No one will call me a blog queen, that is to be sure, but I’m making a return because I understand something new about life since yesterday night. Though my hidden stash of starts and stops on here are numerous and they are all hanging out in my draft box, I am compelled to write this and dedicate it to someone I call friend and someone I love, to someone who cannot see straight and cannot hear a beautiful sound. I will not be so indelicate to say this person’s name, but I must write it out because the fear energy needs to dissipate and become softer. Writing for me is release into community, even if it is never read. It is the very same when I pick up a book and venture into its pages.
I have been doing some academic reading lately in the field of psychology on family dynamics as well as high sensitivity. I mention this now as a context to the situation with my friend who believes she has never belonged here; here, as in on this earth in her human flesh. She buries herself beneath cigarette ash, and robes herself with a golden boozed death wish. And in this state, she will stay until she doesn’t stay anymore and there is nothing I can say or do to stop it. This is her way of playing hide and go seek from a world that feels so loud, and so cruel that it vibrates intensity until feeling disappears into apathetic hum. We talked tonight, and without spewing verbatim, the message underneath…she doesn’t care. She doesn’t want to be. And she is consciously choosing to drink and smoke until that self she wants to destroy is no more.
Some wouldn’t understand this at all and think she is utterly mad and merely a drunk, but I do know how she feels to a certain extent. She is of a special group of people, highly sensitive, severely bruised by trauma. A mountain stack of Dali Lama quotes don’t make any difference in the world to someone in this place. I can say this with a certain authority, only because I know that that is the type of approach oh so many people have tried and are ascribing to these days, with the infinite re-posting of various positivity aphorisms on Facebook. I also know that when someone is in deep pain, that these don’t worry, be happy approaches can feel insulting, patronizing, isolating and completely useless. When you’re so low, so dark, you keep very silent, because no one wants to hear. And they certainly don’t want to hear it again and again. Undoubtedly, some of what my friend feels is an accurate reflection of what has happened to her; she has, in many ways, been abandoned and rejected, and for her character, and the skin she is living in, it is far more bruising than for someone who simply doesn’t have the inclination toward depression, coupled with addictions. But what is at the crux of her rejection is her ultimate unwillingness to let anyone stay. Some people really need to go, but there are those willing who simply get worn out and lost in the confusing miasma of mental illness and addiction. And there is a need to not be consumed by the person’s bottomless cries, to protect and keep oneself safe, alert, healthy. Everyone’s balance is different than what might be expected, changing the definition of strength and weakness from what is commonly tossed about in our distorted society. Because honestly, most people are weak and they’re liars, most people are unwell in some way. It is pretty much impossible to be human and to live in this society and be healthy. It is just far easier to stick one’s finger out and say, “That person is sick and I’m fine. I have nothing to do with that,” when that is completely in contradiction to how the universe works. There are countless examples of how wrong this type attitude this. I know I am no innocent here; I participate on a daily basis.
What I tried to say, without much success, is that to a certain extent, you absolutely cannot determine your right to be alive, your value here, based on anyone else at all. No one. And not by what you have or don’t have, do or don’t do. Having said this, it’s not because I’m in a place that is so self determined that I am humming along, comfy confident or that it means we shouldn’t care for or help other people. What I have learned is that I am only now getting how far away from myself I have been operating. My modus operandi, my internal compass has been, “There is something deeply bad and wrong with me, and if I change that, I will be a better person, destructive people won’t keep coming into my life, and loving people will.” This is a message that was given to me at a young age and due to my own internal wiring, I took it deeply to heart, and whenever it’s been reinforced, I have seen it as inevitable, unchangeable; until I alter something, I will keep getting preyed upon. I haven’t verbalized this until recently, but I absolutely know it’s how I’ve chosen to live. And it is what has made me wish to hide away, disappear, feel nothing, because anything and everything else has been too much. There is simply no sense to be made of cruelties. But to answer the question, “Why has this happened to me?” with “Because there’s something wrong with you,” is the biggest cruelty of them all. And to help heap injuries upon insults isn’t difficult when the recipe calls for constant stirring and adding of anesthesia, in whatever form that may come. And everyone has something; some are socially “normal” and acceptable by degree and some aren’t really at all.
And so, that’s where my friend is left. Willing to stay alive to take care of her cat and go to her job, to not hurt anyone immediately with her violent death, but nevertheless, determined to drink herself until the very end, which she hopes will come sooner, rather than later.
There is simply no why to be had, even with explanation. There is choice. This choice or that one; in the end, it is all decision. I know all I can do is listen and retreat and listen more. I cannot enable, but I cannot take it all away either. I don’t know how this chapter ends and I don’t know how it will go, but for my own sake, I will have to keep her close in heart, be there when I can, but not trap her in my mind to whirl about with other intangible hurts. I am better off if I cry, write, dance it out of me so I’m free to be whatever best is required of me.