Ne me quitter pas

Well, I guess it’s been a while. It’s been a while because I’ve been busy, but also because I’ve lost my voice. That, or I’ve locked it away. That, or the nightmares, and the cause of the nightmares, and the pain, they caused me to lock it away. That voice deep inside of me that so loves coming out and getting it out, I may have locked it away. I learned from a very young age the necessity of putting away any feelings I had, just to survive. Just to be loved and be okay, I needed to hide how I felt, I needed to survive through the pain by not admitting there was any.

I didn’t go to therapy yesterday. I didn’t go to therapy yesterday because I knew what it would do to the rest of my day. Not that I had a good day by not going; I didn’t. I had a day of guilt and even shame: for all of my pushing for therapy, how can I go into work where I preach the wonders of it when I myself don’t go just because it’s tough.

And I know. It’s okay to not go one day. Some days we just can’t face it. All of it. I called to cancel and reschedule.

Two nights ago I lost my voice. Two nights ago it happened and I felt it happening and that what was so upsetting. Because I am getting “better” and I am more aware of my feelings and who I am. I’ve learned to be intentional with what I’m doing and how I present myself to others. So now I have a past self, all the inner layers of me, when you cut me open and look at my rings, only the outermost know not to shut everyone out when things get too hard. There are those outer-rings, the older and more recent rings and they hold in all that came before them. Imagine these rings inside of me, bisecting my stomach and smaller intestine, fighting within me about how to deal with this problem.

It happened and I’m in pain so what do I do next? All my history screams at me to find a way to escape. Not an unhealthy way (comparatively) like drugs or alcohol, but something soothing, repetitive, and numbing. Coloring in a space; not even a picture necessarily, just a space, with a fine point pen, and putting all of my energy into it. Or looking around me and finding every letter in the alphabet just from where I’m sitting and putting all of my energy just into the alphabet. Or counting backwards, or counting in Spanish, or for the really hard times, counting backwards in Spanish. In warm weather I can play soccer and stay out there at least until I juggle to 100, my mind focused on 100 and the rest of my brain being used on the physical movement. I can try pushups when it’s cold or I don’t have much time or it’s the middle of the night, but they usually just make me feel and collapse, lying on the floor.

Then there are these outer rings that tell me to run to my friends with open arms. I have layers inside asking trust of me and trust of others to make it all better and all go away. I know that my friends have helped me in the past, but I don’t know how to be okay. This voice really does disappear inside of me and it would be such a fight to find a way to tell them what’s going on and why I’m hurting and what I need.

I was around friends later that night. After calling a friend I knew wasn’t home and leaving two versions of the same message less than an hour apart, I got to see friends. Jessa didn’t understand. And I realized that none of them understand. She said she was tired and wanted to go home and go to bed but because I was having so much fun I could stay. She said because I was having fun, I could stay.

And it just shocked me so profoundly because I was forcing the fun. And I thought about it all day yesterday. How could these people I love and spend all my time around absolutely have no idea how and what I was feeling? And was I truly having fun? Or was I just pretending? Because I was okay. I wasn’t dying on the inside; well, not too much more than normal anyway, so is this a good thing or a bad thing? What does it mean that I can have fun even when I’m hurting? Is that lying? Is it hiding and deceitful, or is it just a part of being in this world and being appropriate? We were all sitting around playing Uno and it was great and there were people I didn’t really know that well and I didn’t want to be alone, so why would I say how I’m really feeling? This is one of those times when I really have no idea even what the correct course of action is, whether or not I’d be able to do it. Am I supposed to just stay home? I didn’t want to be alone. Am I supposed to say how I’m feeling? That would have been inappropriate for the group and time. I don’t want to be one of those over-sharers. Besides, I can’t even write about what was upsetting, how am I supposed to tell people whose names I can’t remember?

I’ve come up with another hypothesis. Maybe I was supposed to tell one of my trusted friends that I was hurting and in need of their help. Maybe I should have asked for help. But it’s so hard. I don’t want to pull anyone away from the fun. Jessa was able to say that she wanted to go home and go to bed. Why can’t I do that?

Well, this was all poetic and nice at first, but now I’m just disappointed in myself and feeling lost again so I have to go. I’m going to post this, refill my coffee cup so I can blame my disgusting feeling on too much caffeine y ya esta.