Emotional Waves

August 8, 2011


I can’t seem to write out my thoughts, which has been the easiest way for me to express my life, and now it makes me wonder just what the Hell is going on with me.

How do I say that I am in pain…feeling such sorrow and loneliness…yet feel hope and love?

How do I say that I am scared…yet feel so confident?

I am so very nervous about being vulnerable, yet I ache for the comfort in knowing that I can be totally and utterly vulnerable.

Maybe my goals and aspirations are too lofty, but carrying the burden of all-too-real responsibilities is taking its toll on me.  I was too lost at one point to even realize I had such dreams, and in those dreams were pieces of me…my heart and soul were scattered there…and while I tried to conform, I gradually lost my passions until it seemed as if I was only a shell of who I once was.  Then again, I’ve grown older since then as well, so some feelings of losing myself may be that I actually became a bit more mature and wiser.  At least that’s the way I chose to think of it during the darkest moments to keep the morose thoughts at bay.

Dark thoughts and feelings, including resentment, replaced a bit of the shreds of my being that were drifting away in the breeze.  I’m amazed and disgusted, looking back on it now, that I was barely much more than just a shell of what could even remotely be considered a human being.  I was hurt enough that my soul seemed to be drawn out of my body excruciatingly slow…a torture I wish on no other.

I was an inanimate object, the easy target of ridicule and shame for a time, then came the insidious rejection without so much as a word.  I felt so completely used and violated.

I often question which one hurts the most – the slaps, punches, chokes, pushes, screams, sarcasm, rage, and belittling remarks, or the avoidance and denial of what brought the psychosis to a head.  I am still ashamed that I gave in to going down the road of playing an abuser and a martyr to match the intensity and, in a sense, passion of the relationship, and only for a small moment in time, just to try to keep the peace, did I give in to the avoidance and denial.

None of it really makes any sense; it doesn’t seem logical or genius.  Some genius may truly be madness, but really, just how far mad does it have to get for it be considered utterly logical and bright?

Why did I venture out and see the world I had been missing?  Why, of all the times in my life, did I let his words push me over the edge?  Why did I find so much around me tempting, all while hearing the often said cliché, over and over, of “the grass always looks greener on the other side of the fence, until you make the jump and realize it is nothing but the same as the side you left, including the work it takes to keep it going”?

Unfortunately, the people who seem to say that the most are the ones that were discarded and still bitter, or simply believing in the fairy tale that they were so much better than the other person and of some better moral or ethical fabric.  What’s even more sad is the holier-than-thou statement is what ends up leaving battered spouses (whether physically or mentally) staying right where they are and they resign themselves to constant toxicity to pray that they never hear those guilt inducing words.  Oh, there are plenty of other disgusting comments said in reply to ending relationships specifically (especially marriage), and I could spend hours simply dissecting the manipulative tactics and bullying remarks that are most often more damaging than helpful, but that, my friends, is for another time.

I am absolutely not a saint, in fact, far from it, however, I cannot, and will not, take full blame as it was a partnership, no matter how toxic it was in all reality and what I brought as detrimental to the table.

Now my mind shifts to hearing the pain and shame in her voice that left me quietly sobbing.  No matter her downfalls, she does not deserve the troubling times she is facing, and I wish I could take the pain and stress away from her.  She is, after all, only my mother, yet I can’t simply snap my fingers and have it go away for her, no matter how much I wish I could.  Through all the pain we dealt to each other in the turbulence of our relationship, we grew closer and finally learned respect and how to love each other more deeply than I ever thought we could.

From her unrelenting anger and hurt that left me wondering how to even think I could be more than simply the devil incarnate, came me, as a woman, who has a hard time doing many things, but who has always ended up surviving, and in some cases actually thriving.  In hindsight, as I look at her through the eyes of someone walking in some eerily similar footsteps, including motherhood, her actions truly were understandable.  From her constant cries of betrayal and lies, came me, a woman, who tends to trust quite blindly and tends to believe in the possibility of forgiveness and change.  It’s astonishing to me that in the process of trying to be the complete opposite of her, I find so much in common with her.  I see myself purposely trying to find, and ride, that fine line between extremes, as I know in my heart and soul that there is so much of her that is worthy of praise, and so much of her that is worthy of forgiveness, as she did what she did for the sake of survival, not to be someone worth hating.

My true nature is very giving, yet I find myself at times, wondering if I am that way only to receive something in return.  I question my own motives occasionally, after all, most people question whether I am genuine at all in regards to my incentive for doing certain things.

Even though I am not a glorified soul, I am most certainly not a monster, so why do I feel like I am, especially when I actually speak from my heart and soul about my wants and needs?  Why, when I actually stand my ground, am i seen as something hideous and worthy of contempt?  Why, when I was opening myself like a book, were things so hard for others to take that I was left standing alone?

Does any of that really matter anyway?  I really don’t know if it really matters, but having so many unanswered questions haunts me at times…such as now.

Sitting here in almost absolute silence make my thoughts seem so loud, and they keep me from slumber this night.  The words born from these almost psychotic thoughts are racing and non-coherent; partial sentences that probably only make sense to me.

And now, I decide, that another time may be best for finishing these thoughts…