As I lay in my bed last night watching old Sex and the City reruns for a consecutive four hours, I got the urge to get up and eat. I was already full from the dinner I had, but I still wanted to search the cabinets for a little something.
I was feeling lonely, depressed, and living vicariously through Carrie Bradshaw. And although her and her girlfriend’s lives are fascinating, nothing that happened in the show could replace the uncomfortable void I felt in my actual life.
This quote by Erma Brombeck, when she wrote “If I had to live my life over” near the end of her life, came to mind:
“I would have cried and laughed less while watching television – and more while watching life”
I asked myself, how often do I escape through television, fashion magazines, and celebrity gossip? How often do I cry and smile at the lives of other people (usually fictional characters by the way!)? And there is only one reason I do this. I do not have the balls to sob, cry, feel, laugh, or smile at my own life. It would be too painful. It would mean I would have to confront things. Like, how I avoid being honest and open with any of my friends. How I constantly resent others in my head for not liking and praising me, the way I think I deserve. Or How I should be focusing on becoming a better student, friend, daughter, sister, citizen, than trying to lose 25 pounds.
I don’t have the courage to laugh or cry at the pain/weirdness of my own life. I would rather eat oreos and watch a woman’s interesting sexual adventures on TV.
But heres to accepting, feeling, laughing, and a whole lot of crying to our own lives. Because even though it is painful and totally the last thing I want to do, ever, I am starting to think that once I drop the Us Weekly and start making an effort to live my life, maybe, just maybe I will start to heal.