ms de winter, i presume?

Who I am is not important.
Okay. So that’s a lie. It’s pretty darn important, because—well, heck, it’s me isn’t it?
Who I am is not important. Well, not as important. Unimportant enough for me to just say that. Not important enough for me to lie about it.
Blogs are as far removed from reality as funny mirrors are. You believe what you perceive, but at the same time, something inside you tells you what you’re looking at is illusion. Damn right it is. Its just words after all.
Words are powerful. But that’s all they are. Words. Easily effaced, easily erased; easily twisted into points and counterpoints. I can see purists cringing already. What a sensation I am going to be.
I will say it out front. There’s no use being squeamish about it—after all, with all due respect to Google’s search engine, barely anyone is ever going to chance upon this. I have a problem.
So what—so does everyone else, you know. Biggies, itty-bitties, not-so-big-ones, not-so-little-ones. Are you at all familiar with mind your language?
Okay. I have several itty-bitties; in fact I think I have a good mix of each. Let’s put them aside for a minute- they’re not all there is to me, although most often I have a really hard time believing that. Okay, so hard a time that I must catalogue some of them; itchy fingers, you know?

I have personality related issues. I’ve lived through violence, incest, child and spousal abuse. I think it’ll make me crack up some day
I have confidence issues. Sure. This smooth whey faced image isn’t really me, is it? If you met me (well I think that's true for the vast majority) you’d never notice me. But I have inferiority issues. And I’m pretty badly in hate with myself.
I have weight issues. I can’t stop eating sometimes; it’s like a compulsion. I overdo it, and then I overcompensate. And swing on and on. Funny. I hate roundabouts. One would think I’d stop.
I adore Keats, but I don't think its fair of him to subconsciously foist his problems on me. Argh- I made that up. He doesn't visit me at night. But yes, I do feel the tug of war between desire and denial that he was always umpiring. Desire- for people. For the human touch. Love. Affection. All that jazz. Denial. Because no one wants me- or I think they don't, I overdo it and tell myself I don't need anyone. Well, except my puppy. I am the love of her life.
My job. I am frankly- quite unhappy with it. And I think the only reason im still here is because of the money. Lord- how mercenary of me! Still, hyperventilating every day when looking at a sheet full of numbers is not fun.

That I think about sums it up. What a groaner I am. No wonder my boyfriend is often tired of me. Still, sometimes I tire of him too.

And now I think I’ve done quite enough. For today, of course. Because somehow, I intend to work my way through these problems. And document my struggle and probable failures.