Wow yesterday was a difficult day. I got home and downed a few glasses of wine (something I’ve not been doing much of at all, thanks to my wonky liver enzymes). It helped relax me a little and I started to let go of the day. I realize, even as I’m panicking through it, that many of my emotional reactions are not entirely logical or necessary but it’s so hard to contain it all at once. I’ve never been accepted for who I am by many people in real life.
When I was a child I was a silent, terrified, socially anxious, awkward little mouse of a thing. I barely spoke and whenever anyone paid me the slightest bit of attention, I cried. Even for positive things like someone laughing at a joke I made or having people sing Happy Birthday to me would bring on the water works. I hated anyone knowing I existed, period.
When I was a teen and suddenly found I had some kind of power over the opposite sex, that is what defined myself by…physical beauty. I was thin, pretty, passionate, and loved to have a good time. People liked me then…almost everyone did. I was constantly praised for it and wanted around, no matter the company. It felt like everyone finally liked me.
Through my 20’s , I had a ton of friends, went out every weekend, had fun all the time. I got married, bought a house and drank a bottle of wine a night since we had no kids and no money to do more than we already did for fun. My husband was almost never without a beer in hand, in fact, he used to shower with a cold beer every morning and bragged about it as if it were an endearing trait. He was a dick like that. He also got a kick out of showing me off and referred to me publicly as his ‘trophy wife’. He would humiliate me by loudly announcing in a room full of strangers, or friends/family, that he was so lucky to have me because I had the best (insert body part here) in the world. He would invite people to touch me to prove that he wasn’t exaggerating. Thankfully, most people were embarrassed for me and refused but, on more than one occasion, they’d reach out and grab a handful and I’d be frozen there, astounded and sickened. He always made a very specific point of telling me how much my looks meant to him….he even called my mother up after I left him to explain, in great detail, how I rocked his world in the bedroom. (She was mortified and told him she’d call the cops if he ever contacted her again). Anyway…that’s all in the distant past now, but it captures something about me, my confidence and how I figured that sexuality was the only way I’d ever be accepted and wanted back then.
My 30’s were a decade of depression, anxiety, suddenly finding myself stuck in a PTSD hole, panic, fear, therapy and coping. I had Colt when I was 29 and the moment he was born the struggle (for both of us) began. I’m pretty sure the tipping point for me was the helplessness that overtook me while trying to figure out how to care for a disabled infant whom no one would diagnose. Colt screamed for two solid years….and I mean screamed, not cried. He was under constant sensory overload (although I didn’t know that then) and protested enthusiastically and continuously. He hated when I held him or tried to play with him, hated it when I tried to help him learn to control his body…hated when I woke him in the morning, changed him, fed him, anything. He adored his dad right off too, which did nothing good to my confidence level. Looking back it makes so much more sense but then, as a first time mom, it seemed very much like my baby boy hated me. I couldn’t help but agonize over it then. I stopped caring so much about beauty or sexuality and sank into my decade of healing. It was the hardest decade I have faced so far in life and that includes the years of abuse, physical, emotional, sexual….also includes the years I spent homeless and entirely unloved.
So. I grew up a lot. I figured out how to best help my son. I became a good mom and grew a backbone when I needed to advocate for him. I learned so much about who I am as I dragged myself through years of painful therapy, learned to accept the past for what it was and learned to move forward despite it all. I learned that I am strong, resilient and smart. It was all very helpful and very much needed…. but now there’s this: Now that I know myself so much better and realize that having people want to sleep with me is not the same as having people care about me. I spent a shit-load of time trying to rebuild what had been lost, supplanting the sex with actual, genuine personality traits that should have transferred to building proper and mature relationships with people based on all the right things. Now there is no quick fix…no way to feel like a respected and vital part of my own world. I hate that.
I’ve been surviving off the kindness of my new coworkers, the friendships I’ve found here through my blog and the love I get to share with Colt. He loves me for me. I know that is 100% true and I can feel the energy between us. No judgment, all love. Dayne is another who allows me to breathe and actually be me, even if he can’t handle the emotions involved. Rifts form between us easily because of the disconnect, but I do know that no matter what happens, he will never abandon me. That counts for more than anything else in my world.
So, in the end, I’m okay. I’m far less motivated here at work but that will pass. Once I figure out how to handle the psycho boss things will fall back into place. Or, at least the way they used to be. I hope.
(If not, I think I’ll be packing it in and moving someone far, far away. I have a little fantasy about living in a small cottage in the middle of the woods now, thanks to dreams. I can almost taste that silence out there….*eyes start to close, exhaustion overtakes me for a moment*. Aaand back to work. Blech.