all my life I’ve felt it
and it never goes away
no matter how many times I try to tell myself
that things get better eventually
and sometimes they do
but they always go back
at least for me anyways.
I don’t have it worse than most,
So I am embarrassed and ashamed at these feelings
but they’re always there.
They are my longest friendships, my closest enemies.
They are the ones that are there when I wake up
and they’re the last to say goodnight to me.
It’s hard to give them names.
I’ve been trying lately.
“Anxiety”?, “Depression”?, “Nothingness”?
What’s a word that describes the feeling of everyone looking at you
but NEVER seeing you?
Or everyone claiming to know you, but they don’t…
…they’ll insist they do.
Insist they know you better than you know yourself.
As if you’re incapable of recognizing that you have fucking issues.
They insist they know you better than you know yourself
Yet will be the first ones to capitalize on your biggest insecurities…
the insecurities they claim to know sooo much about “for you.”
Its becoming the most constant thing in my life.
Is it my fault at this point?
My fault that my family only, reluctantly, wants something to do with me if my son is there too?
My fault that no one stays loyal or honest with me?
Not friends, or family, or lovers..
What is it called when everyone in your life, genuinely
couldn’t give two shits if you’re happy or not…
or worse, cringe when you are happy.
When your satisfaction makes them genuinely un-satisfied.
Its my fault people lie to me?
The very people who claim that they’ve never been able to
be this honest with anyone BUT me?
It keeps happening, everyone I “let in”.
I don’t ask them if they want in, either.
They ask me.
They ask me for a part of me.
And I end up giving it to them. Even though I may not want to, or trust them enough..
Even though I’ve put up yield signs and caution tape
they ask me for parts of myself. The most vulnerable parts.
And I give it to them. People-Please Disease.
It’s like they invite me onto this roller coaster,
tell me they’ve had it built just for me.
Had it painted the colors I like and
have my most favorite songs playing in the background
carefully selected to coincide with the peaks and valleys of the tracks,
and the scary parts, and the speed.
But before they allow me to get on it, they make me promise them to be loyal..to be in it forever.
They make ME promise to be honest, to not judge. To trust them, let my guard down…
To have an open mind and give them clean slates.
And I promise it to them. Because they claimed to have built this beautiful ride just for me for which I am grateful.
Then we both get in the first car, and they strap themselves in, then me…
and they tell me that I wont regret the ride.
The ride starts with a jolt that is terrifying but so refreshing at the same time,
like I am being shocked into life.
Like everything and anything I had been through makes sense now, and
were all just leading up to this point
where this person is doing something magical for me, just for me. And Its everything they promised.
I feel myself start to let go, soften the walls, loosen my grip on the reigns…
I take a deep breath, close my eyes. Let myself feel the music, the breeze, and the rush.
Smiling. Happy. Grateful.
I open my eyes wanting to see the look on the other persons’ face
but no one is there.
Frightened I feverishly grip the seat bar and look around confused
only to see them standing off to the side, by the Exit.
They got off the roller coaster.
When my eyes were closed and my walls were down, they got off.
And just to pour salt in the wound, they also yelled some expletives or
insults about my insecurities…
And just to add insult to injury, then attempt to try to get back on the ride.
Some of them begging me for permission to re-enter
or some just jumping the gate and getting back on.
Some get on and off and on and off and on and off and on…and off…
What is this called?
I don’t have a name for this feeling… is it even a feeling at this point?
If it keeps happening, hasn’t its existence become tangible?
Ten, Twenty years later, still feeling this same way?
Not at eight, or eighteen, or twenty-eight can I manage to get this under control?
And although I am straddling the breaking point
my sanity, my fate even,
is hidden away in the most precious of hands
Precious, tiny, four-year old hands
and wrapped around a short, pudgy, little pinky finger that slowly grows longer and
loses its baby fat as each day passes…
My soul is kept away safe in the purest heart I’ve ever known,
where I still see a glimmer of hope for myself
where I still have some faith in humanity….
where, right now, I am loved unconditionally and limitlessly by at least one person on this earth
and I am so grateful for it, for him…
dependent on him…
and the irony of it all is that it is SO unfair to him…