I’m very aware right now that I write blogs that don’t have the nicest tunes to them. So for that, I apologize. I think I’m just going to keep writing where I am in life when it comes at me.
No pictures today.
I’m severely divided whether I like therapy or not. I feel better, sometimes, once it’s done. It’s as though I found answers – like someone said just enough to make everything from your past and present click and ignite in some fiery blast of brain chemistry.
Other days, I’m broken.
I hate losing people. I hate being discarded. I didn’t really focus much on it until we started talking about it. This weekend, I asked a friend if I was disposable, because it was… unsettling to me to think that I was. I’ve always wondered what was worth fighting for. What’s worth risking for. Striving. War. What has meaning?
I’ve been the one to fall one broken knees, and turn that hurt into motivation. To strive for improvement. To get stronger. Better. I’ve always wanted to be something unmatchable. Something successful. I’ve wanted to prove, that even though I’ve taken my blows, I could still throw down with the rest of them.
I’ve turned my greatest weaknesses on their heels, just to pull myself out of my hole. Recent months, it’s been harder. Circumstances don’t work in my favour. Sometimes it’s not what’s inside that can be improved. Sometimes it’s external.
I let her know that nothing in my life is bad, persay. Nothing was wrong, and that was the truth. I told her that it felt like I had no passion. I have no motivation, or drive. I’m existing, not living. I can go day-by-day, but it’s without meaning. I told her I didn’t want that to be my life, which is why I came to her in the first place.
She asked me what brought meaning to my life. I didn’t have much to answer with. She wanted to know why. I wrote her a litany.
You don’t get strong from being in a hospital, or broken down. I hated people telling me I’d be alright. I hated hearing that everything would be over soon, and that I’d be healed. I hated it, because it was the most… arrogant, naïve thing a person can say to someone. They had no idea. I told her all of that. I told her you weren’t given the option to be brave. You either develop a headstrong desire to conquer your next challenge, or you give up and die. You don’t get an in-between.
My leg’s gotten a lot worse. I’ll have permanent scarring. I told her that this is something I live with each and every day. I don’t even factor it in when someone asks me how I’m doing anymore. You just get used to it.
She wanted to talk about my childhood, so we did. She wanted to know almost everything there was to figure out. So I answered her bluntly.
She asked me if I loved myself.
I almost laughed at her. I like who I am. Enough so that I’m not the kind to change for others. I said I just wanted to be the best of me.
She brought her hands apart and said that they both represent a scale. The left is me in my peek: the charismatic, the happy, the satisfied. The meaningful side of me. She said that this side is how I think I should be.
She raised her other hand, and said this is me at my worst. She said that I’m not able to handle anything but the best. That I hit depression when I fall from that grace. That I’m dreaming of being that ideal person, and I’m not able to accept that I might not be there.
She said it comes because I don’t know what it’s like to be loved unconditionally.
I cried. I just… had to. Finally. A few tears, here and there, haven’t been what I needed.
She said children who receive love when they’re exhibiting certain traits learn only that they have to be those traits to be loved. She said that it sets a child to expect themselves to be this person if they want to be loved, or accepted. She said that inside, I’m ignoring that part of me that just wants to find that acceptance.
And everything just clicked in my head. One united, brilliant flash. Then nothing.
She said the difference here is that I ignore the voice, and work overtime with my mind to protect myself. I don’t parent myself. I don’t treat myself with that unconditional love, unless I’m hitting that peek. Odd… description.
She said I’m burning myself out. My… child, thing. It’s sitting inside and screaming, because it keeps losing people it’s trying to trust. People that leave. People I make leave. She says that looking for love is fine. She actually was the first person to say I’m not making a mistake in doing so. She complimented me for it. But she said if that’s the only place I find unconditional love, then I will falter as I’ve done. As I do.
She told me that I need to be the parent to my child. I need to provide for myself, the love that I want from others. And… I’ve been confused. I don’t know what that’s supposed to mean… but I feel like I’ve lost my urge to fight…
She said I’m pushing myself, to be something I don’t have to be to be loved… and that I need to love myself even when I don’t hit that pinnacle. And I feel like I don’t need to fight. My child cries, and I don’t know how to show it love.
How does one become their own parent?
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ReplyDeleteExistentialism: What if we are all error?
"She said children who receive love when they’re exhibiting certain traits learn only that they have to be those traits to be loved. She said that it sets a child to expect themselves to be this person if they want to be loved, or accepted. She said that inside, I’m ignoring that part of me that just wants to find that acceptance."
F*ck, I wish someone had told me that sooner.
Chris, it is very difficult for someone to love somebody else if they cannot love themselves. Unconditionally, more so. I'm not saying that you absolutely need to love yourself; accepting yourself for who you are is enough. You need to learn to think positively of yourself or anyone else thinking positively of you will not ring true to your ears. Does that make sense?
It's good that you're making steps forward. I've been there. I take drugs everyday to counter the anxiety I feel when my actions don't correspond with my expectations for myself. It almost destroyed me once.
Throwing away your self-doubt and guilt may seem like the hardest thing you've ever done. But once you have done it, it will have seemed so easy you'll wonder why you didn't do it before.
And if Fry can be his own grandfather, you can be parent to your inner child.