…But what I said to him about relationships was followed by, “And I hate myself anyway.” I stopped. I really do hate myself. I hate how I feel. I hate my body. I feel dirty. I hate that old men are attracted to me and I let them be. I hate that I know I don’t deserve a good guy my own age. I hate that my body doesn’t work and that even when it does I’m too ashamed and too tired to use it. I am the crazy cat lady, the librarian, the one with all the love and information who goes to the prom alone and dances with no one, who gets LEFT at the formal and lied to, who stays after so late at school that she’s paged multiple times over the intercom because she doesn’t want to go home. Like Vickie…
I hate walking outside the lines because there’s no one safe to walk with me. Little pieces of me I leave behind. Soon I’ll just be a hologram. Still walking, alone at night on an endless freeway, just right of the line. The sun comes up, sun goes down. Still walking. It just doesn’t end. I keep thinking maybe the next exit will work. It doesn’t. I sit down sometimes. People ask, “Why are you sitting on the freeway? Are you crazy? That’s dangerous.” I know. Call me crazy if you want. I’m just tired. Now leave me alone.
I watch the ants and the cars and the silence. The people as they fly by. The angry ones in traffic. Does it really matter that you’re late? And they think I’m crazy, walking step by step down an endless freeway that they probably never stopped to look at.
Don’t get me wrong. There are breaks. There is the ride to the restaurant from the farmer, the new pair of shoes, a night of dancing. And there are the nights I run as fast as I can to get away and scream and cry and cry out to God, “WHY IS THIS HAPPENING TO ME? WHY CAN’T YOU FIX IT?” But in the end I just keep walking because there’s nothing else to do.
“I’m All Alone” – Spamalot