I feel like I’ve lost my identity. And not because someone stole my credit cards or something.
One of the hardest parts of not having my own home is that no one knows my “style”. That sounds sort of weird, I suppose, but it’s true. I realized the other day that of the people who are my friends now, not one of them knew me when I owned my own home… they have all become friends since we moved back here to Idaho, and we’ve lived with my parents the whole time so far. (I suppose that also says something about my lack of friends, but that’s another story for another time) So, you know, people use to come to my house and say “oh, you are into horses” because of the pictures and statues and stuff; or “gosh, I love your purple couches” or the antiques or oddities, or the way I’d painted my walls, whatever. It said something about who I was, in a way.
None of these people knew me before I was fat, either. All I ever wear these days is jeans and shirts, flipflops in summer, tennies in winter… a skirt on rare occasion. I don’t hate fashion; I hate how I look and just can’t abide spending money on things I will look crappy in anyhow. So there is nothing that says “this is the sort of flair I have”.
Also, no one really gets that I am passionate about horses. I haven’t owned any in, well, over 10 years, so that seems like a part of my life that is so far gone that no one even knows it used to be the biggest part of my life. I don’t even do any horse-related stuff, like go watch shows or go to the big Horse Affair they have here each year like I used to; it’s just too depressing to be so far removed from that life that I try not to think about it at all.
No one really knows me, I guess that’s what I am saying. And I am beginning to wonder if I truly know myself anymore. Who am I? Certainly not who I used to be… I don’t think… and I’m not really sure how to find out.