I tested my ability to trust--not only in others, but in myself. I was too scared to give up that control--that another person could decide to positively or negatively affect my destiny, was too frightening to let go. It's only in times of true desolation that you realize the answer is trusting in your decision to put faith in another.
I learned a lot about forgiveness. No matter the situation--what keeps us from forgiving others is the guilt we have in being unable to forgive ourselves. We may feel guilt from hurting someone we love, allowing them to hurt us, from letting the pain we have affect them, or we may be unable to forgive the failure we feel from losing trust & control in other situations in our life. Until we're able to look inside ourselves and forgive what makes us who we are, we can never truly forgive another.
I learned a great deal about the unconditional bond of friendship. Two genuine souls make a silent pact that no matter the circumstance, no matter the distance, no matter the cost, in an hour of need, they will find each other, no questions asked, no hesitation. Friends who've experienced this power often call it unconditional love--but I've learned that love is always conditional to some degree. A bond is different from love--it's an understanding, a mutual promise that no matter how much pain or hurt or chaos, the bond cannot be broken. Love is fickle, it can be passionate and passionless--but a bond is strong, steady, and true. An unconditional bond can never be severed, only stretched thin. And in that moment of need, it always bounces back to bring us together.
I learned that you can't force the pieces back the way they were, you have to take the pieces that were once complete and create something new from them. Shape them--break them, create through them a new work of a art, something that is original, yours. The world may not understand your creation when you're done--they may gawk, they may be frightened, or they may embrace it as a true embodiment of passion. Whatever the response, you have succeeded, for you took pieces and bonded them to be whole in a new form.
I feel like a new light has been lit and it's glowing so brightly. I no longer fear the abyss under my bridge. I pass over it without fear--knowing that even with a faulty step, I have unconditional bonds to guide me to safety.
The ultimate lesson I've learned is that self comes before others. Yes, you must do unto others as you would have them do unto you, but you must do unto yourself before you can do unto another. You can't fix other people without fixing yourself, and sometimes, you have to follow your own advice--even if it means ending a part of your life that you feel desperately lost without to gain stability and clarity.
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Last year at this time, I was lost--completely confused, as if I had woken up from a dream and I was in a stranger's body. It was hard for me to trust the people around me--in turn, hurting them because they didn't understand what I was going through and why I was pushing them away. It was difficult to explain what was going on because I didn't know. I didn't understand why I suddenly felt so awkward—like I was surrounded by strangers and even when I looked in the mirror I didn’t have any recognition.
At the time, I had a close-knit second family. We hung out every weekend like clockwork--and some times during the week. We were bonded by mutual loneliness and the need to lose ourselves in alcohol and sarcasm. We had early morning discussions about philosophy and late night arguments about politics--but we always had a sense of communal belonging. We never really fought--though sometimes there was drama for the sake of drama, but that was usually forgotten by the next weekend, if not the next morning. Looking back, some of my fondest memories are from those couple of months. The inside jokes, the deep discussions that led us to understanding a bit more about life and human nature, and the tedious time spent perfecting the harmonies of Queen’s Bohemian Rhapsody. It’s hard to say now if those memories I have are real or if they’re only fragments from what actually happened.
I remember some of the conversations—about being in future weddings and raising future kids side by side. I never pushed the subject of me being there. I never wanted to give in to the possibility that they would be there in my future. I was so used to losing that I just didn’t want to give into the happiness of knowing there was real substance behind those words. Maybe that was a mistake… maybe it wasn’t. I just don’t jump on the train as quickly as some do, I’d rather bide my time on the platform, double checking gate and departure times until I rush on board. Eventually I did come around to the idea of a future with them by my side—but by that time, it seemed to be too late; the train was already moving well out of my reach to be able to jump on.
And that’s exactly what it felt like. Like I was chasing this train trying to flag it down with my petite legs moving just short of fast enough and my small little arms unable to move enough air to attract attention —and instead of slowing down or reaching out a hand, they made themselves cozy in the dinner car and began enjoying life without me. That’s what it felt like, but probably not what was really happening.
You see, my mind has this odd disability when it comes to relationships and people. It starts twisting and warping things. I’ve always been exceptionally imaginative and sometimes my story telling nature gets the best of me and I start rewriting things in my head. Most of the time, I can separate reality and fiction, but I was going through a time in my life where I was doing all these new things and feeling emotions that I hadn’t learned to decipher, and I was so wrapped up in living in my head that I wasn’t really paying that much attention to what was actually going on around me. I wasn’t really living in the moment; I was just observing what my mind created for me. And that’s when everything got all scrambled up.
Imagine you suddenly find yourself sitting in a house surrounded by people, but you couldn’t remember how you got there, or who they were, you just knew that they knew you and that you were supposed to know them. Sounds a bit crazy, I know. But that’s what slowly crept up on me. I forgot how to act—what I was supposed to say, what I was supposed to do, as if I had been lobotomized. I felt so awkward, nothing I seemed to do or say was right. They started looking at me differently—with this odd expression. And that made me even more confused which made me act more awkward. And out of that awkward confusion developed anger and hurt because I didn’t understand anything that was going on or any of the emotions behind what I was feeling. It was gut wrenchingly painful to be around them—it literally ate at my insides when I had to see them. And the pain from feeling that way about people I truly in my heart cared about was one of the most agonizing things I’ve ever felt. It carved a hole into me and let loose a wrecking ball of ugliness to pummel inside me.
The hardest thing is not being able to go back and fix any of it. Not having closure--not having that sense of end. It just sort of unraveled and it was like I was frozen--unable to grab at the threads. I realize now that it wasn't just my pain that I was feeling--it was the pain of the people around me that twisted in my gut and acidified my happiness. It was like I was a sponge--soaking up the hurt and anxiety until it swelled up inside of me and I couldn't breathe. It was that gasping of air that led me to waking up a stranger in my own world.
My first instinct was to draw away from the pain and the source of my frustration. So, I began ending my friendships by pushing away from my family, and I stopped listening to my intuition. I went through a phase of destructive actions to try to punish myself for my flaws--and no amount of hurt was making it better. I scratched my skin raw, leaving welts--I willed myself to reject food and I pushed myself intensively until I was on the brink of exhaustion--trying to expel whatever ugliness was ripping my life apart. I did of all of these things and no one knew. I masked all of it with a smile or a lie--pretending that I was ok and knowing that every time someone believed me it hurt even more. I've never been that low before--where hurting was a comfort. And I would have continued my path of destruction until one night when I found myself in a bed with a boy.
Anyone who knows me knows I'm not a person for sex. Not that I don't want to have sex--nor that the idea of sex is not appealing, but I generally just don't "do it". Growing up I believed in that fairy tale bullshit of waiting to have sex with someone you care about, make it special, yada yada yada. I was 21 and a virgin--a hot commodity or something like that. Everyone who found out responded in two ways: they were either "proud" of me or wanted to help me lose it. Everywhere I went it was like it was plastered across my forehead--a joke to be tossed around at my expense or something to redirect the conversation at awkward moments. I was fine with it, even partaking in the joking a time or two. I even agreed once to lose my virginity to friend by signing an oath that they were going to get notarized. But, alas, it was always my decision to wait it out--to wait until that right "spark".
Self harm is an addiction. Eventually you have to push yourself harder in order feel the same comfort--always progressing to cutting yourself down more and more to just feel in control. I needed something that would destroy me. So I decided I was going to finally give it up--and who best fit the bill? Why the guy who repulsed my every fiber and made me sick to my stomach: Private Stalker.
It was a week after the ashes began to smolder from burning the bridge with my second family. I had the house to myself and I was feeling exceptionally low and dangerous. My one, lasting support beam was out of town or something so I was feeling very alone. As if he could sense it, he called me to let me know he’d be home for a few days on leave. “We should hang out.” So I invited him over. I drank before he arrived, knowing full well that if I didn’t I probably would be so annoyed by the thought of him that I wouldn’t even answer the door upon his arrival. So I got comfortably buzzed—that numb level where you’re still in control, but you can throw caution to the wind without a second thought. Everything was fine, we talked a bit, threw on a movie, and then it got late and I told him he could stay and cuddle. Gag.
So we went upstairs to bed and I fell into an uncomfortable sleep with his arms around me. I woke up sometime later and he started awkwardly groping me. I stifled the voice in my head that was adamantly ordering me to leave the room. I succumbed to the thought that if he didn’t kiss me I’d be fine. I could get through whatever disgusting thing we were about to do.
