If you know me, you know I have Bad Days sometimes. Cue eye roll here, if you want to. You know, you know, she is the consummate worrier. She’s so dramatic about Nothing At All.
Thing is, you don’t know the whole, and I can’t tell you my whole story. Some of it you wouldn’t even believe, and some of it isn’t mine to share. There are things that are buried far too deep, and are far too painful to dig up and display. Like everyone, I have shameful, burning moments that play over and over, that I wish I could forget, and that I never share.
Some days, it’s a battle to even go outside. I dread seeing people, talking to people, hearing people. Often I feel like almost everyone I know just wants to take something from me, or wants to criticize me, and I definitely don’t want to talk to anyone I don’t know, because that’s ever worse.
And I’m red hot embarrassed tears angry scared hiding again.
Here’s what I’m afraid of: I’m very, very afraid of abandonment. I’m suspicious that anyone who is nice to me is only doing it on a dare, so they can humiliate me later. I’m afraid most people only tolerate me because they want something from me. I’m afraid both of people and of being alone. I’m afraid of getting stuck, and I’m afraid of small spaces. I’m afraid of the dark. I’m afraid of pain, both giving and receiving. I’m afraid of people. I’m afraid of being stuck in a rut, but I’m afraid of change. I’m afraid of being found out. I’m afraid of myself, and where my mind goes. I’m ashamed of choices I have made, things I’ve said, things I’ve done, and things I’ve failed at.
The thing is, I have reasons to be afraid of every single one of those things, based on past experience with the human race. I give more than I get; I put into life more than I get out, and yet I remain awkward, solitary and afraid. I’m bad at friendship, family life, motherhood and work life, and I suck at self-care.
I wish I could go back and confront some of those who contributed to the mess I am today; but some of them are elderly. Some of them would not even remember who I am. Some of them would just laugh. I can’t confront anyone. I cross the street and go blocks out of my way to avoid people. I’m the turtle of confrontation.
I spend weeks and months just trying to push through, getting up, going out, saying I’m okay-I’m okay-I’m okay over and over and over, until I realize that I’m NOT okay, and I haven’t BEEN okay for a long time.
So, there it is. I might delete this post, so don’t be surprised.
I just want to say – be kind to people. You don’t know what they’re going through, or what’s been done to them in the past. It can be very hard to glide through life carrying jagged rusty chains around.