I woke up early this morning and found myself reading articles on Medium. As I often do. But today I came across things that led me down the self reflection route.
I haven’t found anything new. Not really. Though I do see a certain lack of certainty. An intellectual understanding of the positions of others which may have been a visceral understanding prior. I think I’m shielding my emotions more.
I feel distant and compartmentalized. Yet I still cry and feel and laugh. Joy and sorrow are a part of my heart and I feel them.
So it’s not like the wall I built before. The house of closed doors where nothing was felt. And it’s not like the tsunamic aftermath of that wall breaking. Nor is it the flayed sadness which permeated after.
This is new. And I’m not sure how I feel about it.
It makes the days and people easier to cope with. But it also makes the words and thoughtforms of art harder to feel. Its like a little magic has gone out of the world to foster stability.
I don’t know what I think about it.
There comes a point where you realize that the person you want most in your life, won’t be. Much as you may click and even keep in touch, that extra few steps from maybe to yes are just never going to happen. For me that means that I accept what is. If we are friends then I’m all in on the friendship. If we are acquaintances then I imagine we will fade until we are just memories to each other and the occasional birthday wish on social media.
It’s tough realizing the person who was your person will never be the one you hold safe in your arms. Times passing and it seems like you have forever until you wake up and see what behind is more than what’s ahead. Maybe then, you settle. I can’t know. I instead wait. And dream. And write.
I’ll stop hoping but never stop planning. Stop dreaming but never stop the dream. When you glimpse each others hearts, it already too late to back out. Even if you will never be.
When one thinks of an enemy, one should not think of them as less than human. Calling them slurs or railing against them, calling them trash helps to dehumanize them. It makes it easier to harm them. I get it. But it is a mistake.
When we dehumanize our enemies we erode our sense of their capabilities. We convince ourselves by rote comparison that because they are trash, they couldn’t or wouldn’t take a action or make a plan or think a thought. It narrows our view of what is possible and doing so narrows our options to combat them.
An enemy who is thought of as human can be seen as having all of the same complexity as we do. When making plans, one must take into account that there will be counter moves and unanticipated actions. Seeing them as equal to yourself allows for these actions to be at least counted if not accounted for.
Tactically, it is the right course.
But, it is also the correct course for our mental well-being. When we dehumanize, the consequences of our actions ‘in the moment’ become easier. However, when we have time to think later, those mental gymnastics have real world consequences. Either by cutting yourself off from your emotions or by making empathy for your fellow humans much harder.
The best course is to think of everyone as a feeling, thinking, equal person, First. And anything else that they may be second. It’s a hierarchical way of thinking that may be difficult but it helps. Because there is also the flip side. When we contemplate moving against them, we no longer see them in the position or place they are in, rather we see them as human. And humans are fragile.
In the end, thinking of your enemies as human also forces you to think of everyone as human. This helps. In many everyday ways. It also helps to realize that the things we tell ourselves about ourselves and each other have real emotional and rational impact on how we view the world and ourselves. Discounting this leads to underestimation. And the downfall of self.
Don’t want to feel like I need to apologize for falling in love
Too soon? What is that? Too soon for who? Sure I don’t know everything about her, so what? Learning about someone is a relationship. Seeing them as they grow and change and embracing those changes. That’s a relationship. People tell me that I say it too soon, that I should live in the moment. Where else is there to live? The moment realized is a byproduct of future planning but failure to plan is failure to realize. Love is always a Work in progress. That pure crystalline love that never waivers or changes is the fairytale and maybe that’s the standard people hold to and that’s why we are so unhappy.
When I say I love you it’s no perfection. No crystalline structure of atoms waiting for the right forces to shatter it. It is the messy growing complex thing that becomes as things change and accommodates new structures to become a whole. Not unwavering or unyielding but instead resilient and capable of change.
Through a series of missteps I grew used to apologizing for what I feel.
I don’t want that. I want someone who sees me and likes that I’m a poetical kind romantic who will spank you and play in dark and light ways all while abiding in a column of love. And sees that I go through darkness too, and knows that I’m there despite my challenges.
Even now I feel like I have to apologize for being too much. I want someone who sees my too much and knows it for enough.
I almost wish that my emotions didn’t run so hot.
That they didn’t rush like tsunami. Seemingly dry and nonexistent as the waters pull back, until they rush forward, overwhelming my heart. It seems like I only find those unavailable to me as people who make my heart burst like fire. But it’s not true. It’s just that those who are unavailable are often the only ones who show any interest in me. At least in a way that I recognize as interest. I can be obtuse in this regard.
I don’t know. I dislike not knowing. I love to know everything. How else will I see true if I cannot see all?
I wish I knew. Whatever paths led where. Even in general. Because I can’t trust my judgment. My judgment leads me to love and to breaking.
You know…I didn’t pick Morgan. She picked me.
It makes me wonder. Because every time I trust my judgment, while they don’t destroy me in harder ways, I’m still devastated. When it ends. When it fails.
I don’t know the way forward.
I worry. I worry that whatever I am. This creature, this person I have chosen to be. This person I have actively defined by my choices.
I worry that when you finally see me, all that structure and facade will fall away and you’ll be left with what I am.
And all of that is a lie. It’s a lie that my fear tells my heart because it needs to maintain its control. But it is a lie.
I have constructed myself but it was like chipping away at a hunk of marble. I didn’t build a structure on top of a structure. There is no facade. There is just this false feeling of being an imposter. Because if I’m all that I am and then I fail it will be because I was not enough. Or because what I am is not what is desired. And that is my fear. Not that something I’ve done or not done will be the cause of rejection but that despite it all. Despite who I am, I am somehow not what is wanted.
That’s the fear. It’s not that I am an imposter and will be found out. It’s that I’m NOT and despite it all will still be found wanting. And I can’t do anything about that. I can be me. I can show up and put all the tools and processes and everything I am and if it’s still not enough, then we’re just not meant to be. Not meant to click and choose each other.
And seeing that now, I wonder at what I was afraid of? Afraid that I’d be rejected by someone who won’t, who can’t see me? Can’t value me?
There might be pain because I will have invested emotionally but if you can’t love who I am, why should I allow that to hurt me. It should instead free me. And it does
There is a feeling of falling apart without you. But I’ll never say that. I won’t hold you emotionally hostage. I refuse to be another person that inflicts their pain on you.
This feeling of dissolution without you, of dying without you will never be spoken from my lips to reach your ears. I’m a monster. But not that kind.
And here’s the thing, it’s like I can feel people I’m with flinching from something I’m not saying. I am open about what I’m feeling, because how are you to know if I say nothing. But I never will take it to that place where you might feel responsible for my actions. I don’t want that.
I just want to be heard and understood. And I don’t see how that is possible without honesty about everything.
There is nothing I desire more than to have the love I am, the love I send out be returned to me by those I love. I suppose that’s where my failure lays. That I need that love to be returned to me.
It’s counter intuitive. When we love, we want, we desire, that love to be returned to us. But that is placing a boundary on love. It is saying that I will only love if I gain from doing so. And that is not love. That is calculation, that is want.
Or perhaps I am painting myself as someone to be held to a different standard because there are none who return my love. And it is easier to say that that is a fault of humanity instead of my fault. That those my heart love are always the ones least likely to love me back.
Or maybe the truth, TRUTH, lays somewhere in between. Maybe I need to be a bit more forgiving of my own needs, my own desires.
Or maybe I just need someone to hold me and tell me it will be OK.
Perhaps I should accept the fragility of my heart and just accept that as long as I am honest in my love, as long as those I love know that They Are Loved, I have done all that I can.
If I allow myself to, I will wallow in pain and hope until my world turns corrupt and only pain can bring me back around. 2 times in one year. Ghosted.
I am guessing that I seem like I would be an asshole or cause problems if I were just told the truth. Not the case. Honor demands that I treat honesty with respect. Even if I hate it. Sounds like bullshit, right? I’ve built up a lifetime of being in control. When I am with someone, I give up some of that control to let them in. Into my heart.
I write poetry about them. In these instances, I say goodnight and good morning. I say what’s in my heart. Always. And I warn, I always want a step further than people are generally willing to give. Tell me so I know where the line is.
Instead of telling me, they just leave. Disappear. Stop responding. That I don’t understand. Just let me know. Tell me. Telling me your boundaries, your hard limits are not going to phase me. Communication, please. Tell me something is a hard limit and I will back off. How can leaving be better? I left one time. One time I ghosted out. It is one of my biggest regrets. I had to get in touch with her, and did.
Ghosting out damaged me. Damaged my view of my self. I will never do it again. How can people ghost over and over? Do others have so little value to them? Or do they value their own worth so little?
I’m just rambling, trying to pick up the pieces. Trying to understand.
Between the time we last spoke and the time we next speak are the scariest moments. Because in that time I can’t know what is happening. I know you take care of yourself and from all evidence seem to be a badass. But the relief I feel when I next hear from you is palpable. Like a weight that had slowly settled on my shoulders and heart becomes lifted and thus I am buoyant.
Do other people feel that way? Is that a weird thing to think? I’ve gotten to a point where what I feel is so close to the surface that nothing feels abnormal. Heightened yes but not abnormal and it seems no one talks about the fear.
Or is it that it is normal to drown in so much fear that perceiving one fear from another impossible so it becomes this low level hum that is with you but you don’t know the why’s of it. I, of course, like that thought because if that’s the case then that makes what I do exceptional. But it seems like that is pure arrogance.
I’m the type of guy who sees someone they love sleeping and must watch for a minute to confirm to themselves that their love still breathes. I can’t just pass by. I must confirm it for myself. Sometimes, I will touch someone who I love just to confirm that they are real. Because I can’t quite believe it. I think that is an odd thought. But is it? Or is it that I admit that is why, at least one reason why, I do it?