Tortured Souls
"You can have a fling with Guy of Gisbourne, but you CANNOT fall in love with him! He will so stab you in the end!" -Julie Tague
I’ve been in a bad mood pretty much all day. Why? Well, I think my brain is experiencing social hormone withdrawal after four days of intense and rewarding socialization at the cricket festival. But also because I have run headlong into the wall that is my taste in men once again. Actually, no, this goes deeper than that. I wrote about reflections I had from my interactions with men at the cricket festival in my last blog post. And while yes, these thoughts are primarily about men, they apply to all people across the board.
I like tortured souls. Yes, I do. Something about men with deep, dark inner conflict attracts me. No, I’m not talking about the bad boys or the closet psycho-killers. I am drawn towards those people who end up emotionally marginalized by the part of the population that considers itself normal. Strange men. I seem to be drawn to those people who are quietly broken. The ones who are very good at putting a brave face out to the world. Ones who can appear to be quite normal, even laugh at themselves. But the second you scratch the surface the darkness starts to bleed out. Like Guy of Gisbourne (recent BBC Robin Hood series), Ben Linus (Lost), and, of course, SL. On a visceral level I want to reach out and help when I see hurt.
But no, Julie and several of my other friends have argued. You can’t fix them and you’ll only get hurt if you try! Yes. That’s an absolutely valid observation and absolutely true. No one can fix another person. People have to heal themselves, change themselves. That can never come from the outside, it has to come from within.
But…
The generator of change is not self-starting. Water does not create electricity, but it can move the parts that start the wheel turning and cause the whole mechanism to churn. I think I’m attracted to those on the fringe so much because I have always, since the day I remember being conscious of the world, been on the fringe myself. I know what it feels like to be an outcast. I know what that pain looks like from the inside. For all those years that I lived in that odd, isolated, depressing place all I ever wanted was for someone to reach out to me. All I wanted was for someone to think I was alright and worthy of time and affection. I have that now, but I’ll be honest with you, those chasms are never filled. If they get ripped into you early enough, if your child soul is tortured, those wounds NEVER heal. I crave love and affection and acceptance every moment of every day of my life, but no matter how much I get it isn’t enough. I often think of my heart as a colander where no matter how much gets poured into it, it gushes right back out again. More tragic still, I have a deep-seated belief that I will always be this way, that I will never, ever be capable of being healed.
That, my friends, is the definition of a tortured soul.
So yeah, when I see other tortured souls out there I recognize them. I empathize with them. And out of my own burning need to be fulfilled I instantly try to move heaven and earth to help them feel whole. I can’t help myself. But the trouble with tortured souls is that we ALL have colanders for hearts. I can pour and pour out love and affection all day but it’s still going to leak right out of them, if they even let it in in the first place. And then I get drained and resentful and stop pouring and freakin’ throw the pitcher at them. But once I’ve stomped off and ranted and slept on it I always go back to yearning to be able to do SOMETHING to help them feel whole again. I do it because it’s what I long to have someone do for me. The problem is, other tortured souls, SL for example, are not me. They have their own modus operandi and their own way of processing the torture. No two tortured souls are exactly alike. That’s why it’s so hard for any of us to fully heal. And as much as I wish it weren’t true, it’s impossible for someone who hasn’t really been tortured to empathize with the visceral level of need.
Yep. I think I am so drawn towards tortured souls because I recognize that we come from the same category. Damn straight! But I’ve seen enough of the sunlight that I’m not so focused on my own darkness as I am on perhaps misguided desire to bring others out into the sunlight as well. Misguided because I keep forgetting I don’t have the power to do it. I only have the power to suggest it. And I have a hard time living with the consequences of having my offers of help and outpourings of affection rejected. But as Ms. Dawn once suggested, maybe I’ve been around this universe for so long and experienced so much that I’ve come back out of the desire to help people. If that’s true then I think I’m doomed to keep coming back until I learn how to help without hurting myself. Fair enough. But torturous as it is, it’s not going to stop me from reaching out to the beautiful disasters that are people like Guy of Gisbourne. Sorry Julie!
I’ve been in a bad mood pretty much all day. Why? Well, I think my brain is experiencing social hormone withdrawal after four days of intense and rewarding socialization at the cricket festival. But also because I have run headlong into the wall that is my taste in men once again. Actually, no, this goes deeper than that. I wrote about reflections I had from my interactions with men at the cricket festival in my last blog post. And while yes, these thoughts are primarily about men, they apply to all people across the board.
I like tortured souls. Yes, I do. Something about men with deep, dark inner conflict attracts me. No, I’m not talking about the bad boys or the closet psycho-killers. I am drawn towards those people who end up emotionally marginalized by the part of the population that considers itself normal. Strange men. I seem to be drawn to those people who are quietly broken. The ones who are very good at putting a brave face out to the world. Ones who can appear to be quite normal, even laugh at themselves. But the second you scratch the surface the darkness starts to bleed out. Like Guy of Gisbourne (recent BBC Robin Hood series), Ben Linus (Lost), and, of course, SL. On a visceral level I want to reach out and help when I see hurt.
But no, Julie and several of my other friends have argued. You can’t fix them and you’ll only get hurt if you try! Yes. That’s an absolutely valid observation and absolutely true. No one can fix another person. People have to heal themselves, change themselves. That can never come from the outside, it has to come from within.
But…
The generator of change is not self-starting. Water does not create electricity, but it can move the parts that start the wheel turning and cause the whole mechanism to churn. I think I’m attracted to those on the fringe so much because I have always, since the day I remember being conscious of the world, been on the fringe myself. I know what it feels like to be an outcast. I know what that pain looks like from the inside. For all those years that I lived in that odd, isolated, depressing place all I ever wanted was for someone to reach out to me. All I wanted was for someone to think I was alright and worthy of time and affection. I have that now, but I’ll be honest with you, those chasms are never filled. If they get ripped into you early enough, if your child soul is tortured, those wounds NEVER heal. I crave love and affection and acceptance every moment of every day of my life, but no matter how much I get it isn’t enough. I often think of my heart as a colander where no matter how much gets poured into it, it gushes right back out again. More tragic still, I have a deep-seated belief that I will always be this way, that I will never, ever be capable of being healed.
That, my friends, is the definition of a tortured soul.
So yeah, when I see other tortured souls out there I recognize them. I empathize with them. And out of my own burning need to be fulfilled I instantly try to move heaven and earth to help them feel whole. I can’t help myself. But the trouble with tortured souls is that we ALL have colanders for hearts. I can pour and pour out love and affection all day but it’s still going to leak right out of them, if they even let it in in the first place. And then I get drained and resentful and stop pouring and freakin’ throw the pitcher at them. But once I’ve stomped off and ranted and slept on it I always go back to yearning to be able to do SOMETHING to help them feel whole again. I do it because it’s what I long to have someone do for me. The problem is, other tortured souls, SL for example, are not me. They have their own modus operandi and their own way of processing the torture. No two tortured souls are exactly alike. That’s why it’s so hard for any of us to fully heal. And as much as I wish it weren’t true, it’s impossible for someone who hasn’t really been tortured to empathize with the visceral level of need.
Yep. I think I am so drawn towards tortured souls because I recognize that we come from the same category. Damn straight! But I’ve seen enough of the sunlight that I’m not so focused on my own darkness as I am on perhaps misguided desire to bring others out into the sunlight as well. Misguided because I keep forgetting I don’t have the power to do it. I only have the power to suggest it. And I have a hard time living with the consequences of having my offers of help and outpourings of affection rejected. But as Ms. Dawn once suggested, maybe I’ve been around this universe for so long and experienced so much that I’ve come back out of the desire to help people. If that’s true then I think I’m doomed to keep coming back until I learn how to help without hurting myself. Fair enough. But torturous as it is, it’s not going to stop me from reaching out to the beautiful disasters that are people like Guy of Gisbourne. Sorry Julie!