My emotional understanding of the world was once so sound. Although I knew nothing, I accepted it. This had given me great peace in my younger years. The older I became, the more my knowledge expanded – I truly thought I understood life. Reaching the point in my life where I disconnected from myself. The more knowledge I stored of small details I’ve observed over many experiences, the more I lost myself. I’d had the right approach from the beginning. In life, you truly know nothing and you must accept that.
I had begun to think I was an expert on human relationships, what it meant to function with another. In turn, being alone became the worst possible reality for anyone to face (including myself). This fear of loneliness drove me in to the hands of so many people who weren’t right for me. With some, we didn’t mesh but we kept trying to mix like oil and water, destined to never intertwine. So fearful of the loneliness, that we tried regardless of how much time we knew we were wasting. Others I’ve been drawn to with intent to escape the bitter solemn of being alone were plain terrible. I knew it. I’d known for a long time, yet, subjected myself to bad company in hopes I didn’t have to live another second abandoned from other human life-form. The desperation I was in – denial I faced, had controlled me to the point where I wasn’t even myself anymore. All the things I’d used to love about who I am; my strength, wisdom, understanding, humor… They’d all faded away. I’d only ever feel glimpses of my traits when I was around others – alone I was shapeless, identity-less.
In those times it was all too easy for me to pass the blame onto my clinical depression. Attacking the chemical imbalances in my brain saying, they don’t let me be myself, they don’t let me be alone. I can’t say depression was never a part of it, but it certainly wasn’t all to blame. It was me, just plain and simple me. Not wanting to face what I was most afraid of – clinging to others for brief moments of peace, the outcome of which were never truly peaceful… Sinking, always drowning inside myself – hoping someone would pull me up. Nobody ever succeeded, nobody could… Except me.
I hadn’t loved myself. In fact, if I ever wholeheartedly forced myself to reflect on how I am as a person (which I avoided as much as possible), a brood loathing began to fester deep down. All my traumas from PTSD were emotional burdens I placed on myself. Having thoughts along the lines of, only someone as worthless as me could have this happen to them. Or, nobody ever helped me even when they knew my situation – I must not be someone worth much thought. Even going as far as believing I had somehow caused my own clinical depression (although impossible). Negative actions inflicted on me in my past had been directed inward. Blaming myself for situations no one could control – yet I took the wrap as if I was just some disgusting and useless magnet for abuse. Convincing myself I had somehow deserved it all, especially because of its repetitive nature. The universe, Fate, God – they must be telling me I’m condemned to a life of misery because that’s all I’ll ever be good for. It’s all I’d ever known. Those were my thoughts.
More recently in my life, I’ve been forced to face my struggles with loneliness. I’m sure if you were to review my previous posts you could see the why and the how to my current isolation. However, this post isn’t about how/why it came to be, it’s purely me dealing with the result of it. My synopsis on the situation as a whole, rather – my conclusion.
The experience has allowed me to love myself once again as I had umpteen years ago. The hushed environment around me, void of all the noise – noise of chatter, shouts and whispers. Has provided a flourishing setting in my mind for all my thoughts to gather as a counsel and be heard. They’re now never muted by words of others, or told they don’t matter. My thoughts belong to me once more – I value them. The issue was, the people I clung to out of escapism from loneliness hadn’t valued my thoughts. Some may have more than others, but they never valued them as much as I do. PTSD and depression, inevitable negatives I face just about daily no longer strike me as my own fault. The silence… The silence has helped – healed even. For what has been done to me can never be changed, I cannot rectify others wrongs done unto me. However, I can live my life knowing I am not the wrong they created. I stand alone – I’m not what they inflicted on me. I may have been abused but I am not abuse itself. I am human. I matter, to me.
I‘m protected and feel precious belonging to myself. Two things no other person has been able to make me feel more successfully than I have. If that person ever comes along – I’m open to reduce my isolation. I say reduce because I find solitary time is now necessary to stay on point with who I am – how my mental state is doing. Fully aware this day may never come, yet completely accepting of it. I need not rush to someone else’s arms – all warmth, love and acceptance exists in my heart. I’ve held myself up higher, stood stronger on my own, than anyone ever could trying to hold me up. Belief in yourself is of utmost importance.