Self Awareness Can Be Too MuchWe all have bits and pieces of our past that wreak havoc on our soul from time to time. For some people, it's a crippling havoc that ebbs in and out of daily existence manifesting in any number of emotional frailties. Broken souls striving for some semblance of light and happiness.
For others, there's an ability to compartmentalize the various pains, recognize them as wrongs, and thrust forward in life, bruised, but not beaten.
I've always been in the second group of people. In fact, I've been silently proud of the fact that I've weathered sexual, emotional, and physical abuse while "seemingly" unscathed. I've never had therapy and been on anti-depressants. On the contrary, I've loved and lived and laughed wholly and unapologetically! I've been a shoulder and friend for those who've needed me. I've been a beacon of reason in times of confusion. I've always had a gift for self-awareness and acute honesty. I've never denied my past or the situations that were devastating. I simply accepted them as something that happened and I moved on.
Or so I thought. Coming to terms with the fact that I might suddenly -after all these years- need help has been so incredibly difficult. Me? But I'm so together!
Ahhh, but even the best ships spring leaks.
At 36 I've come to realize that I am not unscathed. I am bruised and battered on the inside and for reasons still unclear to me, these emotional wounds have resurfaced.
My emotion/mental self has been weaving in and out for a couple of months now.
I obsess about what's wrong and it only complicates matters.
I feel absolutely mad.
But I carry myself well.
My mind swims with thoughts of wonder and isolation and grievance and fear and anger ..and a deep curiosity for just how screwed up I might really be.
My analytical self grasps to analogies for understanding. I feel as though, maybe, I was ripped at the seams a long time ago. Busted wide open. All my stuffing flooded out.
There was no tailor. No mender. In fact, even though some knew I'd been ripped, no one cared to to fix me. So I tried to fix myself the best I could. I stuffed most of the fluff back in and sewed myself up, needle and thick thread.
This is quite impossible to do, you see. Regardless of skills, little arms and tender hearts can't get to every part and threads are left dangling and weathered. Slowly, over time, my thread was pulled more and more. Snagged on this thing or that.
It wasn't noticeable in the beginning, but now, as time as etched on, it's very clear I'm unraveling yet again -due to a compilation of tiny snags along the way.
In the most rambunctious moments of thought, I yearn for the ability to turn my brain off. To simply sit in quiet.
I can't. I've never been able to do that.
Lately, the thoughts are too crowded ...and a touch extraneous. Definitely incessant.
They're not bad thoughts per se -nothing like, oh, I wonder which building is tall enough to really do me in.
It honestly doesn't feel like depression. I certainly have no desires to check out. Quite the opposite actually. Still...it feels like desperate anxiousness. No, that's not right. Maybe it's fear of a sterile existence. I really don't know.
It could be temporary, nothing more than an isolated moment of madness. It's life and it's not always pretty and sometimes we feel the weight of it.
The more I sit on it, though, the less it feels temporary.
I hurt so easily over words said or actions done/not done. Legitimacy is often there. Sometimes not, though, and I can see that, but can't wrap myself around the notion that it's not personal. I feel that it is. In those moments it feels intentional and mean.
It feels like s a direct reflection of my stance in life: abandoned.
The thing is, I see my worth. I see my strengths and passions and outlooks and intentions. I hear myself screaming inside that I'm special, that I matter, that I have such a tremendously gifted soul. I genuinely believe all of it.
But I hear the world screaming back, "You're not that special. You're vastly flawed. And frankly, we don't put near as much stock in you as you put in yourself. You're kinda nothing."
Admittedly, there's clarity in owning that I genuinely feel this way.
I have such an astounding sense of humor and a fantastic ability to see the silver lining. I don't take too much seriously because I don't want the stress. Cliches like "this too shall pass" and "that which doesn't kill us only makes us stronger" resonate throughout my soul. I honest to Buddha love my simple life. I'm gifted at seeing truth (even if I don't always share it) and in being honest with myself (and others). I covet living in the now and in striving for an authentic existence.
Yet, my authentic self feels incredibly unsettled and I am brimming with emotional bruising and loss.
Trust, that dirty 5-Letter word.
Pretty early on in my life my trust was violated..by my mother, by friends, by a molester and by the 3-4 adults who cheered him on and did nothing to protect a tender and crippling 6 year old little girl. I feel as though the emotional havoc created by these moments are resurfacing. I lost trust in family ...and in humanity.... by the time I was 7 years old. I made up for it by being naive and, ironically, overly trusting. And yes, incredibly sensitive and empathetic. Countless instances would mount over the years to solidify the latent trust issues and a desperate need to feel wanted and valued. So much in life told me I wasn't.
I feel smack dab in the middle of that right now -of flailing to defend my worth to...everyone.
My husband has spent years violating my trust. Not by acts of infidelity, but by broken promises to be a better husband and better father. We still struggle. Not as much granted (thankfully), but the same issues lay there and poke in weekly. I know he means well, and that he wants to change, but he always fails. He doesn't know how to do the work that needs to be done. Or he's lazy. I don't know which. Probably both. Yet again and again I always have hope. Then it's stunted by his actions. Because I recognize that he is damaged goods too, I try very hard to empathize with his own demons. I am a constant source of reassurance for him. And a teacher. But he can't emotionally be the same for me. No one in my immediate life can and this widens the canyon where my loneliness sleeps.
I feel this rising urge to protect myself with definitive angst -to shield myself from him, from family, from everyone. At the same time, I want to cradle myself and reaffirm that it's going to be okay.
That I'm okay.
I often feel brilliant and one step ahead of everyone else. My ego inflates and I feel as if I understand something so many others don't. I feel as if I get it (the big IT in life) because I'm so in touch with thought. I don't live on what I like to call a superficial surface. I dive deep beneath to uncover things about myself, about others, about life. I seek out growth and unconvention and answers. Unfortunatley, there are times when narcissism prevails.
I feel smug.
I sympathize with so many. I try to abide by social protocols and mind my P's & Q's...always thinking of other peoples feelings, when I know too few think of mine. Honestly, sometimes I don't give a care about all the right things. Sometimes I want to shout at people; call them out; rip them apart. I want to shake them violently to get them to see the error in their supposed logic. I have no right, but I feel it all the same.
Despite the self accolades, I easily, and honestly, flip it upside down and actualize that I'm incredibly frail and lost. It's a bizarre reality -almost a battle within. I feel strong and capable and amazing. Then it's shadowed by the lost, scared, damaged little girl. I want to subdue her and quiet her down. That was then. This is now. Move on in life. You're fantastic! I've always been good at doing that. But lately, she's holding the holy grail that holds my everything. Such power.
I have no one in my physical life I can talk to about any of this. My husband won't understand and will make some snide remark about my being crazy. He doesn't understand the depth of my thoughts and pain. He prefers that surface-level existence. I do understand the lure. It's safe and comfortable. But it's not for me.
I have a couple of friends that I love, but we're coffee friends/dancing friends/shopping friends. We're not pour-your-soul out friends. So again, I'm back...staring face to face at loneliness.
I know I need help. I'm making my way there, slowly, to find it. It's a hard thing to accept. I've known for over a month now that I need to make a call, but I can't seem to do so. I don't know why. I don't oppose therapy or even meds if needed. In fact, I've encouraged friends to seek it out and get any and all help they can so that they can live in the now! Yet....my own advice falls on deaf ears..or mind.
An old friend told me it's both amazing and terrifying that I put it all out there when I feel I can trust someone (or when I write blindly..lol). I share so many details of myself completely, exposing the raw unfiltered Jenn. I share painful stories with ease. I share faults and observations. She said sometimes it's too much. I'm too much. What does that mean? I don't know. I suspect it was her way of saying that not everyone can live unfiltered, especially if they have demons they haven't come to terms with. People like their masks because it keeps them safe. Yet, there I am throwing mine away screaming THIS IS ME and trying to get everyone else to do the same. "It's too much." Truth is, I can't make others take off their mask and I shouldn't make them feel bad for not being able to do so. I think I do, though. It's not intentional, but I recognize it.
I feel a sense of peace being fully me. But I feel as if the rest of the world can't do the same, which has left me feeling sucker punched with the notion that maybe the problem is me..that I need to accept I'm not okay and that maybe, in order to live in harmony, I need put my mask back on and swim up to the surface.
But that feels incredibly fraudulent.
So I'm left feeling alone.