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I was deeply disappointed by my haircut this week. Its just hair and it will grow back, but more alarming is how frail my ego’s been lately. Yes, I got past the grief and sadness of my last failed relationship, but stranger, more sinister elements are now at work: doubt and self-criticism. My confidence seems to have gone missing.

I suppose it’s natural to be reeling from a magic trick where someone yanks the tablecloth off and everything fine shatters to the ground. But still? A year later? I have been unusually insecure and hard on myself of late, catching myself editing my responses to people not in my inner circle. I am wary of my usually sound intuition and suspicious of my judge of character. Its not that I don’t trust other people—I don’t trust myself.

I can’t help but wonder if this is how precarious Silky felt at the end of her last two short marriages to Clark Gable and Prince Djordjadze. Those failures seem to have had the same abrupt and haunting confusion, like the rug being pulled out from under her or a sleight of hand trick.

I guess it makes sense to feel circumspect after someone pursues you with intense and passionate desire, handing you the moon, then abruptly leaves. I suppose that would upset any girl’s equilibrium. I’m just surprised to find that the little waves of doubt keep throwing me off course all these months later. I need to find my sea legs…or better yet, swim to shore and rest on the warm sand awhile.