too dark to like

I’ve been dealing with depression for a while now. I sometimes think I’m too easy to leave, that I’m not lovable. But it gets deeper than that. I feel that deep down all I am is broken. I’m afraid that I am so broken I am nothing but a burden on people, especially those I care about and let get close to me. If I can keep you at an arm’s length, I can stay likable. I can hide the ugly details. I can pretend I am a happy person who is totally deserving of being a good friend and in your life. I can pretend I feel normal inside. If I don’t let you get close enough to see the huge gaping holes, you’ll think I am a whole and beautiful soul. And if you can think that, then maybe so can I. If you like me enough, maybe I can start to like myself.

But that isn’t fair to everyone. It isn’t fair to not let those I love in and see who it is I really am. Who it is I am afraid I am. Who it is I am afraid to be. So I’m between a rock and a hard place. Do I protect us from the difficult times ahead, do I protect us from dark details, do I protect us from what might be reality? I want to protect us. I want to protect you. I want to protect me. I want to cling to the happiness, the sunshine, the feeling of being free with such desperation that I don’t even want to look into the deep well of junk. But that doesn’t give you a chance to love all of me. And that is what I want more than anything. That even if I do fall apart, someone will always be there. That on the darkest days I don’t have to be alone.

I’m scared to let anyone see. I’m scared to let myself see. I am so horribly afraid of it being too much for anyone. I’m afraid I will scare everyone away. I’m afraid the cons will far outweigh the pros. I’m afraid of how I want you to help hold me together but how unfair it is to expect you to do that when I can’t do it for myself. I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t want to hurt anyone, but I really don’t want to hurt anyone I care about and love.

I don’t know how to open my soul so someone can see everything and not judge myself every step of the way.

I Forgive Her

I keep thinking about the first time my mom had a seizure. That whole night is so clear in my memory. I had been to a movie with three friends. It was that French one about warewolves — I think the English title was Brotherhood of the Wolf. Anyway, I remember the movie because it was the first I went to see after starting film school. I know that because it was the first time I was able to see a movie with two perspectives — as a consumer of popular culture and as a student of the theory behind it. I was with three friends I had met through church, who at the time I thought I would be friends with for life. But now I know I’ll probably never speak to any of them again.

After the movie we got back into my car and I saw I missed a lot of calls from home. It was mom’s boyfriend calling to say she had had a seizure and was at the hospital. So I had one of my friends drive my car to the ER. I remember them praying out loud about the situation on the drive to the hospital. But I wasn’t really present to hear it.

I got to the hospital and the doctors didn’t want to let me in to see her. They didn’t think it was safe and I think they wanted to protect me from what was in the room. I guess since I was legally an adult and related to her I needed to sign papers or something. For some reason whatever they needed, her boyfriend couldn’t do. I don’t really get that part since I am not my mom’s power of attorney or anything.

I was in the hallway outside her room as the doctors were explaining most of what was going on. I know, now, they left out a lot of important details but again I think they were trying to protect me. I could hear my mom screaming at the doctors and nurses who would go in her room. She sounded so … wild. So animalistic. The doctors warned me she wasn’t herself but I chose to go in anyway.

Up to that point I don’t think I had ever been so scared. Or concerned. But she stopped screaming as soon as I walked in. She knew I would protect her. She needed me to. She needed to know I was on her side. She was so very scared. Scared I would think she was crazy. That I would stop loving her. But she calmed down with me there.

The doctors asked me back into the hall to sign something else. When I left she started screaming again. But like before, she stopped when I went back in. So I stayed with her as long as I could. I held her hand. I reassured her that I loved her and that no matter what I wouldn’t think she was a terrible mother. Slowly she became herself again. She was tired. She was no longer clinging to whatever wild beast she had been. So she told me to go home.

My mom may not have been the ideal mother, but she did her best with what she had. In her own way she has always loved me. All she has wanted is to be loved in return. And I’d like to think I’ve been able to do that. I’ve certainly not been the ideal child, but I have always loved her in my own way too. I hope she always knows that.

That night I learned a lot about myself. That I could be strong when needed. That I can love even when it scares me. That sometimes we all need a little reassurance that we’re not alone. Sometimes we need to know we’ve been noticed. That even if we didn’t do something perfectly it helps to have someone else let us know we did alright anyway. Sometimes the ones we are supposed to protect are also the only ones who can protect us. And knowing ugly details doesn’t make love go away. I think it makes me love a little stronger, a little louder, maybe a little more desperately.

So no, my mom hasn’t been perfect. She may not always have acted human. But she has always been and will always be my mother. And I wouldn’t want that any differently. She’s just needed a hand to hold to find herself and be brave to face her demons. And none of us should feel we have to do that alone. She just wants to feel loved. And no one can fault her for that.

I Miss Them

I woke up thinking about my dad’s father. We called him Daddy Mc.

They said they found boxes and boxes of that home shopping crap in his closet when they were sorting through the house after he died. It makes me really sad for some reason. Thinking about an old man on his own, probably already not fully in his right mind, and spending his money on that junk. It seems like it is taking advantage of the elderly to me. It sorta makes me mad.

Mostly I’m just sad because I’ll never get to introduce my soul mate to Mommy Mc and Daddy Mc. Actually, that thought makes me cry. I miss them both so very much. They were the two people who made me feel loved and that I mattered — no matter what. They were such good people. And I would love to have been able to share them with my soul mate. He’s the only other person who has come close to making me feel the way they did.

Their Eyes Were Watching….Me

Previously I have written about some recurring dreams or visions I’ve had. Well, one main one I suppose. It was safe to mention because it was always as a dream. But there are others. A big one that stands out are the eyes.

I am afraid of the dark. But I also feel safest in the dark. I think it is because of these four eyes. There are two pairs. I’ve seen them as long as I can remember, and until now I’ve only even mentioned them at all to one person. And even that was with minimal detail.

The first set of eyes are evil. They are why I am afraid of the dark. They are glowing. An evil, sick, fire color. Not like the sort of gold my brown eyes can get at times. But some sort of infected, putrid yellowness to them. They are evil. These eyes are not to be trusted. If they didn’t scare me, though, I think they would be mesmerizing. They beckon to me. They voice behind them sings a very seductive tune. It is how the evil works. These eyes feed off others to further their power. I think they are the bad man from my recurring dreams.

The other eyes are….I don’t know. They are always there. These eyes are more like a stormy sky. They plead with me to not trust them, but I know they are genuine. There is pain in these eyes. A pain that understands the pain I feel. A very deep pain, a sort of longing. I don’t like to think of this pain because it makes me start to cry, but I don’t know what words to put on these tears. It’s also when the pain in these other eyes flicker in understanding. Unlike the evil eyes, these stormy ones are always watching me.  They are hiding when they watch me though, always in the dark. As if they don’t want me to fully see them. They don’t want me to trust them, to depend on them, but they want me to know they are there.

For most of my life, I was scared of these eyes most. Since they were always there, always lurking in the dark, they had to be there to hurt me. I was afraid to sleep under the sky lights when we visited my grandmother because the eyes would be up in the trees watching me. But recently I’ve realized these eyes have watched me for as long as I can remember and have never caused me harm. So maybe they aren’t bad at all. They don’t want me to depend on them, but now I know these eyes will protect me. These eyes glow brightest when I am craving safety. They aren’t singing some song to lure me in like the evil eyes, but they are enigmatic.

At first, upon deciding this second set of eyes wasn’t evil, I wondered if they were the eyes of my soul looking out for me. But now I think they belong to him. And that idea scares me. Because I don’t know what that means.

 

fight back for me

I am mad.  And sad. Irritated. Scared. Lonely.

This past week has been an emotional roller coaster at best. Though I think that’s far too nice of a way to put it. It has been emotionally draining. It sucked. I hated this past week. There were moments I highly enjoyed, but if I could erase the week as a whole I probably would. The details don’t matter, mostly because I’d really rather not do anything that might rock the boat further and make this week suck as hard as last week. Suffice it to say I got in a big fight with someone I care about a great deal.

They were going to throw the friendship away.

And made it seem like it was going to be easy.

So this weekend I’ve been doing a lot of thinking. Thinking about the people I choose to allow in my life. How I get it wrong a lot. I think my picker isn’t just broken, I think it is missing completely. I think these people pick me. And I just let them.

I always seem to pick the wrong people to be important in my life, to care about, to love, to really matter.  Or I do a lot. Sometimes I’ve gotten lucky. Anyway, I have these people I choose to mean something to me, to mean a great deal actually. People I would fight to the death for. People I would make sacrifices for. People that I will be here for no matter how many times they mess up and disappoint me, no matter how many times they might accidentally hurt me, no matter how many times I do have to fight to keep in my life. These people I would fight tooth and nail for that I’m coming to realize might not even fight back at all for me. People I think the world about while allowing them to think very little of me. People I will trust and give the benefit of the doubt to, who will always assume the worst of me. Or worse, they just won’t be there for me.

The situation with the friend I mentioned earlier made me realize more of what I want out of life. Maybe it was a wake up call to how I feel about myself. But I am worth fighting for. I am worth enduring a little tension to be with. I’m worth it. If I am going to be willing to be disappointed, then let me disappoint you back. It isn’t the end of the world. Relationships of any type take two people and I don’t want to be the one doing all the chasing and taking care of always. Sometimes I want you to pick me. To take care of me. To give me the benefit of the doubt. I want you to know I’m human too. If I am going to understand that because I think certain ways about certain things doesn’t mean you do, then I want that same understanding in return. We’re all different people. I’m willing to accept you are not me. I’m glad for it. I like you as you are. But I want you to accept that I’m not you either. If you’re in my life, then I am letting you be in it. I’m opening my life to you. Open yours back to me. Because I am not doing all the work anymore. It is going to take effort from both of us. Always. Somethings will be easy and fun. But sometimes things are going to be difficult and hurt. I’m willing to hurt a little for you. Why can’t you do the same? I’m fighting for you. All I want is you to fight for me too.

Now, the things with that friend are ok now. Well, better than ok. Because they do want to do those things. But it scared me that there was a moment they thought I was worth so little effort. And it made me sad to think they felt that way. And it pissed me the fuck off that they could just walk away. But I felt those things because there have been other people in my life who have actually done that. People with whom I had various types of relationships – friends, lovers, family, etc.

But mostly, it just makes me feel lonely to think about this stuff. So I quit. I’m not spending time, effort, or energy on relationships if someone else isn’t going to do the same in return. I can be a great friend. But from now on, I’m only doing that if you’re a friend to me too.

Disappointment

As a child I was always a good kid. I did well in school. I could play quietly by myself. I didn’t get injured. When I did misbehave the sort of punishment I got was….minimal at best. Instead of being sent to my room for hours to be on my own, I’d have to go to my room and touch my bed then I could continue what I was doing. I am sure I was spanked a time or two, but not because I remember it but because I remember my sister had been spanked so surely I had been too. Once when I said something bad, my mother washed my mouth out with soap. However instead of shoving a bar of soap in my mouth as her mother had done to her, she touched the soap to a wet washcloth and made me lick it.

My sister was a bit more….ill behaved. She’d be grounded, sent to her room, toys taken away, spanked (with a belt!!) and all sorts of things. Sounds pretty unfair huh? Well, my sister would test to see how much she could get away with. She needed the extra force to sort of guide her at times. I was a different story.

I hated the idea that I could ever be disappointing. A look or tone of voice to me was far more punishment than a spanking ever could have been. The worst thing I can imagine is causing someone I care about, someone I love, to be disappointed. Further, that they are disappointed in me. It makes my heart pound and drop into the pit of my stomach. It makes my stomach churn. It makes me cry. My throat closes up and it is hard to catch a breath. My ears ring. I even feel the muscles in my rear twitch from it.

I hate the idea of causing disappointment so incredibly much. Maybe I am afraid it means they’ll stop loving me. Or that their being in my life is conditional. But what is funny is I can handle someone else disappointing me as if it is no big deal. We will deal with it, learn from it, and move on. Possibly even grow closer as a result of making it through disappointment. So why can I not trust they can do the same for me?

 

I Want You To Want Me

Recently I’ve had a discussion with someone about why I am friends with certain people. Why I act the way I do in groups of people, that sort of thing, is an interesting thought. I have come to a few conclusions.

First I’ll deal with the people pleaser aspect. For someone who can’t stand people, I sure do want to make them all happy. And I think I am supposed to like people. As a human, at least in my head, I am supposed to be a social creature. A pack animal. I am supposed to have friends and socialize and be around people. I mean we always hear stories of the scary old people who never leave their homes and how we hope it would never happen to us right? I go and be silly in groups of people because I am trying to make myself like being in groups. I am trying to acclimate to socialization I guess. Somewhere someone told me that people can only be happy if they have friends, and since I’ve not exactly been happy then it must be because I don’t have tons of friends. Therefore I need to make the effort and I’ll magically get happy or something. It will make me normal. It is what a human does. And I am human.

But I’ve gathered that doing something because someone told me I am supposed to makes me feel worse than I did before. So that doesn’t work. It just makes me tired.

The real conclusion on why I spend time with people? Wanting to be wanted. Well it isn’t just wanting to be wanted. Or needed. Or loved. I want to find someone who sees me. Understands me. Hears me. Someone who knows me. All of me. What it is I really want is to matter to someone. I want to find someone who makes me feel like I mean something to them. That they are glad I am in their life. Not just because it is the nice thing to say, but that it really matters to them that I — me, myself, this individual, me!!! — am in their life. And yes, I know what is most important is that I learn to matter to myself. I am getting there. Every day I matter more to me. But I want to matter to someone else. I don’t want them to necessarily need me. But I want them to want me because I matter. Because I mean something to them.

I think I may have found that person. And he makes me happy. Very happy. And it makes me feel complete.