Lost. and no one is even looking...
When I was little I used to run to my room when I got mad. I'd stand in the door and yell to my parents "If you loved me, you'd come and get me." Sometimes it worked; sometimes it didn't. I never really wanted to be that mad; I just wanted the reassurance that it was still ok if I was.
Is this a rescue fantasy? a cry for comfort after acting like nothing anyone would want to comfort? I'm not sure.
But this same sequence of emotions continues to happen to me. I feel rejected, get angry, then sad, then intensely lonely. The only difference is that no one "comes to get me" anymore.
Is that ok? Does that just mean that I'm older now and that is what adults have to deal with? Or does it mean that there is something crucial missing. Some person who would be able to fix the giant holes that keep popping up. Am I really expected to do all of that for myself?
What must it be like to be someone who can allow things to slip through the cracks? Who's world doesn't fall apart when things go undone and are forgotten. What freedom from worry this carelessness would breed. What nowness. What a luxury.
Is this a rescue fantasy? a cry for comfort after acting like nothing anyone would want to comfort? I'm not sure.
But this same sequence of emotions continues to happen to me. I feel rejected, get angry, then sad, then intensely lonely. The only difference is that no one "comes to get me" anymore.
Is that ok? Does that just mean that I'm older now and that is what adults have to deal with? Or does it mean that there is something crucial missing. Some person who would be able to fix the giant holes that keep popping up. Am I really expected to do all of that for myself?
What must it be like to be someone who can allow things to slip through the cracks? Who's world doesn't fall apart when things go undone and are forgotten. What freedom from worry this carelessness would breed. What nowness. What a luxury.