The actual life there is hardship, disappointment, depression, embarrassment. Most of it I can't bear remembering, let alone photographing it.

This is clearly a bad sign. That I made decisions inconduscive to living happily is true. Because my decisions were based on recipes for living life well.

I decided to not move to New York. I decided my husband, my dogs, and the apartment I owned were important. I decided that "keeping it cool" and practicing stoicism took precedence to opening up and getting close to other people.

Because a red flag for me is commiserating with others. I hate victims. I hate pussys and whiners. I hate people who believe their tiny little problems are important.

Therefore, my feelings of victimhood in being cheated on, losing my best friend to a coma, having my home foreclosed, being torn away from San Francisco are not validated. I do not discuss this suffering.

I have wanted to whine about my husband. The fact he's a taker who pretends to be a giver so that you will give him more, or at least feel beholden to him. Ladies, I believe, do not talk about their husbands. I have barred myself from discussing this suffering.

My tiny problems: a foreclosed home, two hour commuting, an underpaid job, still a dependent, inability to pay bills in a timely and responsible manner, seem truly insignificant. I have prevented myself from burdening others with these feelings, fearing my cool exterior and my ability to calm others will be warped.

I need attention.