Jan 15, 2011 23:05
Most people value others for who they are, the contributions that they make, what they do. My long-lost ex used to think that I was a puff of air - not really anything myself, but determined solely by those around me. A chameleon. A phantom. Something that exists only in the context of the identity of another.
And every once in a while, I see that in myself. I don't do anything. I don't even know if I enjoy doing anything. Being in the company of people who do things frequently makes it a little uncomfortable for a non-existent entity.
How can I ever be comfortable enough for someone to love me if there is no person of me for which to love? I think this battered question is the precipice from which jumps my anxiety and jealousy - and my inability to trust others. I feel like I am not a person to be loved - as one who doesn't exist as a person - so, therefore, why should I trust the continuing sentiments of others? I see no reason.
I only see my place in life - at the other end of a phone line or in a room offering a sigh or a hug to those people (and they are actual people) who've lived and been hurt in the process. The light breeze consoling them before they go back into the real world to again risk their emotions, judgments, ... self.