Written @ 9:05 a.m. on 2007-05-15
Hil, Human Fried Chicken
B. brought me icecream last night to cheer me up, and I'm eating it for breakfast. Life is good. God bless Ben and Jerry. One of B's friends, a married man in his forties, the one-armed man from the wrestling stories, gave B. a very good piece of advice. "If she is upset, no matter what it is, bring her icecream. You will be a hero." True dat.
I was upset because I stumbled upon some old writing of mine, before trainwreck, and it made me feel sad. I am sad because I am not the girl I was...young, strong, articulate, assertive, brave, creative, humming with life and optimism. The trainwreck killed such a huge part of me, and now I feel like a raisin compared to my previous grape-ness. I called my best friend, who has known me since first grade, and she assured me that I am the same girl that she has always known.
It's subtle, this loss. Even my very best friend can't see it. I see it. I know that what was once whole, pink skin in my soul is now gravelly road rash. The girl who loved nature, shakespeare, and independent films, now thinks about cleaning toilets, paying bills, and custody issues. I curse every other word. I'm overweight. I'm not exploding with ideas. I'm tired.
It's not that my life isn't good. I love my life. My days are easy and I am surrounded by so many blessings, not the least of which are my two dynomite little girls. I just feel scabbed up by all of these previous experiences, and it really became so clear when I saw the beautiful, hopeful, energetic way that I used to write. I've turned into a human t.v. dinner. That made me cry.
Maybe I could be a good t.v. dinner. I'm fried chicken, not yucky salisbury steak. What I mean is, I think it's pointless to try to go back to what I once was. I'm not spiritual, creative and interesting Liosha anymore. I'm Hilthethrill now, frayed, gutsy, honest. With mashed potatoes.
My best friend told me,"The fact that you even think about this separates you from the rest, Hil. What you don't get is that other people don't have this introspection. They don't think,"I don't like that about myself. I'm going to work to change." They only think about what is directly in front of them. That drive you have is unique and rare."
"This drive I have is killing me. I'm going to die a white trash ghetto mother."
"No, you are not."
"Yes, I am."
"I feel the same way."
"You can't be white trash. You are jewish."
"I'll be the first."
It's so good to have old friends to talk to. Since this change, I have stopped calling myself Hilary, and started calling myself just Hil. I introduce myself as Hil and sign my name that way. I'm different. It just takes some getting used to. I have to get to know this person, this "after" person. I'll let you know how it goes.