People think I have it all together.
No one that reads here, obviously, but people in general.
They see the magnificent facade that I have cultivated over years and years of the universe relaxing its sphincter over my head, coming up for air shaking the shit from my hair, and think that no matter what life throws at me I can handle it.
An unfortunate side effect of seeming so fucking FABULOUS, is that I am then deemed capable of supporting everyone else.
I am constantly bombarded with phone numbers and email addresses of parents with kids with Autism, or husbands that have wives that have had strokes, or some chick that tore her Achilles and would like me to give her information.
These well meaning people, tell these other people that have yet to realise that the world sucks and no one really gives a shit about your pain so suck it the fuck up and build a wall (or start a blog), that I can HELP them.
Give them a call and make it all better.
Kiss their fucking boo boos.
Which is flattering and all, and perhaps I should write an ebook about how to seem fucking FABULOUS while on the inside just breathing is becoming a struggle, but I don’t have anything for them.
Nothing more to give.
My everything is just keeping it together in public, holding on till a day alone where I can fall apart in private. Then sweep it all up from the floor, put everything back where it belongs, and swan the fuck outta here.
But no one wants to hear that.
They see a chick who has it all together, and want to help their friends so pass the responsibility on to me.
An email from a work mate about her friend.
A facebook message from an acquaintance that knows someone who needs help.
Today, while perusing the dairy case in Coles because omg CHEEEEEEESE, the butcher whose son went to Primary School with Boo passed on a phone number from one of his friends whose sister needs support with a boy just like Boo.
I took the number, felt the responsibility lift from his shoulders, and a smile of relief washed over his face as the burden was passed over to me.
It was only in the car that I looked at the name.
I already know this woman, have already spent many hours counselling her on the phone and listening to her in coffee shops, taking over the conversion of the Autism support group I ran in another lifetime.
And I don’t wanna. I just don’t wanna.
I don’t have the energy to do this any more. To spend hours listening or emailing back and forth.
I don’t have the answers.
Just because I have *insert your issue here* doesn’t make me an expert in your mothers neighbours sisters boyfriends nephew.
Or have the capacity to take on their pain.
You are going to have to find someone else to pass your phone numbers and desperation to.
These are not the droids you are looking for.
Sometimes being fucking fabulous is not all it is cracked up to be.
Does this happen to you? And more importantly, how do I tell them
to fuck off and leave me alone no?