Balance check

So, this is the place where I totally expose myself, to those who knows nothing about me. Its like screaming in the desert. Kinda like everyday life but backwards. Out there, I'm kinda hard to go unnoticed, still people can't see what I'm really made of. Here you have all my soul, but that's it. Don't expect to recognize me on the streets, I have rather different colors from inside and out.
I told ya already that have been shitty times, but seems that once one get used to pain, the mind starts to adapt and get clearer again. Or at least able to process. I started thinking.

"Whatta hell am I doing to my life..?" - I've had these kinda thoughts before, but they were never as shocking as now. Probably also because, really, I've never thought I'd be facing such times. I guess I got quite good in overcoming a lotta emotional mess, but financial resection was something I wasn't expecting to struggle with.

Sounds ridiculous, I know. But its harder than it seems, to deal with material problems. And mind you I've never cared about money, I despise luxury, I don't even bother following fashion, I don't demand going to expensive places. But its also true that money was never an obstacle between me and my simple pleasures. My dreams are priceless, so why would I bother with cash.
But when things get serious to the point one has to choose between your mother's medicines or a cheap hair shampoo for basic hygiene, its a clear sign that situation went out of hand. Talk about crisis, I know it well as a Political Reporter... BUT, most of all, I feel it, I live it everyday.  My family and I weren't big fortune, but it seemed unlikely we could end up like this almost all of a sudden. And I know we're not the only ones. The crisis hit harder not the ones with billions, nor the already poor, but the middle classed like us, that had small investments and satisfactory jobs. Now jobs are gone, and so the money of small investors that supported my whole life.
Fuck all the emotional hurricane and wristcutting broken heart stories I've mostly filled my pages with. I feel now as if my whole life I've lived as a pink cotton candy teenager whom is immature enough to smile over own troubles, just because of some fairytalish faith that, in the end, was proven useful to keep me sane for a while. But the while is over. I'm getting closer to 40 than to 30, and definitely, things are NOTHING as I figured it would be, ten or fifteen years ago.

I was living for love, now I'm fighting by instinct. And seems there can be a different happiness in growing sceptical. I'm a hard student, I am a complimented lecturer and reporter, and at some point I know the money-issue will get back to stability and up to beyond. And those who knows my work hardly knows my heart. Those whom I gave my heart might not know the dark spots of my soul. But the woman of this aging body is no longer feeling sorry or apologizing for being self.

I still ain't proud, but I'm stronger. And its good enough to go on.