Before I forget
Did some thinking tonight, so I'm writing it down.
When I imagined up the critters, they were icons, representations of what I thought I could be, or what I would like to be, when situations arose that would call for certain things. They were, and are, very different from me. They think differently, they act differently, and they are literally entirely different animals from me. To make them strong, and give them an identity, I ran them through the wringer. Gave them crises and conundrums, made them fail and made them heal. Thank goodness I gave myself the practice. I think now, I'm doing the same thing. It's very difficult when it's not your choice anymore.
Zelda's the one closest to me, and although she and I face very different problems, we go about thinking in a similar manner. Zelda's driven by the instinct to serve, and maybe so am I. While she directs her efforts to her clan, I've got my fossils and a clan of my own. Our success is measured in a reflection, not from us but from something external. The clan stays safe, and Zelda glows. By the same measure, she and I feel the same pain of failure. Should one of her protectorate die, should her plans fail, Zelda suffers. I think I feel the same thing when I don't say it right, when I don't make myself understood. I'm a complicated person, I don't even understand myself fully. When I mess up, I get this awful knot in my stomach, like I'm waiting for the blow to fall. One of those "wait 'till your father gets home!" kind of feelings. It hurts physically and the only way I can explain it is to compare it to what Zelda feels. With her, it's much worse. Death and a little argument are hardly the same thing.
Zelda and I also face issues with 'outsiders'. For her, it's humans, for me, it's humans. Other people, of course. I have a hard time reading people, and Zelda doesn't even have the mental software to try. But she sees what I can't; she sees the needle in the haystack that ties the good ones to the rest of the world, and convinces her that people are, indeed, the winning card in the losing hand. For me... I don't know. Zelda has no reason to fear betrayal, and I most certainly do. Everyone play games and everyone has a motive. It's hard for me to convince myself of otherwise sometimes. Once bitten twice shy, and all that. The worst part is that people do it subconsciously. It might be easier to spot if they had to act it away.
But thank goodness I have Zelda's perspective. I don't understand other people. They grew up and I didn't. They want things that I don't understand. What I want is what Zelda wants. Something, someone, many someones if I can find them... warm, and safe. Some place where I can let this tangled ineffective system of defenses and explanations that I threw up years ago slowly be taken down, so I can feel what my critters feel. I get it in pieces when I'm lucky, and it's incredible. It's the spiritual equivalent of being able to fly, I think, that sense of freedom and openness and connection with everything around you. Just me and that facilitating source, anchoring me to everything that's good and safe that I forgot how to find in anything save for my imagination. It's a beautiful thing and the walls come down, and so I get emotional over it and ruin the moment. Go me. But like all things that I get upset over, it's worth it. I can't hold back tears because it actually hurts, I think, to feel that way. I've missed it for too long and just haven't realized it. I'm so grateful that people are patient enough to walk me there on occasion. Poor Zelda doesn't get that luxury from anyone but her own kind, and that's something she's used to and relies on like oxygen. Try as she might, she just can't get to humans, can't connect. She needs them too, though, and so she does the best she can, hobbling when she should be running, and pushing herself to find strength. She's a good girl.
Where Zelda and I are in lockstep is where it comes to the future. Doubt rules us both. Where I am waiting for abandonment and betrayal, she's waiting for failure. It's an unfortunate result of her conditioning; she knows that there's only so long until the next crisis, the next test of strength. Better lick your wounds and sleep now, while you can. Her ideals of success are quite different from my own goals, but we're both unsure of whether or not we'll reach them, to say nothing of how. I'm not used to being out of my depth, so it's good to have her along to muse over. Who'd have known they'd come so handy?
When I imagined up the critters, they were icons, representations of what I thought I could be, or what I would like to be, when situations arose that would call for certain things. They were, and are, very different from me. They think differently, they act differently, and they are literally entirely different animals from me. To make them strong, and give them an identity, I ran them through the wringer. Gave them crises and conundrums, made them fail and made them heal. Thank goodness I gave myself the practice. I think now, I'm doing the same thing. It's very difficult when it's not your choice anymore.
Zelda's the one closest to me, and although she and I face very different problems, we go about thinking in a similar manner. Zelda's driven by the instinct to serve, and maybe so am I. While she directs her efforts to her clan, I've got my fossils and a clan of my own. Our success is measured in a reflection, not from us but from something external. The clan stays safe, and Zelda glows. By the same measure, she and I feel the same pain of failure. Should one of her protectorate die, should her plans fail, Zelda suffers. I think I feel the same thing when I don't say it right, when I don't make myself understood. I'm a complicated person, I don't even understand myself fully. When I mess up, I get this awful knot in my stomach, like I'm waiting for the blow to fall. One of those "wait 'till your father gets home!" kind of feelings. It hurts physically and the only way I can explain it is to compare it to what Zelda feels. With her, it's much worse. Death and a little argument are hardly the same thing.
Zelda and I also face issues with 'outsiders'. For her, it's humans, for me, it's humans. Other people, of course. I have a hard time reading people, and Zelda doesn't even have the mental software to try. But she sees what I can't; she sees the needle in the haystack that ties the good ones to the rest of the world, and convinces her that people are, indeed, the winning card in the losing hand. For me... I don't know. Zelda has no reason to fear betrayal, and I most certainly do. Everyone play games and everyone has a motive. It's hard for me to convince myself of otherwise sometimes. Once bitten twice shy, and all that. The worst part is that people do it subconsciously. It might be easier to spot if they had to act it away.
But thank goodness I have Zelda's perspective. I don't understand other people. They grew up and I didn't. They want things that I don't understand. What I want is what Zelda wants. Something, someone, many someones if I can find them... warm, and safe. Some place where I can let this tangled ineffective system of defenses and explanations that I threw up years ago slowly be taken down, so I can feel what my critters feel. I get it in pieces when I'm lucky, and it's incredible. It's the spiritual equivalent of being able to fly, I think, that sense of freedom and openness and connection with everything around you. Just me and that facilitating source, anchoring me to everything that's good and safe that I forgot how to find in anything save for my imagination. It's a beautiful thing and the walls come down, and so I get emotional over it and ruin the moment. Go me. But like all things that I get upset over, it's worth it. I can't hold back tears because it actually hurts, I think, to feel that way. I've missed it for too long and just haven't realized it. I'm so grateful that people are patient enough to walk me there on occasion. Poor Zelda doesn't get that luxury from anyone but her own kind, and that's something she's used to and relies on like oxygen. Try as she might, she just can't get to humans, can't connect. She needs them too, though, and so she does the best she can, hobbling when she should be running, and pushing herself to find strength. She's a good girl.
Where Zelda and I are in lockstep is where it comes to the future. Doubt rules us both. Where I am waiting for abandonment and betrayal, she's waiting for failure. It's an unfortunate result of her conditioning; she knows that there's only so long until the next crisis, the next test of strength. Better lick your wounds and sleep now, while you can. Her ideals of success are quite different from my own goals, but we're both unsure of whether or not we'll reach them, to say nothing of how. I'm not used to being out of my depth, so it's good to have her along to muse over. Who'd have known they'd come so handy?