. all those subtle things your friends sometimes do when they're judging on the inside. She sees things in me that I don't see.

She thinks I'm a swan that just hasn't seen my true reflection yet.

We have the best conversations I think I've ever had with anyone. (And boy, do I know how to converse.) She came over after work to hang out for an hour or two because she didn't have her son today. We started talking about something we'd started on the day before. We were making fun of ourselves, as we often do. Celeste and I have addictive tendencies, and we both have loved, and do love, some addicts of our very own. My addiction is food, and I don't think that's a surprise. Celeste says it's not fair that some people have to wear their addictions on the outside for the world to see and judge, and the rest of them get to live it on the inside where they can hide it. I've told her that people that have weight problems almost always have uber-sensitive hearts. We need the padding to protect us from the outside world. Sometimes it's easier if people just go ahead and judge you right up front so you get it over with, then to have them get to know you, and THEN reject you. Weight is a wall that I put up, regardless of whether I mean to or not, to see who cares enough to find a way around it.

Yes, indeedy. Fat can sure weed out the assholes. And when it doesn't? Well, I don't have to tell you how it feels to let someone in, just to have them drive the blade in deep and leave you bleeding. We've all been there.

These are the things Celeste and I talk about. I'm sure it's obvious now why Celeste is one of the few people that can get under my skin. I want her to stop probing me with questions and making me think about why I am the way I am, so I strike out at her sometimes. Fuck, can that woman take some abuse and keep coming at you with her understanding brown eyes and open arms. It's REALLY annoying. (she said, as she laughed through her tears.)

Yesterday, she pointed out if she'd gone through quitting her issues (they are not for me to blog), I could stop eating macaroni and cheese. This threw us into fits of uncontrollable laughter. I absolutely love the way she spins the truth, and she loves that I get why that is really fucking funny. She said "Man, it's "I'm so depressed being the way that I am, but I don't want to change." and I said "Yeah, it's like "I wish I was dead every day, but then again, I don't want to die."

Today, we continued that conversation. I said "I want to blog that, but then all my friends would know I wished I was dead all the time. I mean, I'm the funny one. When I'm with my friends, and I'm making them laugh, it makes me forget I wish I was dead." (And please don't start calling me thinking I'm taking a whole bottle of Tylenol PM. I'm killing myself slowly. You know, with food. haha.. ha)

We talked about how that was often the case with people with a good sense of humor. You know what I'm saying? It seems like the funnier someone is, the more tortured they are. I'm not saying it's everyone. Maybe some people are funny because they're so fucking lala happy, but I don't really know any of those people. I'm not saying if you're funny you're unhappy.... (though that could be true). Maybe just that the more unhappy you are, the more funny you are forced to become to balance yourself out.

Cause what the hell else are you gonna do, but laugh?

I'm trying to deal with my issues. I don't want to be so secretly and violently unhappy anymore.

But, in the meantime, to all my friends who make me laugh, and who know all about my fuck-ups, and love me anyway?

I love you, too.

~