Usually, once a day or so, I get that coveted phone call. My sole experience with living, breathing, emoting people. Mind you, I really enjoy blogging and doing all of my art projects, but it doesn't get the job done anymore. Lately I have noticed that my one communication with the outside world always involves doing something for someone else with all the trappings that come with friends and family. Babysit my kid, shop for groceries, do the dishes, give me money, help my kid, run an errand, pick the kid up from school, shop for more groceries, etc. seem to be the only things that I hear. I am tired of playing the doormat, but I don't have the testicles to actually do something about it.
My situation often reminds me of a song in the musical Chicago that sums up my situation perfectly. It is called "Mr. Cellophane." I often feel that I am made up of a transparent material that only comes out of the kitchen drawer when you can't find the lid to your favorite piece of Tupperware. Nobody really wants to use cellophane; it is just convenient. And when the piece of crumpled plastic no longer serves its purpose, it goes directly in the trash. Do not pass go. Do not collect $200.
The saddest part about being virtually invisible is the constant ruminating that keep the brain running in circles, the constant hope that someone will call because they want to and not because they have to, and the constant heartache that comes when I realize that the situation is never going to change. I am tired of playing the role of doormat in my own production of my life. I am ready for change but my world may not be ready for it. I think that the world will be greatly surprised when I gather my strength and shake off the cellophane garb that renders me virtually invisible. All I can do is pray that I am seen for exactly what I am instead of what I can do for others.
Chicago -"Mr. Cellophane"
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