Dear Salsa Dance Instructor,
You are the only one who notices my various toe nail polishes. Thank you. I mean it. No one seems to see me, and so, I’m happy to accept your compliments. When you comment that green is the colour of hope, I feel like crying, but hopefully you don’t notice.
I guess I have no talent for dancing. But then, I am currently very depressed, so really, it’s a miracle I make it out to the studio in the first place.
Yours very sincerely, Ellen.
Just wanted to put that out there.
I am depressed. I wake up in parts, one of whom keeps saying she wants to die. Another wants to go home. Or is it the same one? With the parts, come feelings of disaster, of things crashing in, or having just crashed in. It seems best not to get up, not to move around too much.
In dance class last night, every man corrects me. I need to do the steps this way or that way. I feel like a child. Some of them are more experienced than me, but some not. One very young man, who has less experience than I do and who really is NOT THAT FUCKING WONDERFUL, ahem, tells me repeatedly how I should be holding my arms.
I suspect I am putting out a childish vibe, leading people to see me as less than capable. I have a habit of doing that. I seem to be less capable than others, in their eyes anyhow, in every area of my life. It sucks. I am not showing up as a strong mature woman at all. And yet, I can do it. Just not very consistently, and people make up their minds fast.
I’m sure I’m not that talented. But why do I need to be? It’s just for fun. I can do the dances OK. I practice. I pay attention. Lately, I’ve even been dressing up a bit, wearing more feminine clothes, which helped me feel more adult at times.
When I’m depressed, everything seems horrible. I’m seeing the dark side for sure. I think that side is always there, but it’s not functional to focus on it.
I’ve got a voice mail from a recruiter – must return the call. The thought of doing so is awful. I need to dredge up cheeriness, enthusiasm, and cool competence. All complete lies.
But. I did vacuum my bedroom, after posting about it here. Which means I can spread out my yoga mat again and do some meditation. Progress is possible.
I wonder if dancing is a microcosm for my issues. All the insecurities, the issues with criticism, feeling not good enough, come tumbling out , dark sludge at the bottom of the sack. Feeling everyone is my judge. Angrily pushing back – how dare you tell me what to do?
Today I need to buy food and cook. I’d like to take a walk down by the lake. Phone back the recruiter. Laundry? I can do this. I can do at least some of this.