A Lesson Learned in Vulnerability

For eight years, there is one problem, one issue, one question that has plagued me above all else. This question haunts me nearly every day. This question shapes much of how I view life and my interactions with others. It is not a question of spirituality, religion, society, or morality. The question is, "Why the fuck am I still in love with my first fiance, and why can't I find love like that again?" I have had many theories on it over the years. Perhaps we are soulmates. Maybe it's because he was my first "real" love. Maybe we were addicted to each other. Maybe we are just so complementary that we FIT, nearly perfectly. My latest theory, just this past week, was perhaps it was due to how our physical brains had only developed to a certain point as seventeen year olds, and so, due to the age and intensity from having that teenaged perspective, we felt like that love was one-of-a-kind. But then, his morning, I got it. As I laid awake all night with a fever, I thought about my most recent relationship. It lasted for five months, and it was the only person in eight years I have loved even close to the level that I loved my first fiance. However, my eighteen year old boyfriend and his anger issues caused me to become fed up and I broke up with him. Or at least, that's what I told myself. Then it hit me: He was committed for life the entire time, yet I thought I was "mature" enough to "know" our relationship would end with less than a year's worth of mileage. For the span of our relationship, from day one until the end, I believed that it would end. With this realization I reviewed it all: the happy times, dimmed by my belief it wouldn't be good enough to last. The sad and angry times validating my belief that he "wasn't the one" for me. Any mistake he made, any insecurities I felt, any time I did not feel validated, loved and accepted, I used that as proof that our relationship was drawing to an end. And truly, the problem with you is YOU. Yes, our relationship had many real, actual problems. YES, he has some big issues he needs to work through to be in a loving, long-term relationship. NO, this realization does not mean I am jumping right back into his arms. But... This realization is a beautiful gift. Because as I thought of all these things, I realized: Because of my belief that the relationship would end, I was never, ever, willing to really go there. I did not open my truest, deepest heart to my partner. I did not TRUST my partner. I was not even open to the slightest possibility of being genuinely vulnerable, fearlessly authentic, powerfully honest. Which now brings me to the truth of why I could never love anyone like my first fiance, and why I am still hooked up on him eight fucking years later: That fiance that I was so compatible with? I went there. I was open. Raw. Honest. Vulnerable. I was authentic, even with all my faults. I poured out my crazy into this accepting, loving vessel. I drenched our relationship with my fears and insecurities, and he loved me through every moment. I gave him the chance to love ALL of me - and he did. And, "somehow" he is able to understand my inner workings like no one else can. Somehow? No. I let him in, deeply, intrinsically, and gave ALL of my deepest trust to him. And I haven't done that before or since. My poor, good-intentioned boyfriends have only ever dipped a toe into the surface of my depths, despite wishing to dive in and love all of me. And I, frightened and distrustful mermaid that I am, would freeze over and refuse to let them in. I think it is time to take that frost away. It is time to be vulnerable, truly and deeply. And it is time to allow myself to trust that I can pour out my crazy. And. Still. Be. Loved.

Rambling Meaninglessly.... Or Am I?

This note is meaningless. There is no reason for it. There is no point behind it. There are no poems. There are no inspirational words of wisdom. This note just is. Despite the inspirational quotes and links I constantly post (or perhaps, it is why I post them) I am one of those persons who struggles daily with depression - real, raw, life-sucking, grey and black, sinking into a hopeless mire-style depression. Despite how incredibly inspirational I, myself, know I can be, I find myself just mere hours later trapped in the maw of a gigantic, evil creature that rips me apart and tears at the seams of rational thought. My confidence burns out. My self-esteem withers away. My sense of control over myself and my life is yanked out of my hands. During these times I find myself trapped in the silence of my battle. A raging storm without thunder. A scream put on mute. I rarely can transfer these feelings into tears, which causes me to feel even more trapped. I try desperately to cry. I tell myself to let go, to just experience, to allow, to be judgment-free and accepting of what I'm going through... and the ice that paralyzes me refuses to budge. I look into the mirror with a face of pure terror, and what I see reflected back is a stoic, calm expression. "Why?" I silently beseech myself, "Why does this face not express how I feel?" At times, when I spiral out of control, I become fearful and overwhelmed. I just want it to stop. I want to be numb again. I want to hide from these feelings again. I want to turn them off. But I can't. Nor can I cry them out to expunge them. My outward stillness belies my inner torturous turmoil. And that's when I just want to die. It's not like I'm ungrateful for my life, nor do I ignore the good things in those moments. It's just that, the terrible, painful, hurtful feelings and unjust memories overtake me, and I have no outlet for them. In my desperation for an outlet, I wish I could just disappear in a wash of red. I'm not the "pill taking" or "silent suicide" type, nor the "go out with a bang" or "leave a message" type. I am the "out of control, slash myself into oblivion" type. The problem (and simultaneously my savior) is, though, that I can't lose control. It is one of the most torturous curses (and blessings) in my life. I. Can't. Lose. Control. No matter how upset I become, no matter how appropriate of a time it is to "lose it" I merely, simply cannot. I'm not capable of it. However, there are times when I lose enough of my humanity that the only way I can regain any control and subsequent calm is to use methods that aren't "acceptable" by any means. And I do mean "the only way" - because believe me, at that point, I've already done everything else I am capable of at the time. I hate it when people say "Why didn't you just call me?" because what may be impossible to understand is: In those moments, I can't. It is completely impossible. If I can reach out at ALL when I am in that state, it is only by sheer force of will, and takes the last of my sanity to do so. It is rare, also, that I accomplish that. So, there are times, when feeling at the edge of completely losing control that I turn to self-harm. It's not a quality I like in myself. I hate seeing my scars, and I hate even more knowing that I will add more to my collection. After years of self-help, self-improvement, therapy, and life work I STILL struggle with this issue. It is an addiction as powerful as opiate-drugs because it has the same effect on the brain (without the same, terrible side-effects, but with its own ones) - the brain releases the same chemicals, feels the same relief, release and rush. Sometimes, instead of crying the tears I am incapable of, I cry blood instead. And in that way I find relief. Now, don't get me wrong, it is a TERRIBLE thing to do to myself, so I don't condone it in any way. It's only Wednesday and I've cut myself twice this week, which is the first time in about three months. Before then it was about two months. I've even been able to go a couple years before. Unfortunately, I've been self-harming since I was about five years old, and it is a difficult pattern to break. I desperately wish to. I don't know how many times I have committed to myself to "never cut again" only to find myself, a few months later, watching blood drip down in streams. As I breathe that familiar sigh of relief and feel the onset of numbness creep over me, in those last moments before nothingness closes in, I can feel the distinct hints of guilt and a sense of failure. A feeling of worthlessness. A self-loathing at my weakness, at my inability to keep my promises. A profound fear, knowing how negatively anyone who cares about me will react if they find out. And then the numbness fully closes over me, and I'm okay. Finally, the voices are silenced. The fears are abated. My control is restored. In that moment, I don't need anything other than to see that blood dripping down. Earlier in the week I painted a picture with it - which is big for me, and felt very healing. I often write on my skin with the blood, messages that I cannot voice outloud, nor can I cry them out. Messages like, "Why can't I be ok?" and "I just want to be loved." or "I don't want to be hurt anymore." Primitive messages from a little girl who is trapped inside of a nightmare she doesn't feel she can escape from. There are times I feel a great deal of sympathy and compassion for this little girl. This isn't the same as feeling sorry for myself. Rather, it is a separated adult side of myself looking at the trapped, hurting child as a separate person. The poor thing doesn't know how to break the cycle. No matter what she does, what tools she uses, how much she learns, how much she progresses, she never seems to escape the trap and heal. She improves. Sometimes the damage she does is small, done with a needle pricking the finger or a pen repeatedly stabbing the same spot, rather than slicing deep gashes. But regardless of her progress, she still dissolves into the same result: The only way she could regain control was through self-harm. My adult self often believes the wonderful things that caring people tell her: that she is beautiful, inspirational, wise, talented, sexy, incredible, majestic, noble, loyal, an amazing friend, an incredible listener, compassionate, kind - unbelievably kind, forgiving, remarkable, passionate, fiery, optimistic, open, approachable, generous, heart-warming, hilarious, silly, fun, and the list goes on, and on, and on. I am amazed, constantly, at how highly the people in my life hold me in regard. I sat in awe when as an exercise once I wrote down every person I could think of who has expressed liking me or loving me, even once - the list was staggering, well over 300 people, and that was just who I could think of off the top of my head. Yet, I still blush in shock when I receive a compliment. I still feel unworthily surprised when I receive praise - the overbearing questions, "Why should I deserve this?" "What could I possibly have done to warrant them having these feelings?" and "How can someone so amazing even notice me, let alone think so well of me?" always plague me and push me down into the dirt of my own negative beliefs and paradigms. So how can someone with all of these positive qualities (and who knows them) and who seems to always have the answers when someone else is depressed struggle so very, very much with depression, these negative beliefs, and self-harm? Who. Fucking. Knows. Genuinely, it is one of the most frustrating things in my life - I seem to progress so much, and then I find myself "back at square one" staring at angry red wounds after the chemicals wear away. The realizations of "Crap, that one is definitely going to scar." "I'm going to have to change the types of clothes I'm wearing for a bit to hide this." and "Damn, So-and-So is going to murder me when they see these....* Oh, and they do. So-and-So is SOOOO mad and critical when they see (and no, I'm not referring to one person, I am referring to anyone who has ever cared for me ever and has seen my cuts or scars). Well, perhaps "anyone" is a bit of a stretch - some people just give me a knowing, stern look and mention that they know what it is. I respond by shrugging and that ends the conversation. So-and-So is very concerned for my well-being. It wounds So-and-So's heart to see the results of my self-hatred getting out of control. So-and-So doesn't know how to stop me. And so ensue the criticisms, the claims that I am crazy, that I don't care about them, that they can't see why I'd be so stupid. Then follows threats of all sorts of different kinds in hopes that it will prevent me from doing this more. I understand where they are coming from, and I feel guilt and compassion about it, but honestly... I have never once had someone see my cuts and say, "Oh, I am so, so sorry that you felt that way. I am sorry your pain made you lose control." or pull me in for a hug. It is almost ironic to me, that when I am in such overwhelming emotional pain that I self-harm to escape it, that then is when I offend those who love me so much that I lose their compassion, their understanding, and their physical comfort. I'm not saying I need those things, or that I am seeking them - when I self-harm I feel more distant and aloof than ever - but it fascinates me that I don't have those things offered to me, but rather, I receive a very critical response. I know it is just from their fear and concern for me, but it certainly doesn't help. I wonder, if I were to receive compassion and a warm hug without criticism when someone saw my cuts, if I would then be able to cry like I wish I could when I resort to cutting in the first place. Or maybe then I would find some healing solace. However, I know very well that the source of healing does not come from looking outward and seeking it from others. Yet, somehow, we need others. I'm not sure where the line is of "This is mine to heal alone" and "This is an injury to heal with assistance." Looking at the red gaping cuts just above my knee right now, I'm so angry - yet anger is a secondary emotion, so what do I really feel? Sadness? But about what? Fear - another secondary emotion - about how those who love me will react if they see it. But what is behind that fear? Rejection? Self-disgust? How do I know? How do I implement the answers I find? How do I trust myself and sink into living without hating myself? Living without feeling unworthy? How do I embrace my good qualities, and embrace my shadow, my tears, my pains, and open up - without actually opening my skin? How do I prevent myself from self-harm in the future? I don't know when I will find the answers. I know I am progressing, though at times it is difficult to remember that. I don't know when I will be able to embrace myself as an amazing, magnificent, incredible, inspirational gift to the world. Internally I cringe calling myself that - a gift - and yet I know it is the truth. I KNOW that I am amazing. I KNOW I help and lift and encourage people, friends, family, acquaintances, even strangers, constantly. How is it possible that I know so much good about myself and yet struggle so much to bear living with myself? I'm fucking incredible. I have fun, and enjoy my personality. I do things I love, and encourage people. And somehow, I fight with myself every day just to live. The longest I have ever gone without being suicidal, since I began having those feelings in early childhood, was six months. It was six months of forcefully, purposefully, desperately MAKING myself not feel that way. And it was damn impressive, considering I had felt suicidal every day prior to that for over a decade. That is over 3650 days straight of wanting to die each and every one of them. I would, ironically and hypocritically, talk a friend out of suicide and then later that very same night as I lay awake in pain and misery pray to God that he would kill me. I have saved lives while wanting to throw away my own. I have fought long and hard to bring others to a place of self-love and appreciation for life without succeeding in that battle for myself. Some days I do succeed. Some months I succeed. And then I find myself, once more, sitting on the floor and staring into the mirror with a face of sadness and terror - and all that stares back is a blank, stoic expression. And all I can do to express myself is to bleed. In those moments, I feel like my insane spiral could only result in killing myself otherwise - especially when I reach the eye of the storm, and sit in calm resolution - and the only thing that saves me is that last effort to use pain to pull me out of it. This isn't saying that all of the positive, encouraging, life-loving things I say are lies... I do feel them. But I have a duality to me that is extreme. Perhaps it will remain so until I am able to learn how to fully express myself - even when I am afraid, hurt, sad, and angry. I don't know what the answers are. Often my writing is with the purpose of bringing myself to answers and inspiration while I write, but not this day. This time, I am writing out the pain, the dark secrets, the guilt, and leaving them. Out in the open. There to see. I am shining a light on my shame. I am looking at the gashes on my leg and saying, "You are not worthy to be a part of me any longer. You do not control me." I am, with fear and guilt, expressing something that I receive a lot of criticism about. I am expressing something that the admittance of has cause people to lose faith in me before. I am admitting a weakness that has brought on the disappointment and disgust of nearly every person who has ever found out. I am opening up myself to the trouble of disappointing those who love me. And I am terrified. And I don't care. I refuse to let the need to keep this a secret take away my control. I no longer want my fear of criticism and rejection, and my desire to appear a certain way, prevent me from being open. I don't want the consequences you wish to impose on me - isn't my own pain consequence enough? But I will stand and take it. I don't want to hurt you when I hurt myself - there is already enough pain. But I will bear the responsibility of it. I don't want you to even be reading this - just the thought drains the blood from my face and makes my hands shake. But I have rejected support and silenced my painful voice for long enough. And so, this is me, I am powerful. I am weak. I love myself deeply. I loathe and detest myself. I am strong enough to lift others. I am too weak to stand on my own. I am solid and reliable. I am delicate and ever-crumbling. I can't always cry - but I can always bleed. I can smile - but I can't yell. I am in love with being solitary and living alone. I am desperately lonely and hate having no one to focus on other than myself. I am talented and have incredible potential. I reject my abilities to be successful and happy. I love the worst people for me. I love the best people for me. I forgive when I shouldn't. I hold a grudge when I shouldn't. I don't always walk away when I should. Nor do I usually reach out when I should. I say the worst thing at the worst moment. I say the perfect thing at the pivotal moment. I say the inspirational thing just when I should. I say the flippant thing just when I shouldn't. I'm selfless when I should be selfish. I spend money frivolously only when I am desperately short on it. I manage my money incredibly well when I have an abundance of it. I am clean and organized when I live alone. I am messy and disorderly when I live with others. I have the best intentions at the worst times. I have the worst intentions at the best times. I am incredibly controlling. I am understanding and accepting. I love everyone. I hate everyone. I am a hypocrite, a contradiction, an enigma. I am eccentric, yet boring. I am intelligent, yet frighteningly naive. I am strong, yet one of the most delicate and easily hurt persons I know. The more I feel, the quieter I am. The more I progress, the more I see that is wrong with me. I know I am loved, and yet I am blind to it. I know I am cherished, and yet it always surprises me. I am shallow and deep. I am clean-cut and raw. I am rational and insane. I love desperately, yet I am cold and aloof. I want friends, and find myself unable to approach anyone. I wouldn't dream of rejecting others, yet do so anyway - and feel a sharp belief that I will be rejected. I can't trust myself, others, or the Universe - and yet I am instantly too trusting and open my life and my home automatically, compulsively, even when I shouldn't. I'm selfish, yet I give generously - even when the cost to myself is great - and without thought of receiving in return. I manipulate - but usually for the better of the people around me. I have great sympathy for the plight of men, and yet use them for my amusement. I'm really quite a terrible person - and - I am really quite a remarkably wonderful person. And I still hate myself. And I still love myself. And I still make myself bleed. And I still want to succeed and have a breathtaking, wonderful, adventurous, passionate life. And I still want to die. And, I'm still going to live, and improve, and try my best regardless of it all. Because life is fucking beautiful. And terrible. And ugly. And awesome.

Somehow You Never Knew

We spoke again today, I initiated. It was the same as always, Inconsequential. I have pain inside, too, Regardless, It doesn't matter much to you, Blinded. I couldn't cry then, can't you see? Can't you see? You said if I understood you, I would behave differently. If you understood, you'd know I can't be anything other than me. Why does this circle around, messily, ceaselessly? Loving you is a war, I won't give in peacefully. I hate this rotten, sinking feeling - the reward is empty. Pieces and connections, I'm tied to so many, And yet none of it matters when I'm tied so needlessly. You yell and accuse, you don't see it as abuse, And the little girl inside me hides while she is bruised. I put on the smile well-known by those who are used, And pretend to be okay again, hoping kindness is what you'll choose. The things I treasure about you I never wanted to lose, But how could I go on, when reasoning with you is no use? I wish I could fix this all, honestly I'm at a loss for clues, My only answer is to hide behind a mask of steel and make it fuse. I'm in a frightening mood, Recently, I feel rather unglued, Actually. I want to be at ease, Serene, But this voice won't cease, Magnetizing. Is it really not okay, when I'm afraid, to quietly hide? Yet, somehow, it was also not acceptable when I cried. Jumping through the hoops of your expectations, I've tried, But somehow when I come through the other side, you say I lied. How could you not even see the good things? I'm shocked inside. How could you think I didn't care about you? I feel so vilified. You see, even when relations burn, it's not so simplified. Ignoring the white and grey, seeing only black, like my actions were dyed. When you rip apart my character so carelessly, Frayed. How could I not become like Annie? Crystallized. Wrapped up in my shell, Again. I can avoid that kind of hell, Indefinitely.