Self-reflection is a bitch.

I think the only thing I've ever really had any long term success at is blogging.  And I don't mean SUCCESS in the manner of making money and a bajillion readers.  No one would pay me for this shit.  It's just been, for me, a success because it is one thing that I have never wanted to give up on.  One thing that I never get bored with.  I've never regretted using my time to do it.  I've always felt happy to blog.  In fact, for someone with anxiety, I sure as hell don't mind telling a crapload of people I'll never meet about some pretty intimate details of my life.

I'm also really successful at Facebook.  Which I don't really think counts as a hobby.  Or as a long term project.  And certainly Mr. Zuckerberg is far more Facebook successful then I, or I'd be running that bitch and it wouldn't suck so bad.  If you spent any time staring over my shoulder, however, you'd think I was training for the Facebook Olympics.  If you ask my husband what I do when I am online, his answer would be Facebook.  Hands down.  He's pretty sure it's the only thing I actually like to do.  And some days that would be an entirely true statement.

You know what the lame thing is?  I don't really know what I like.  I don't know that I have ever really taken the time to find out.  Shouldn't I have done that?  I mean, I know that I do like things.  I like listening to music.  I like to read.  I like to sew and craft.  I adore blogging and Facebook.  Even though Facebook makes me grind my teeth and cost me a dear friend.  I enjoy taking photos.  I like making photo books with those photos.  But mostly, I like to sit in a recliner in my living room and stare out the window while hiding from the world.  And until I figure out what is keeping me here like a deer in the headlights, I don't think I'm ever really going to figure anything out.

Because I'm like a deer in the headlights.  I don't know what I'm doing most of the time.  I don't even really know who I am.  I have no real identity.  At least, that's how I've started to see myself in recent months.  If I look in the mirror, I'm just there.  I don't have a label.  And as much as it's good to not force labels on people, I would like something I could tattoo on my forehead.  Something that would give a person a clue about who I really am without it being WIFE, MOTHER or BIPOLAR.  Because quite honestly, in real life, that's all I got.

Who am I really?  If I was struck by lightening right this very second {which I have not been} and someone had to speak about me at the funeral {which I do not want to have} what could they really say?  Quite honestly, I can't think of anything to say about myself.  Not that I think I should be vain enough to sit down and pen myself a nice eulogy, I'm just thinking out loud here.

And it's not a matter of my mortality.  But it is a matter of being someone.  I don't want to be Steve Jobs or Mother Theresa.  And I don't just mean I want people to think I'm a nice person.  Because for whatever reason, there are plenty of people that still manage to think I am.  I want people to remember me being passionate about something.  Anything really.  And I don't particularly want them to remember that I spent too much time on Facebook writing witty status updates.  And let me tell you, when I want to, I can write one hell of a witty status update.

I think there's a point to all this.  And maybe it's just that I'm sick of being afraid.  And lifeless.  I have no focus.  No goal.  Nothing long term.  And I'm sick of feeling like there is no purpose to my life.  A potentially deadly thought for someone sitting in a depressed state.  {How lovely to be able to recognize something and still be so powerless against it.} Of course, I do have to make sure those small beings I created stay alive on a daily basis.

I don't have a passion for anything.  I don't have something that makes me tick.  I don't have that thing that puts a spark in my eye.  Something that makes me feel refreshed.  Alive.  Important. Vital.  I'm not living life right now.  I'm walking, talking and breathing, but I am most definitely not living.  And I know it.  I just don't know if there is anything I can do about it.  At least not right now.

Self-reflection is such a bitch.