Sunday Thoughts

 

 

 

I often feel I am this broken record. I often fear people are just going to tire of me saying the same things over and over again. I often feel I really have nobody to talk to. I often feel lonely. I often feel like I have no friend in this world. I often feel that I have very little to be looking forward to in life. I often feel tired and this is more than just physical.  Maybe if Marsha were still here, I would simply pick up the phone and call her. Our conversations always started off about heavy thoughts, hers, mine, or often both. The conversation often changed over the course of the call to lighter stuff, stuff that would make us laugh, or stuff we thought were cool. And by the time we would hang up, I always felt so much better. I knew the same was true for my baby sister. She knew I was only a phone call away. I knew the same for her. But my baby Sis is gone now and all I have is this blog anymore. And let's face it: This blog is not my sister.

 

Just as the good 'ol Doctor Blog-ieo isn't much for more than a one-sided conversation, they're not much for hugs or a shoulder to cry on. According to this role I have been given by society, I of course am not supposed to need a shoulder to cry on. I am supposed to be John Rambo, This super mucho macho dude whose only feelings are being, well macho and stuff. But I am simply not that person. I simply cannot be someone I am not. Maybe I need a hug. Maybe I need to cry. Maybe I need somebody kind to tell me it's going to be alright. Maybe I need this more than this world could ever understand. I am so very tired. I keep saying this. But could I ever truly express just what it truly means. The world expects me to go on like nothing ever happened, like things are not still happening at this very moment in time. This is getting more and more difficult for me to do. And I cannot even afford to go see a real doctor about this. And if I could, they'd probably be in a big high traffic, unfamiliar, and scary as hell city. I feel as though something as simple (not simple) as the trip there and back would negate any good doctor's work. Look, I know how this world works. I know how I'm expected to be. I am not completely ignorant of the facts. But still... They can't understand. (Though it warms my heart when they try)  Traumatic experiences and I do not go together well. Maybe I should talk about them, though. Maybe it could go a ways in explaining things. Maybe not. But I have to say something, somehow, somewhere. And so I will lay this all out before the good doctor Blog-ieo. (And whoever else might be reading) The only therapy I can really afford.

I was the weird nerdy kid in school. I did not exactly get on well with others. And I can see why as I look back. There were certain mannerisms I had back then that did not exactly garner positive attention. My anxiety was making itself known even back then as well. I just did not do well socially. And while I see a lot of things now as a middle-aged adult that I could have done differently, I simply lacked this knowledge as a child. There were these couple of bullies I had to contend with on a nearly daily basis. It took me until the 7th grade to finally confront them in a way that made the leave me in peace. And I know now, of course that maybe if I had known what I know now when I was a kid, maybe a lot of these things would not have happened. And maybe this anxiety I have these days when it comes to other people would never have happened. Maybe I would have reached out to the coolest (most awesome girl I've ever met) at my first real job, and who knows? Maybe I'd be a very different person now. But, I never did reach out to anyone. I guess maybe all of this both is and isn't my fault at the same time. There are just a lot of things about myself I cannot really help, try as I might. But anyway, the main reason I got with my ex was because she sought me out, actually. I was starved for love, affection, attention, and everything else too, so it is not very surprising I let this person into my life. I mean we never said, "Hey! Let's live together" Yet, more and more of her things kept showing up at my bachelor pad (That I remember with such a glow of nostalgia) and I happened to look around one day and realized she had pretty much moved in. And at that time, this was the sweetest, most kindest person ever. Well, I decided to do the "right" thing and marry her. After all, the way things were going, I knew there would be kids soon. So what else was I to do but step up to the role and make it all proper, right? Well, there is something about marriage I guess. It may be a beautiful thing with the right person. I don't know. All I know that the ink was barely dry on those papers when I noticed a change. She would fly into rages seemingly out of nowhere. She would yell, throw and break things, take out her rage on my vehicle by roughhousing it. Then she would calm down and apologize for it, and be kind again for a day or two. She would tell me about certain things that would "Happen" when she went uptown, and it seemed they were designed to upset me. She would fly into rages sometimes in front of my co-workers and friends and I would feel so embarrassed. I would be asked by people "How do you put up with that?" to which I would reply "Put up with what?". I am not sure what was with me back in those days. I guess when you spend your life inside of the storm, you get used to the wind. One guy said to me, "A person can get used to anything." And I only see a lot of this now that I have been out of that situation a number of years. There were no hits or punches (At least not at me) but there was a lot of screaming, yelling, throwing and breaking things. Do you know what the most stupid thing about it all? And when I say stupid, I am talking about myself? It took her leaving. I don't think I ever would have. Isn't that just crazy? Even crazier is that for the longest time she would come back and I would let her. Do you know what it took to make me finally stop letting her back? The hurt I would see in my children's eyes. I put a stop to it all, not for me, but for them. I would stand up for them, but not for me. In short, there were two people treating me like shit. My ex and myself for allowing it to happen. Caring about yourself enough to want better is not selfishness, people. The poison that toxic people emanate can be just as deadly as any other. Take it from somebody who has been there, Please please please, care enough about yourself to get free. Many years later, i found this video on YouTube, "Confined - A short film about Male domestic abuse" and there was this scene where the guy pulls up at his house and you can see he does not want to get out of his car.. Suddenly I was back. There was this vivid flashback. I had to stop the video. Just because you were born with the dreaded y chromosome does not mean you can't be a victim, and there is this stigma that keeps these poor souls from getting help. Just as I needed a friend, and yes a shoulder to cry on, So do I also with I could have been the friend and the shoulder that this poor guy needed. I wish I could have pulled up and said, "Hey dude, get your stuff, I'm getting you outta here!" of course he might have been like I was .. "What do you mean?" "Put up with what?" People it's like you get used to your cage. Maybe you just don't want to be alone. It may be far better to be alone, but you cannot see that from inside that cage. Abusers and victims alike can be of any gender. Nobody has a real claim to exclusivity.  And even if we are lucky enough to finally break free, some things remain with us.  

As I may or may not have said somewhere, driving in heavy traffic on unfamiliar roads or long trips is another one of my anxiety triggers. It wasn't always this way. I made two solo trips to the Tampa area when I was still in my late teens. A few nerves, but no major problems. Then there was that day in Marianna so many years ago where this dude absolutely raged at me for something that was not my fault. My Ex raging back at him really didn't help the situation either, But I'll get back to that. Then came my wreck in 2004, a horror that I would relive again and again for months every time I closed my eyes. Why would these mere two experiences out of decades of driving affect me so much every time I venture beyond the the familiar, behind the wheel? I have driven around some fair sized cities in my time and nothing bad happened. Yet, I find my heart racing, my stomach in knots, and I just flat out feel scared. My rational brain understands that there is no logical reason for such panic. Yet.. The rational is only a part of this brain.. The rest is calling for a red alert. I know it's dumb, but can't seem to stop it. I have learned certain things over the years, Slow and deep breaths, affirmations I say to myself, Little Jedi mind tricks I play on myself to get by.  But they never truly make this go away. Mainly they just allow me to focus a bit better and get through whatever it is that I am facing both without and within. Folks I am a mess and I know this better than anyone else.. I wish I could do something about it. Just as I wish I could fix this old house that's falling apart. I feel so damned powerless. I am yet again having to deal with toxic people. I no longer have my baby sister to talk to. I cannot afford, plus I'd be terrified of driving to a therapist. It is all one gigantic clusterfuck and I don't know what to do. Though there is so much more I feel The energy to write any more words here for now is running out.. 

I'll try to pick this up later...