Holding back
Oct. 25th, 2015 18:14![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
torquillI'm trying to be compassionate with myself.
[TW: discussion of suicidal ideation, though not mine.]
Last night I was at a party. It was an okay party; it was laid-back, which was what I was in the mood for. I met somebody who may be an interesting acquaintance. Then I gave a ride home to a guy I've given a ride to before -- he's interested in me, but then, his usual mode for relationships is sexual, so I suspect he's interested in anyone vaguely within his preferred gender pool. He struck me the first time as anxious and desperate, though earnest. Basically a good guy who's trying to fix his life using other people. Not my bag, but I've been there.
Last night he was... worse. About five minutes into the ride I discovered he was actively suicidal. He was hoping for some connection, some human contact that would keep him from going over the edge; I talked to him, but I couldn't give him what he was looking for (sex, or at least hanging out all night). I didn't try to talk him down, as what I've learned about people in that state of mind is that platitudes really don't do much. I talked with him honestly, commiserated where I could, admitted that I didn't really know where he was right now because I had never been. In the course of things I did give him Akien's observation that his friend hadn't realized the scope of the impact his suicide would have; I also told him not to assume that other people wouldn't help, because we can't presume to set their boundaries for them. I told him I hoped he would stick around long enough for me to get to know him better. Beyond that, I had very little to offer. He asked for my card, and I gave it to him, but I didn't encourage his thought that he could call me up and we could hang out once a week or something -- Amy quailed at the idea, and I trust her instincts. I told him that he can always reach me, though. I wonder whether I'll hear from him again.
I spent the rest of the night in a very dark mood. It stirred up pain from several different directions, and it still troubles me. Simply being in proximity to that much pain was traumatic for Amy, because my own memories of it are so fresh (and I'm so empathically open right now) that it was like being back in the well all over again. I cried to relieve some of that -- it's easier now that it's remembered pain, or residual pain, but it's still very present. It brought home to me how raw I still am, though.
That feeds into the guilt. I do know what the pain is like. I remember what it feels like to be lost and looking for somebody, anybody, to cling to for help. I'm out of that nightmare now, I've found my peace and stability... and part of me says that I owe it to those still in that predicament to help. I'm out of the swamp, I should be giving a hand to others. I should pass it on.
Except, as I discovered last night, I can't. My own wounds are still too raw, too recent. The trauma is fresh in my mind and, more importantly, in Amy's. I keep telling myself that it's been only six months since I made this personality to get myself onto stable ground, and maybe three since I finally fought my way out of the last of my own quagmire (I'd have to check my archives). Three months of learning how to live again. I'm still not used to feeling pain all the time; just the other day a thought ran through my mind and I cringed, expecting it to hurt like it used to -- but it didn't. I spent five minutes relishing that silence. I'm like a soldier fresh off the plane home... I can't handle watching a movie with big explosions yet. Not yet.
Not being able to help this guy hurt. I know that he's so broken that I might not be able to do much anyway, not without violating my own standards... but it drove home to me how cold and distant I seemed in the face of his pain. It felt selfish to hold back. And not in a good way. It reminded me of the rejection I got for years from the people I tried to turn to.
Being through everything I've been through has given me a deep sense of empathy, and it feels wrong not to employ that. I found last night that my own wounds, ones I thought were healed, were just scabbed over, and they broke open when I tried to reach out. Some part of me is terrified that I'll learn to live behind that wall, never reach out, never help people the way I've been helped -- that I'll hoard my peace of mind out of fear of remembered pain. Amy has no sense of "things won't always be this way", and can't imagine being able to cope with this sometime in the future. She cringes when I suggest the possibility. She doesn't want to come out of this comfortable little bubble ever again.
I've given myself a deadline for reassessing the situation: I'll look at it again when I go to Burning Man, see how I feel about people making claims on my emotional resources, facing down situations that were similar to mine, reaching out to give that hand up. That's ten months out, and if I haven't made headway by then, I'll figure out where to go from there.
I can't help everybody. Right now I can barely help anybody. It's always hard for me to accept limitations, but I have to look to my own healing first, and it's much farther from being over than I had thought. That brings its own distress, but I'll have to cope with that.
One other thing that it has brought home to me is exactly how big a debt I owe to Akien. Pain like that is a heavy burden, and being a crutch for it is more work than I can face right now. I have a much greater appreciation for how much work it took to get me on my feet -- it might have been soot on the furniture, but it was a big job nonetheless. I wish I could pay it forward, but for now I'll just have to settle for being grateful.
[TW: discussion of suicidal ideation, though not mine.]
Last night I was at a party. It was an okay party; it was laid-back, which was what I was in the mood for. I met somebody who may be an interesting acquaintance. Then I gave a ride home to a guy I've given a ride to before -- he's interested in me, but then, his usual mode for relationships is sexual, so I suspect he's interested in anyone vaguely within his preferred gender pool. He struck me the first time as anxious and desperate, though earnest. Basically a good guy who's trying to fix his life using other people. Not my bag, but I've been there.
Last night he was... worse. About five minutes into the ride I discovered he was actively suicidal. He was hoping for some connection, some human contact that would keep him from going over the edge; I talked to him, but I couldn't give him what he was looking for (sex, or at least hanging out all night). I didn't try to talk him down, as what I've learned about people in that state of mind is that platitudes really don't do much. I talked with him honestly, commiserated where I could, admitted that I didn't really know where he was right now because I had never been. In the course of things I did give him Akien's observation that his friend hadn't realized the scope of the impact his suicide would have; I also told him not to assume that other people wouldn't help, because we can't presume to set their boundaries for them. I told him I hoped he would stick around long enough for me to get to know him better. Beyond that, I had very little to offer. He asked for my card, and I gave it to him, but I didn't encourage his thought that he could call me up and we could hang out once a week or something -- Amy quailed at the idea, and I trust her instincts. I told him that he can always reach me, though. I wonder whether I'll hear from him again.
I spent the rest of the night in a very dark mood. It stirred up pain from several different directions, and it still troubles me. Simply being in proximity to that much pain was traumatic for Amy, because my own memories of it are so fresh (and I'm so empathically open right now) that it was like being back in the well all over again. I cried to relieve some of that -- it's easier now that it's remembered pain, or residual pain, but it's still very present. It brought home to me how raw I still am, though.
That feeds into the guilt. I do know what the pain is like. I remember what it feels like to be lost and looking for somebody, anybody, to cling to for help. I'm out of that nightmare now, I've found my peace and stability... and part of me says that I owe it to those still in that predicament to help. I'm out of the swamp, I should be giving a hand to others. I should pass it on.
Except, as I discovered last night, I can't. My own wounds are still too raw, too recent. The trauma is fresh in my mind and, more importantly, in Amy's. I keep telling myself that it's been only six months since I made this personality to get myself onto stable ground, and maybe three since I finally fought my way out of the last of my own quagmire (I'd have to check my archives). Three months of learning how to live again. I'm still not used to feeling pain all the time; just the other day a thought ran through my mind and I cringed, expecting it to hurt like it used to -- but it didn't. I spent five minutes relishing that silence. I'm like a soldier fresh off the plane home... I can't handle watching a movie with big explosions yet. Not yet.
Not being able to help this guy hurt. I know that he's so broken that I might not be able to do much anyway, not without violating my own standards... but it drove home to me how cold and distant I seemed in the face of his pain. It felt selfish to hold back. And not in a good way. It reminded me of the rejection I got for years from the people I tried to turn to.
Being through everything I've been through has given me a deep sense of empathy, and it feels wrong not to employ that. I found last night that my own wounds, ones I thought were healed, were just scabbed over, and they broke open when I tried to reach out. Some part of me is terrified that I'll learn to live behind that wall, never reach out, never help people the way I've been helped -- that I'll hoard my peace of mind out of fear of remembered pain. Amy has no sense of "things won't always be this way", and can't imagine being able to cope with this sometime in the future. She cringes when I suggest the possibility. She doesn't want to come out of this comfortable little bubble ever again.
I've given myself a deadline for reassessing the situation: I'll look at it again when I go to Burning Man, see how I feel about people making claims on my emotional resources, facing down situations that were similar to mine, reaching out to give that hand up. That's ten months out, and if I haven't made headway by then, I'll figure out where to go from there.
I can't help everybody. Right now I can barely help anybody. It's always hard for me to accept limitations, but I have to look to my own healing first, and it's much farther from being over than I had thought. That brings its own distress, but I'll have to cope with that.
One other thing that it has brought home to me is exactly how big a debt I owe to Akien. Pain like that is a heavy burden, and being a crutch for it is more work than I can face right now. I have a much greater appreciation for how much work it took to get me on my feet -- it might have been soot on the furniture, but it was a big job nonetheless. I wish I could pay it forward, but for now I'll just have to settle for being grateful.
