So, a thousand atoms were standing around the ball room. Unpartnered, each danced to its own rhythm, in quiet harmony. External events, a stranger enters the room, a negative phrase, overbearing influence...let's call them X. X strides in and grabs atom 1, removing it from the waltz, dragging it into darkened corner. No one really notices the slight shift until X, another, another and another parade in, capturing, sequestering and overpowering atom after atom till only a fraction of the original, undisturbed atomic group remains.
Ha, it's like walking into a hall and having someone steal your clothes, one thread at a time until you are standing there, naked, shivering and so desperate for warmth that you start stealing threads from the X's. This exchange continues slowly, day after day, till you realize you have no idea of who you are because you are clothed in everything but who you started out with.
The ballroom, once full of innocent, fluffy sheep has turned into a sheep or two surrounded by snarling, drooling wolves.
I was born to run. I've been trying, with varying amounts of success, to leave this earthly, painful body ever since I can remember. Mostly, I found the magical mastery of dissociation, withdrawing deeply into my own inner sanctum of psyche to escape a world of grabbing, invasive hands, objects being thrown at me and words that cut and made me bleed.
I've never found any sense of sanctuary or safety in someone else's arms. My ability to form even the simplest of friendships, is severely compromised. I get that. I haven't the means or resources to change that. Forgive Me For Who I Am And What I'm Made Of...a phrase no one should have to utter...or admit.
There are the exemplary 4. Those select few who have been given invites into my inner world, my sanctum. Three be therapists and one be Dearest Friend. I treasure/ treasured these for inquiring, proving trustworthiness and entering my domain, the only place I am truly safe and myself.
It's like...what percentage of you, is you? I think of all the events that shaped/ warped/ stole/ changed me. Is there even a small percentage still salvageable?
All the times I stopped being me to not get hurt. The jokes I laughed at, that I didn't agree with. The words directed at me that I deflected or silently absorbed, pretending they didn't hurt. All the things I agreed to do willingly, because being forced caused the wound to deepen. The events I went to because I felt obligated only to end up crying and wounded on the inside, never knowing Exactly what was wrong but dealing with the uncomfortable, unpleasant feelings anyway because I couldn't put words to my distress....and I felt obligation like a spike, held by an anvil and my, the hammer striking myself....a deep, moral sense of obligation to be places and do things for others and the depths of confusion and self-loathing at why I felt so...bad and sad that I was unable to do the simplest things with anything resembling ease.
These crazy people around me who can Easily, Without thought; walk out the door, go to a restaurant, see a movie, talk with strangers, clerks, cashiers and friends, shop at the store, drive in traffic, attend appointments and deal with the unexpected....I will never understand.
The only people I can relate to are the ones crying into their pillows at night, standing alone beating their proverbial heads against the wall and those carrying around the overwhelming pain of a thousand hurts. I Get Those People.
I guess I'm sensing all the unhealthy patterns that I've subscribed to.
I just want to find out who Me is, you know?
