The thing that makes me strong buries me in misery. She is the shining light that burns my skin. He is the fierce hug that I miss. We are the moment in time that was here, and is now gone.
They wondered why I didn’t show up, because I was showing up for myself. The last conversation we had was wild, it took me across my mind-scape, and brought me laughter to tears. It was exhausting because the flow consumed me.
You know the dance a puppy makes? The one that leads from “Hey, how you doin?” to “Ouch, dang… chill out!” Well, that’s friendship for me, and while I take it seriously, I end up being a sad puppy at times.
I have lot’s of people I consider friends. I love to socialize, but it’s exhausting to fully embrace a high standard of emotional intelligence, and I grow empty from it. If the ditch I land in from failing to meet their expectations is something I have to climb out of each time I see them, our friendship is weak.
My best friends appreciate my need for silence, and revel in my reappearances. They don’t expect me to conform to their sense of attachment to my time, and express their longing in easy messages that end with, “If you don’t call me back I’ll know everything is okay.”
Depression cycles have been the worst, and best. They jump me around, toss me in the air, and I land on the ground in a heap. I enjoy sharing the lofty parts of it, where I’ve finally come out of my cave of sadness, and I can’t get enough of the smell of flowers. Sunshine puts a smile on my face, and the storm of a grey day is something to challenge.
Through research I’ve found that this is a common pattern. From the honorable place of wanting to save my friends from misery, I bury my sadness from the people I care about, hide it in being alone, and let it stew in me for long periods of time.
This had built a shame deck that people who cared about me would walk on to get to the house that was me. They would tread softly in their approach, and knock on the door gently, asking if its okay to enter. At other times out of disgust for my pattern, they’d pound on my door, and think about kicking it in.
Each ridge and ditch has gotten bigger over the years. It hasn’t taken any longer to climb or fall, the ride just got more intense. The best things I learned from it make the ride easier for me, but unfortunately for the people who care about me, I’m a stranger who built walls.
Some people judge my actions as irresponsible and immature, but I’m not as ashamed about my miseries and expressions of exponential happiness, as I’ve begun to accept them as my process in learning to survive change. My relationships grow stronger from this experience, and I see it as one of the main benefits of my blogging.
How am I doing? Do you need to worry? Read my blog if you think you do, because the doors to the walls I built between us, are everywhere. I’ve done enough worrying for the both of us, and plenty of other people I may never meet.
I’m working on not worrying. Do you want to help with that? Good. Stop worrying, as doubt feeds doubt. If you want to show that you care about me, get curious. I do my best to preserve love with my question marks, and I hope you can return it.
I’ve proven to myself that I am not the king, the best, the smartest, or the prettiest. I feel like a beautifully shined burning boot, and that won’t ever change. I get pleasure from seeing you, and if I turn away to hide my tears from your joys, at least you know I still feel.
Have you felt the bottom of the pit? Did you ever lay in a curled ball and cry yourself to sleep for months? Was your perception ever laced with the crystals of so much happiness, that you burst from it and people were worried for you? Do your friends look at you with curiosity and wonder how you feel?
Do they assume you showed up only for pleasure? Watch out for that, as they’ll like you better if you let them bear some of your grief. If you don’t, they’ll bear it anyways in quiet resignation, or reject you from the compassion fatigue of bearing to much.