ramblo undetermined

Strangely, I guess, everything figures with my latest moods as I prepare to re-enter the world and its influence, back from isolation.
So watching both Groundhog Day and Mulholland Drive on the same day has brought to the light some of my most persistent fears. Such as that of failure, as mirrored by the doomed life of Diane Selwyn in M.D. or that of being left alone like the sarcastic and barren know-it-all Phil of G.D.

What do I know now?

The past is our anchor to reality. If good, it's reassurance, if bad it's heartache and doubt/shame, the suicide stone. Letting go of the old and accepting there might not be much "new" to embrace for a while is paramount to my moving on.
No, I was not born rich, talented and beautiful or any combination of those and for the longest time I thought I had to "make me" like that. This has left me with a deeply skewed version of myself

I can be myself in the world, that is a woman. I went out dancing with the girls for the first time last week and had oodles of fun but also my fair share of paranoia. Is everyone reading me? Do I pass? If so, what percentage of the time? In which situations? How close?

I can convince others who appreciate me in any way of my unworthiness very well.
I have become a master (mistress, *whipcrack*) of crushing others' good feelings about me. In deep denial that people can see and expect something good of me, I do my best to convince them of the contrary. I'm convinced I'm just this fake, failed, unattractive and sad person and I work actively to set others' ideas accordingly. Originally, this was a cry for help (I guess it still is, but it works in reverse.
Few people survive this onslaught and eventually everyone buckles to a certain extent given time. D and S are some of the only people who have gotten close to the dark poisonous flame inside me and still like me.
I need to stop it and I've been trying, though at this stage it still takes a. Lately I "screwed up" again with some people, but not *that* much

I don't want to end up like Diane.
Failed starlet Diane Selwyn succumbs under the pressure of her own crushed high expectations of herself, much like me. If I had taken drastic measures during one of my darkest depressions, our lives would have been very similar in their rise and fall.
Like me, she comes from abroad in search of her destiny and to realise her dream of being a star. She from Deep River, Ontario; me from the boondocks. She to Hollywood, me here.

There is a future, or at least it's worth investing in staying around. Mincing no words, I have been thinking of dying lately a lot. This was never a natural way out for me but in the last months this has been more and more persistent in my mind. During those long crying depressions the assertion that there is no hope has become stronger. I need to get out of this terminal stage.

Love cannot redeem me. Friendship cannot redeem me. Success cannot redeem me.

I hate myself too much, and that is serious stuff. Everyone who cares about me has felt this in a way. Self-absorbed in my hatred, I cannot feel empathy for others or their problems. Who cares, right? No one cares about MY problems which are *bad* enough anyway. Such thinking is poisonous and has finally added more self-loathing as I get further and further of the nice and sweet human being I want to be.