Somebody's knocking at your door
Sometimes the words hardest to say are "I want to be alone." And sometimes the most painful ones are "I promise."
Do I want to be alone to be better? Or do I want to give room to the promises that only tear me down? It's a raging battle inside me, and for days the only thing I've felt for sure was exhaustion.
Sometimes I've caught a glimpse of something that seemed like a thought: Is it possible that I am not meant to share my life with someone because I am just incapable of doing so?
Afterthought, even more unreliable: Is that why I keep hanging on to men who don't want me? So I have something to hang on to but not to let in? Because letting someone in means giving them the key to hurt you?
Why is it that with me theory is so much more powerful than practice? Is it because theories can never hurt your heart the way someone you've let in can? Is it because even though in theory it's been years and years and years that I've been over the guy who hurt me most but in practice the shock is still in each and every cell?
Do I want to believe the woman who has nothing to her credit except her unbelievable, unbelievable, unbelievable people skills - just because she told me something I wanted to hear at that point? And because she was right in everything else? What if her feeling was nothing but a wild guess?
How much do my feelings weigh compared to somebody else's? How much do they matter? And do I even know what they are? What if my belly keeps telling me to close myself off for days? What if the exercise at the seminar wore me out because I hadn't expected that name to come up, but it did, and I don't know what to do with it? Am I stuck in the past? Or in a destructive pattern? Why did it not hurt remotely as much when I learned from T, the last man who mattered - past tense is relevant! -, that he was in a relationship? Or do I simply not remember, was my pain subdued by spring sunshine?
Why do I have such an acute sense of having to guard my boundaries? All of a sudden it seems that so far my life has been a story of boundaries disrespected, trod upon, torn down, spat at. And I've never found anyone who wanted to come in, asked politely, warmly, warm-heartedly and waited for my permission. Except women. Women and men are equally good or bad. But of those who respected my distance, I cannot make out a single guy. Guys have wanted to stay on the outside or stormed in like a tank. Maybe I've never gotten the hang of the thing called intimacy. Maybe at thirtysomething, I am still immature. I watch others who thrive when they share their innermost selves with a partner. I have never experienced anyone who I wanted to share myself with. Am I programmed for disaster? Or worse: unwilling to have myself programmed differently because at least this way I am unhappy the way I want to be unhappy, completely out of my own free will, me-style?
Why did I not say "I want to be alone."? Just so I didn't have to deal with an outside problem? Now I have to deal with an inside problem. I know very well that the meaning of it all - that I may, if lucky, see one day - could just be that I was shown and taught about and led into a life with more dimensions than just my one-dimensional pain and dullness. Maybe, just maybe. If I look at the past, say, year, almost everything that has been good stemmed from one person and one person only. How can I ever be with my mentors, share my time with my friends, do what I love without thinking of the origin (and being so downright unhappy about the origin's disappearence)?
Why can I not see a little into the future to know whether this time it will be like it was with T? Back then I thought that no one in this world could ever, ever, ever be as desirable as he. Everything about him was attractive: mind, wit, character, looks. Although it took a while (some years), the notion eventually died. Now when I see him, I remember, but I don't feel. Back then, however, my perception was very limited. Now I see myriads of lovable men. But that doesn't stop me from seeing only one at the top. Have I perfected my vehicle to the disaster of loneliness, the one thing the human race was not meant to live?
And why do I feel that I can't tell anyone in this world? No one to listen and take my daemon away? I can't and don't want to tell my best friend, I don't want to call a crisis line. I just want it solved, lifted off my shoulders, bettered. Instead I have an awful dread of history repeating itself (me staying in something way to long because getting out would cause a stir and him getting together with the woman of his dreams).
Hah! What a relief that I was only having a nightmare! As if. So what?
Do I want to be alone to be better? Or do I want to give room to the promises that only tear me down? It's a raging battle inside me, and for days the only thing I've felt for sure was exhaustion.
Sometimes I've caught a glimpse of something that seemed like a thought: Is it possible that I am not meant to share my life with someone because I am just incapable of doing so?
Afterthought, even more unreliable: Is that why I keep hanging on to men who don't want me? So I have something to hang on to but not to let in? Because letting someone in means giving them the key to hurt you?
Why is it that with me theory is so much more powerful than practice? Is it because theories can never hurt your heart the way someone you've let in can? Is it because even though in theory it's been years and years and years that I've been over the guy who hurt me most but in practice the shock is still in each and every cell?
Do I want to believe the woman who has nothing to her credit except her unbelievable, unbelievable, unbelievable people skills - just because she told me something I wanted to hear at that point? And because she was right in everything else? What if her feeling was nothing but a wild guess?
How much do my feelings weigh compared to somebody else's? How much do they matter? And do I even know what they are? What if my belly keeps telling me to close myself off for days? What if the exercise at the seminar wore me out because I hadn't expected that name to come up, but it did, and I don't know what to do with it? Am I stuck in the past? Or in a destructive pattern? Why did it not hurt remotely as much when I learned from T, the last man who mattered - past tense is relevant! -, that he was in a relationship? Or do I simply not remember, was my pain subdued by spring sunshine?
Why do I have such an acute sense of having to guard my boundaries? All of a sudden it seems that so far my life has been a story of boundaries disrespected, trod upon, torn down, spat at. And I've never found anyone who wanted to come in, asked politely, warmly, warm-heartedly and waited for my permission. Except women. Women and men are equally good or bad. But of those who respected my distance, I cannot make out a single guy. Guys have wanted to stay on the outside or stormed in like a tank. Maybe I've never gotten the hang of the thing called intimacy. Maybe at thirtysomething, I am still immature. I watch others who thrive when they share their innermost selves with a partner. I have never experienced anyone who I wanted to share myself with. Am I programmed for disaster? Or worse: unwilling to have myself programmed differently because at least this way I am unhappy the way I want to be unhappy, completely out of my own free will, me-style?
Why did I not say "I want to be alone."? Just so I didn't have to deal with an outside problem? Now I have to deal with an inside problem. I know very well that the meaning of it all - that I may, if lucky, see one day - could just be that I was shown and taught about and led into a life with more dimensions than just my one-dimensional pain and dullness. Maybe, just maybe. If I look at the past, say, year, almost everything that has been good stemmed from one person and one person only. How can I ever be with my mentors, share my time with my friends, do what I love without thinking of the origin (and being so downright unhappy about the origin's disappearence)?
Why can I not see a little into the future to know whether this time it will be like it was with T? Back then I thought that no one in this world could ever, ever, ever be as desirable as he. Everything about him was attractive: mind, wit, character, looks. Although it took a while (some years), the notion eventually died. Now when I see him, I remember, but I don't feel. Back then, however, my perception was very limited. Now I see myriads of lovable men. But that doesn't stop me from seeing only one at the top. Have I perfected my vehicle to the disaster of loneliness, the one thing the human race was not meant to live?
And why do I feel that I can't tell anyone in this world? No one to listen and take my daemon away? I can't and don't want to tell my best friend, I don't want to call a crisis line. I just want it solved, lifted off my shoulders, bettered. Instead I have an awful dread of history repeating itself (me staying in something way to long because getting out would cause a stir and him getting together with the woman of his dreams).
Hah! What a relief that I was only having a nightmare! As if. So what?
ronjavondermattisburg - 2. Mai, 16:36