I’m struggling with myself a little bit here, because I’ve wanted to write here for awhile—actually felt the urge and opened my trusty blog.doc page a time or two…or three, or…well, you get the idea.
So why haven’t I? Good question. I’ve been sitting here—while contemplating such diverse subjects as the Shroud of Turin, my increasing OCD, insomnia, and outfits of the Golden Globes—trying to find myself an answer.
I suppose part of it is secrets and lies, but another part is quite simply my loyalty to those I care for, or have cared for in the past. I would like to give y’all a play-by-play of the last month or so, but to do so would mean that I would have to hurt people that are really quite dear to me. I refuse to do that.
I’m starting to realize that I’m not the only person who internalizes these anonymous things. So, let me just say, if you’re reading this, it’s not about you. It’s about me.
Nice little disclaimer there, don’t you think?
Right, so even though most of the past few months involves quite a few people besides myself, you won’t be hearing about it here. Instead, I’m going to give you a little rant about me. Or, if not a rant, at least a little introspective. A little how I see myself at this time at my life kinda spiel.
Feel free to wait for the next post for something actually worth reading. Honestly, I won’t hold it against you. In fact, let’s just pretend that you did just skip over all of this, because that way I can hide a little from it.
Proximity is a big thing in my world. I realize that’s dumb. I mean, I certainly come off more intelligent on paper. Hell, I come off pretty damn amazing on paper. I’ve done a lot, been to a lot of places, and met a lot of amazing people. But that’s the thing about paper; if you know how to manipulate your audience, you can make yourself sound however you want yourself to sound. But, in the end proximity means the world to me.
And it doesn’t have to be any kind of set-up or event. I’m just as perfectly happy sitting in the same room with someone I care about as I am partying in VIP with someone I care about. They don’t even have to acknowledge me while I’m in said same room. In a way I think it might be part of my whole self-worthlessness issue. If I’m sitting in the same room as someone, reading a book while they watch a movie, I can’t possibly do something to piss them off. I’m not going to screw up or say the wrong thing or finally reveal what a worthless blob of humanity I am. I can just simply enjoy their company. Their proximity.
Then again, actual contact means more to me than proximity. Freud would say it’s because I wasn’t touched enough as a child. Freud might be a little right, but there’s more to it than that. I need the warmth of skin, the texture of fingertips, the grace of a breath. Sex, for sure, is a good way to accomplish this, and clearly I’m more addicted to that than a lot of woman my age. But sex brings up entirely different issues for me as well. Hugs mean a lot to me. Little touches, possibly even accidental, mean a lot. I love it when people touch my hair. That’s most of the reason why I had it so long for…well, so long. The contact, the physical manifestation…the clear evidence of another person’s desire to connect. It doesn’t matter to me if it’s out of love or lust or even just to see if my hair is as soft as it looks. It’s this contact that connects me to the world.
If you give me a 6 hour window to hang out with my friends and get my ass to the airport, I’d spend all 5 hours with them, then try and get them to drive there with me. Nothing changes when you add time. I’d feel the same way in a 6 day window. On the one hand, I recognize that desire can be annoying for others. Not everyone wants to be near me 24/7, and I honestly don’t blame them. Most of the time I don’t even want to be with me—which kinda brings us back to the doing lots of things with my life issue, hu? But I digress. Even though I realize this, I also find myself incapable of walking away. Because what if I leave before they really wanted me to go away? What if I missed a few precious moments because I was paranoid about being too clinging? So I do one of two things: I stay until I’m told to leave; or I never go at all. Because the only way to save me from myself is to keep my secrets and head cases to myself.
So much for that idea.
It’s funny really, because as fucked up as all of this may sound, I’m actually gotten a hell of a lot better then I ever used to be. There was a time, not so very long ago, when I tried to see how many days I could go without eating anything. When I carved initials into my skin and pushed needles into my flesh. Physical pain, after all, is better than emotional. When I let people use me and ignore me because I thought I deserved it. When I dated a gay boy so that I knew from the beginning I could never have him. Assuming the worst from the beginning still serves me well.
I will never love myself—I truly believe that—but I’m starting to actually like myself. That’s the second step for me. The first one was admitting how much I hated the face staring back from the mirror at me. It took a whole new set of friends, and one very perceptive mother saying one very perceptive analysis of me. “You walk into a room and everyone thinks you’re the most confidant person in it. Nobody has any idea how scared to death you are of everything and everyone. And most especially yourself.”
So true, Mrs. P, so true.
Now I can actually walk into a room with a bit of confidence. Well, I should say some rooms. Not every room and not every time. But a lot of the time. It started out as me faking my confidence, saying hi instead of walking past everyone. Now it’s more real. I say ‘hi’ to see the reactions. To observe the faces. Sometimes I even like what I see.
Unfortunately, I will never be able to look at these people as I should. I’ll never be able to just see a person and believe in them as a truth. Even should an amazing and permanently impacting relationship develop, I’ll always be waiting for the other shoe to drop. For that person to look up, see the freak behind the façade, and run screaming for the other direction.
I adore all of you. You know this, or—at the very least—I hope I’ve made my adoration clear. My loyalty to you goes far, far beyond my loyalty to myself. My worth has improved by just knowing you and being loved by you.
But this is my next step. One that these so secret, dangerous, and joyous events have made necessary. One that all of you, in one way or another, have forced me to make. I’m dropping the mask. See me: perfect frailty, flawed design, beautiful disaster.
Please don’t run away.
Quote of the Moment: “Hey, can I borrow your car? I need to take a nap."
Soundtrack of the Moment: Breaking Benjamin’s “You”
TV/Movie Quote: From House, M.D.
Dr. Cameron: I'm the only one who's always stood behind you when you've screwed up.
Dr. Gregory House: Why? Why would you support someone who screws up?
Dr. Cameron: Because I'm not insanely insecure, and because I can actually trust in another human being, and I am not an angry, misanthropic son of a bitch.
Dr. Gregory House: I'm sorry. You said you weren't angry.