I've collapsed. I'm like a girl in a squat who just sleeps all day-- a faded beauty surrounded by things that might have once been grand. I was once useful and now I am just a drain. BUT I will wake up one day and my greatest fear is that I will be alone. I'm sorry I've turned into the girl in the picture. But I believe what was once beautiful can be salvaged again with belief and hope. Am I right, Ethers?

Dear Ethers, 

I know I was supposed to share my Valentino catwalk show with you today, but I wanted to hold off and address something that has been causing me great anxiety.  

My blog has been very negative and depressing lately.  I don’t know what to do about it.  I’m afraid what I write is redundant and dreary.  I fear it’s become a broken record.  I’m even bored hearing about my saga with English gent and Los Angeles and my woes about my career.  But I pose the question: if this blog is supposed to be real and honest—and about my daily thoughts—then what am I supposed to do?  

Maybe it was a foolish challenge to write every day.  I mean, others do it, but often they have jobs where they have fresh material that they can bring to the table everyday.  Me?  I’m just a normal person—and who really wants to read about someone else’s “normal” when they have their own B.S. to deal with daily?  

When I started One of 365 I wanted to be everything to everyone.  I wanted to be a shoulder to lean on, a smile for someone, a big laugh, a brilliant insight, a fashion guru, a beauty aficionado—I wanted to be the girl that would have impressed Mr. X and everyone else out there in the world.  I wanted to write my little heart out and have everyone relate to me in someway because I felt that I could connect the human spirit whether you lived in Uganda or the USA.  I loved to write and had so much to say and felt blogging was a dream opportunity. 

I feel like I’ve failed.  For about 2 weeks I’ve wanted to throw in the towel.  Erase One of 365 from the blogosphere, delete my e-mail address and my Twitter account and do what I feared most—-fade into the ether.  I felt like an arthritic 90 year old every time I sat at my keyboard writing.  It felt painful to type, to search for images, to feel anything.  I’ve been rubbish at responding to comments (which is my FAVORITE thing about my blog), writing to other blogs I’m a fan of (sorry guys) and Tweeting (which I also adore because of the live and clever banter).  

On the 29^th I will be a quarter of the way through my 365 days. I’ve come a long way, but still have a hell of a long journey ahead.  I know sometimes we hit potholes in life and since my blog is really reflective of my life, can you understand that I’m in a deep pothole–a deep, scary pothole?  I mean, I hope that the 4 wheel drive will kick in and I’ll get out of this and those of you who will have stuck with me will be able to see this dark cloud’s silver lining shine again.  Look, I can’t go on much longer like this either, so if you think reading about this everyday is crummy, imagine living it…. 

My point is, this blog is a journey——and I made no promises that it was ever going to be a smooth ride.  To put it crassly: things suck right now.  But even though it often takes all my strength to sit down and write this and face my feelings, I sometime don’t know what I’d do without this site.  

Will you take my word on something Ethers?  I’m really a nice person who is in a pinch right now.  I’m loving, but desperate.  Hopeful, but crushed.  Amidst people, but lonesome.  And don’t let this scare you, but sometimes I wish I could just fall asleep and never wake up.  But I can’t imagine life without me in it. God knows how, but I get up with my heart in my mouth and I manage to tick each day off the calendar hoping that maybe tomorrow will be the day that the 4 wheel drive kicks in.  

I’m only 29.  But my god, I’m fucking 29.  Can you understand that sentiment?  Amelia Burr said “Because I have loved life, I shall have no sorrow to die.”  I do not feel that way at all.  My dying wish is to have that inscribed on my gravestone.

Dedicatedly yours,

—One of 365

I'm running out of time...English gent and I are running out of time....and all I can do is just shut my eyes and fall asleep because in some demented way I think it makes time go away. But it's the worst thing---because sleep to a depressed person is like a drug. While you're gone--the hit is real nice. You're asleep and away from pain. But when you wake up and the drift has worn off--time has still passed and you've just made it far worse for yourself. I just sometimes don't know how else to cope without aching so badly...

Dear Ethers,

I woke up this morning and I wasn’t feeling good.  Not in a feverish way, but in a mental way.  The sky was heavily clotted with gray and black clouds, there was a chill in the air, and it was a Sunday (never a good day for me).  It had been a lousy weekend after hearing about the news regarding my job and I had been kept up all night ruminating about my life and wondering what I was going to do.  I had to wake up early to go see a film (the last thing I wanted to do). On little sleep, I hauled ass and went.  It was a comedy and I barely cracked a smile.  

I was supposed to make my debut at the gym and start a whole healthy routine again, but all I wanted to do was get into bed and be comforted by the warm duvet and disappear.  I was in and out of consciousness having odd dreams and the night just ticked away.  Right now my heart is racing, I feel shaky, I haven’t eaten and I don’t think I could stomach much of anything anyway.  Facing tomorrow seems frightening.  English gent’s visa is up in 20 days and if he doesn’t get his paperwork in he has to go back to England.  They were really rough with him at the border—and buying a ticket is out of the question.  We need to turn in that paperwork if he is gonna stay in the States, but neither of us know what to do—do we bolt and go back to what we know (London) or hand over $2000 we really don’t have (and might be better spent on tickets to London and a deposit on a flat)?  Do we stay in America (he can’t leave the country for 6 months) and remain miserable trapped in a country or at least a city and a living situation that is unbearable?  And, we really only have days to decide.  Remain here or, like people on speed, pick up and pack up—as well as find a flat and jobs in the UK.  

I’m in a major mess.  I am so sorry that my posts have been depressing. I’m sure you guys miss my fun entries and my nutty stories.  But I’d be lying if I didn’t tell you what was really going on in my life.  

I wish I could take all my mistakes away (all of us do)—but everything just feels overwhelmingly too late.  English gent is like a fish out of water here and hates it—so I know he will inevitably want to go back to England–so why am I wasting my precious $2000?  I had so many problems in the UK–so I’m afraid to return but also eager for my freedom and its comforts that I know so well.  But who can help me there?  If I move, my parents won’t give me a dime, I don’t know what profession will take me on……………

Look, there are no more kind, comforting comments you lovely Ethers can make.  You have been INCREDIBLY supportive.  Too generous.  Nobody likes the girl who always is sad.  Nobody likes the girl who always is crying and complaining—especially when I’m sure each of you have your own problems.  I just use this forum as a platform to spew.  This is why I lose friends a lot of the time.  They see me one way, but then the dark-side comes out and they abandon me.

I gotta get back into bed.  I really don’t feel good.  My “Wish List” will be up and running–probably a bit later than normal tomorrow.  Wish me luck…..I hope I don’t get any un-welcomed news waiting for me from my job.  I also hope that English gent and I make the right decision…we’ve made so many bad ones.  Maybe even staying together this long—a whole other mess and saga you all know very well.

Thanks for your time…………and understanding.  I won’t always be like this.  I still have 8.5 months ahead of me on this blog—let’s hope by the end, I’ll be where I need to.  That’s the point of this—it’s my journey, right?  But those clock hands keep ticking and shoving me towards the future and I have to stop believing that if I lay on them and sleep they won’t move forwards.

Dedicatedly yours, 

—One of 365

I never gently fall to sleep. I try and set my mind to conjure happy memories. I reckon this is what I might look like whilst I dream. Hair tousled, lips slightly opened. I see myself slightly grainy. I am between two universes--one where I wish I could remain and one where my body lies. Some would say it would be hell to live in a memory. But what happens if your present is far more painful? Would YOU sleep, perchance to dream?

Dear Ethers, 

Have you ever had that empty feeling in your chest?  You know it.  The one where you breathe in and there feels like a huge hole and then a slight shiver of anxiety and pain.  This is exactly what I’ve been experiencing lately.  And I’ve looked at my last posts and realized that they have been so negative and I’m scared that they’re depressing you.  This is what always happens to me.  I make friends because I seem effusive and happy.  But as time roles on and life happens, I start to reveal myself and people get turned off by the real me.  The me that is a depressive.  A glass half-empty girl.  The scared, nail-biting to cover her face for protection, sleep all day, cry at night, girl who might look good on the outside but is crumbling on the inside.  See, I’ve never written a journal—especially a public one.  So, I don’t know what’s going to happen.  Will you all go away?  Or, in some sad, miserable way, does this bring you closer to me because either misery loves company or you feel sorry for me?   

Every night before I go to bed, I close my eyes and I try to conjure happy moments to try and calm myself.  I dream about things like the first time I met English gent and bought him a giant topiary (about 5 feet tall) I schlepped home from Columbia Road Market (on the tube) to surprise him.  He still gave me butterflies then.  I visualize me buttoning up my dad’s white shirt under his tux before he went to the Emmy’s.  He swore he wouldn’t win but I bought him a “No Fear” brand shirt that said “If you can’t win don’t play” that he wore underneath his fancy button down.  And all I hear is the booming sound when they announced his name while my brother and I were sitting in the audience that evening.  He let me carry the statue all night.  I dream of when I was a ballerina and got a lead part.  We were poor but my mom saved every penny and bought me the expensive pink tulle dress that I needed to perform and I swore to myself that I would dance my heart out that night and prove to her it was worth every cent. I still have that little pink dress in my closet—I never stored it because it reminded me to be humble.  I remember not wanting to read the last pages of “Gone With The Wind” because I didn’t want to lose Scarlett.  And that I left that damned book with 3 pages in it for a year before I had the heart to finish it.  And when I did, boy did I cry.  

Life is full of memories.  We all have them don’t we?  But that’s my point.  We are all so complicated.  Everyone has a story.  And we all love to hear the good ones.  But it’s when they turn ugly—we flee.  So when I lay in bed at night, I imagine being that girl with all the good stories to tell.  I dream of being only in the good moments and cutting away all of the ugly patches in my life.   Yes, I do take anti-anxiety medication to help lull me away.  To take away the ache.  How very sad.  I’m a broken machine that needs pills to fix it.  You know, I know so many people who are so happy with their lives.  And they never wanted for much.  They are in normal jobs, making normal money married to an everyday Joe.  Why couldn’t I want that?  Why did I have to want the world?  Why did I have to be a dreamer? What comes with dreams are risks, pain and loss.  

Ethers.  I want to run.  Bolt. Hide. Fade away.  Because then nothing new could hurt me and I could just cut away the shit and close my eyes everyday and I wouldn’t have to live in my dreams.  I relate to Scarlett when she said to Rhett “Where shall I go, what shall I do?” Because I don’t have anywhere to go AND I don’t know what to do.  And we all know what he answers….the famous line, “Frankly my dear, I don’t give a damn.”  And then he walks in the fog.  But do you remember what she says?  “I’ll think of it all tomorrow….after all, tomorrow is another day.”  Yes, tomorrow IS another day…………but the nightmare is a perpetual tomorrow, AND tomorrow AND tomorrow…and the the fear of nobody left TO genuinely give a damn.

Dedicatedly yours,

—One of 365