Younger

For some reason, I feel compelled to write this here. No idea why. No idea where it’s going….

A few of you have sent me love notes during the last few months and I have LOVED it! Some of you have texted, called and emailed me occasionally JUST to say HI. These small gestures mean more to me than I can put into words right now.

When I was younger, people commented frequently about how thoughtful I was and they were frequently impressed that I remembered the “little things” they would talk about and yearn for. I loved the opportunity to surprise someone with a loving thought or a little note. It was never anything really that big, just something to let them know they were loved by me. Usually it was well-received, sometimes even to the point of overflowing tears of gratitude, “How did you know I needed that right now?”

Most often, I didn’t know how I knew. I had followed something inside of me that said, “Now is the time. Let them know you love them.” I followed my impulses, sometimes the receiver was completely unaware of the giver and I would do something anonymously, without ever witnessing the response. Other times, I did something small or shared a tender word face to face.

This “thoughtfulness” was a natural inclination for me. For most of my life, with everyone in my life for whom I was “thoughtful” there was no return surprise and I was good with that. One day, I began to wonder… what would happen if I stopped being “thoughtful” for others? About the same time, I made friends with a young man who was completely taken aback by my thoughtfulness, scared by it actually. Never having experienced anything like it before, he scorned my thoughtfulness and said some things that hurt. And so I stopped it all with him and with everyone else. A little while ago, this same friend said to me, “I didn’t realize what all those ‘little things’ meant to me until now. I really miss them.” However, I couldn’t find it in me to start sharing that side of me again.

As I write that, I’m reminded of a moment in our first Alumni class this year when I handed Mary a blanket after hearing her say she was cold. She took it from me and said, “Yeah, thanks. But I don’t need a Hero.”

“Fine then I’ll take the fucking blanket back!” Was out of my mouth before I could stop it.

Oh… this is where I’m going…. to tears, apparently.

I understand what my withdrawal is about in this moment. If I withdraw and build up that wall, then NONE of you can hurt my tender heart. You can’t piss on my thoughtfulness. You can’t call me a Hero for following my impulse to comfort you. You can’t tell me I’m incomplete and broken and stuck in the same shit because I! CAN’T! HEAR! YOU! from here. I understand that I’m hurting, physically and emotionally. I understand that I have withdrawn because I cannot tolerate drama. I’m withdrawing from you because I want to scream and judge and smack you silly sometimes. I’m withdrawn because I’m analyzing my every word and every move to make sure I’m sticking to the skills and using the proper language and breathing in the proper form and saying it right. My heart is broken and it feels like it has been broken longer than I can remember. I can’t remember feeling completely healthy for years now. I fucking chose to LIVE goddammit instead of die when I could have and here. I. am.

Even now… I want to go back through and edit this to get rid of all the “you you you” talk. It is what it is.

I’m feeling angry. I’m feeling scared. And I am so fucking sad that I want to scream. AAAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

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