Happy Thanksgiving...A Day Late.
It's long.Those who know me are aware that my online time is pretty short, even shorter around the holidays. Doesn't mean I don't have things to say, just that I don't have the time to type them out. Even though it's cathartic, even though that's the reason for my silly account to exist. I spend a great deal of time internalizing. I s'pose it boils down, as it has for years, to a fear that my softer feelings will paint me as weak and leave me open to attack. (trust me when I say that you don't want to make the mistake of assuming I'm weak. Loving others isn't weak) I was surprised to discover that the ones I worry about attacking me, well, just don't give a damn. Hell, my ex-husband hasn't even contacted me to confirm he received the divorce papers. That'll pistol whip your ego every time.
My ego is actually pretty battered. You ever try to get back in touch with people in your past, people you loved,(still love, honestly) only to discover they A)have no idea who you are or B)don't really care to let you back into their lives? That's been happening fairly frequently. I'm not vain, but it sucks that people who live in technicolor in my head have less than blurry snapshots of me in theirs. And the people around me (except for a very few, three of which actually kept their promise to me to come to my Thanksgiving dinner AND were instrumental in making sure I got my divorce) who I have come to love, don't seem to view love the way I do. Is it a fault in me? Do I expect too much? Am I not as good at reading people as I think I am?
This is what happens when I don't write for a while. It all comes out at once, leaving the reading thinking," whut!? What on earth is she talking about?" But it's a cumulative thing; I cannot seem to express myself until the weight is too great for me to stagger under. Yesterday, I had three people just not bother to show up. No call. No apology. Leah said something really profound last night. She said that no matter how much people might care about us, they are too caught up in their own little worlds, their own fantasies to let us in, to see what's happening to us. She said that's why she lets very few people in; she keeps them at arms length because the odds are that she will have to walk away from them sooner or later. She learned a long time ago that no matter how much you want to save somebody, you can't. It's a lesson I have not learned yet, you know? I'm still the Prince who wants to ride to the rescue. Funny, in La Fillette Revolutionaire Utena, the Princes dies from too much rescuing. Pretty object lesson, there.
Christmas is coming, and I love to celebrate in the old fashion of giving to others rather than looking forward to receiving. I will have to find a way to give, and soon, that no longer breaks me into pieces. I'm not the little match girl.
I suppose I'm done meandering for now. I know my posts aren't that much fun to read, but I know a few of you will be relieved to know I'm still alive. And maybe another few will understand where I'm coming from.
My ego is actually pretty battered. You ever try to get back in touch with people in your past, people you loved,(still love, honestly) only to discover they A)have no idea who you are or B)don't really care to let you back into their lives? That's been happening fairly frequently. I'm not vain, but it sucks that people who live in technicolor in my head have less than blurry snapshots of me in theirs. And the people around me (except for a very few, three of which actually kept their promise to me to come to my Thanksgiving dinner AND were instrumental in making sure I got my divorce) who I have come to love, don't seem to view love the way I do. Is it a fault in me? Do I expect too much? Am I not as good at reading people as I think I am?
This is what happens when I don't write for a while. It all comes out at once, leaving the reading thinking," whut!? What on earth is she talking about?" But it's a cumulative thing; I cannot seem to express myself until the weight is too great for me to stagger under. Yesterday, I had three people just not bother to show up. No call. No apology. Leah said something really profound last night. She said that no matter how much people might care about us, they are too caught up in their own little worlds, their own fantasies to let us in, to see what's happening to us. She said that's why she lets very few people in; she keeps them at arms length because the odds are that she will have to walk away from them sooner or later. She learned a long time ago that no matter how much you want to save somebody, you can't. It's a lesson I have not learned yet, you know? I'm still the Prince who wants to ride to the rescue. Funny, in La Fillette Revolutionaire Utena, the Princes dies from too much rescuing. Pretty object lesson, there.
Christmas is coming, and I love to celebrate in the old fashion of giving to others rather than looking forward to receiving. I will have to find a way to give, and soon, that no longer breaks me into pieces. I'm not the little match girl.
I suppose I'm done meandering for now. I know my posts aren't that much fun to read, but I know a few of you will be relieved to know I'm still alive. And maybe another few will understand where I'm coming from.