Screaming Inside

I miss this city. I miss the energy and the freedom it gave me three years ago to grow and to challenge myself in my career. I don’t miss the way this city makes me feel, though.

I walk down the street with constant reminders of a community I’ll never belong to. I sit in a meeting and there’s a chassidish guy behind me and I have to turn around before I start to feel the vomit inside me rising. I go to Brooklyn and I’m afraid I’ll get photographed eating treif and drinking wine – see, she’s an alcoholic with her two glasses of mediocre Sauvignon Blanc! I tell a colleague about my story, the first time ever, and I feel sick the next day and wish I could take it back a thousand times. I plot my early escape because I’m going crazy with New York and it’s only been four days.

I’m sure some of my feelings are wrapped up in the holidays which are fast approaching. I’m sure that everyone feels just a bit more at this time of year because it’s so painful to not have what you both desperately need and what you absolutely must escape from. I once wrote about the peaks and valleys of my heart, and I’m careening towards a valley which right this second feels bottomless.

I’ll get back on the plane tonight. I’ll hug my babies and eat pizza and drink a Pinot Noir from Oregon I’ve been saving, and I’ll not bentsh licht or do anything that reminds me that in my heart there once was a Jewish girl who lived inside who really thought it would be better.

It gets besser is absolute bullshit. It gets more numb, it gets more removed, but besser it isn’t. It gets easier to scream on the inside.


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