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torquill[formerly filtered to c]
I did mention there was a public and a private component to this, right?
As bewildering as it is to have found people who actually understand me without translation, that's not the real earth-shattering kaboom. What's turning my world upside down is deeper than that.
The reason I feel like such an outsider, such an alien, is that my internal landscape is not what I understand to be normal. My emotional animal, that piece of me which I isolated and put in a box when I was a child, is very separate from my analytical mind; not quite to the point of split-personality, but closer than you think. It is exceedingly powerful. My emotions are disproportionate... and when I say that, whoever I'm talking to says they have really strong emotions too; they're really sensitive. They know how I feel.
I'm going to say this without meaning the tiniest bit of offense, but: no, you really don't.
My emotions have been caged up for most of my life; I let out as much as I felt were safe, but the full power of it still scares me. It's scared away many people who have caught a real glimpse of it, those few people I managed to let my guard down with. That remainder of my feelings, what was left over when I let out what was "acceptable", accumulated into a deep pit of desolation and pain. Those who saw that in me, who paused long enough to realize what it was, almost universally fled. I was too needy, too broken, too clingy, too scary. They didn't know what to do, even when they wanted to help. And the pain grew, fed by the people who got the hell out and left me behind. I decided I couldn't fix it, it was beyond me, so I did my best to learn to live with it.
Last night was the first time anyone told me "I know what you're feeling", and I actually believed it.
Akien encountered the depth of my pain, which creates what he called a need so fierce it becomes rage. He told me the story of how he had felt that sort of need, once, and he recognized it. In the face of mine, he wasn't frightened, or weirded out, or helpless. It was okay.
I admitted that that rage of need is something I feel regularly. That is my life. It cost me an enormous amount to admit to anyone else that this extraordinary condition, such an extreme of emotion, is common for me. That I really am that different. That I have a hellstorm at my core all the time. I'm not sure I could face that in someone else, at least with any equanimity. I can't blame the people who run screaming from it. He, on the other hand, made dinner.
I have discovered that I'm afraid all the time. If not every minute, then just about every hour of every day, I'm frightened. Sometimes terrified. I've been without anchor, without solace, for most of that time, and I reach out for anything that looks like it might mean relief. And even as I do it, I'm terrified it will just dissolve again, or flit out of my grasp. Another abandonment.
He looked into that well of howling desolation and said, "Yeah, this will take us a while."
To my fears that he would give me just a taste of relief and then go away, as has happened before, he countered that he wasn't going anywhere. He's been chasing me for years, and he's not about to let go now. I'm not sure I can quite accept yet that he's here for the long haul, but he is helping me tackle the pain and loneliness, and giving me the physical affection I've needed for most of my life. I couldn't do this on my own.
Of course, as good as it is to find someone who can give this sort of support, the work itself will suck. I can already tell that I'll spend most of the next year frightened. The only way to get rid of that massive well of pain is to feel each piece of it again. And I'll have to unravel all the knots I've tied myself into over the course of three long decades. This is going to be years of hard, rather unpleasant work, though the payoff will be huge.
It will turn my world upside down. It may result in another death of identity, though one less sudden and total than the one I had in 1997. I'm preparing for that, and bracing myself for the trauma of the process. And I'm scared, but that's nothing new.
Wish me luck.
I did mention there was a public and a private component to this, right?
As bewildering as it is to have found people who actually understand me without translation, that's not the real earth-shattering kaboom. What's turning my world upside down is deeper than that.
The reason I feel like such an outsider, such an alien, is that my internal landscape is not what I understand to be normal. My emotional animal, that piece of me which I isolated and put in a box when I was a child, is very separate from my analytical mind; not quite to the point of split-personality, but closer than you think. It is exceedingly powerful. My emotions are disproportionate... and when I say that, whoever I'm talking to says they have really strong emotions too; they're really sensitive. They know how I feel.
I'm going to say this without meaning the tiniest bit of offense, but: no, you really don't.
My emotions have been caged up for most of my life; I let out as much as I felt were safe, but the full power of it still scares me. It's scared away many people who have caught a real glimpse of it, those few people I managed to let my guard down with. That remainder of my feelings, what was left over when I let out what was "acceptable", accumulated into a deep pit of desolation and pain. Those who saw that in me, who paused long enough to realize what it was, almost universally fled. I was too needy, too broken, too clingy, too scary. They didn't know what to do, even when they wanted to help. And the pain grew, fed by the people who got the hell out and left me behind. I decided I couldn't fix it, it was beyond me, so I did my best to learn to live with it.
Last night was the first time anyone told me "I know what you're feeling", and I actually believed it.
Akien encountered the depth of my pain, which creates what he called a need so fierce it becomes rage. He told me the story of how he had felt that sort of need, once, and he recognized it. In the face of mine, he wasn't frightened, or weirded out, or helpless. It was okay.
I admitted that that rage of need is something I feel regularly. That is my life. It cost me an enormous amount to admit to anyone else that this extraordinary condition, such an extreme of emotion, is common for me. That I really am that different. That I have a hellstorm at my core all the time. I'm not sure I could face that in someone else, at least with any equanimity. I can't blame the people who run screaming from it. He, on the other hand, made dinner.
I have discovered that I'm afraid all the time. If not every minute, then just about every hour of every day, I'm frightened. Sometimes terrified. I've been without anchor, without solace, for most of that time, and I reach out for anything that looks like it might mean relief. And even as I do it, I'm terrified it will just dissolve again, or flit out of my grasp. Another abandonment.
He looked into that well of howling desolation and said, "Yeah, this will take us a while."
To my fears that he would give me just a taste of relief and then go away, as has happened before, he countered that he wasn't going anywhere. He's been chasing me for years, and he's not about to let go now. I'm not sure I can quite accept yet that he's here for the long haul, but he is helping me tackle the pain and loneliness, and giving me the physical affection I've needed for most of my life. I couldn't do this on my own.
Of course, as good as it is to find someone who can give this sort of support, the work itself will suck. I can already tell that I'll spend most of the next year frightened. The only way to get rid of that massive well of pain is to feel each piece of it again. And I'll have to unravel all the knots I've tied myself into over the course of three long decades. This is going to be years of hard, rather unpleasant work, though the payoff will be huge.
It will turn my world upside down. It may result in another death of identity, though one less sudden and total than the one I had in 1997. I'm preparing for that, and bracing myself for the trauma of the process. And I'm scared, but that's nothing new.
Wish me luck.
