Perfect Blue Buildings
About...oh...nine years or so ago, I was living with my dad in Colorado. There's a 15 mile walking trail behind his house that travels through the hills and has a spectacularly marvelous view of the city and the mountain. One wintry evening my Dad said something to me that upset me. He'd been upsetting me for the better part of 18 years, and at this point I ran out in some form of an emo rage (before it was cool [was it ever cool?]). Well, run out is too strong. I walked out to go for a walk. The weather said that there was a rain storm on the way, and everyone warned me, but I smiled and said I'd be fine. Now, their logic was sound but for one thing. The truth is not that I didn't think I'd get rained on, or that my teenage super powers would allow me to avoid the raindrops. The truth is that I didn't care. Moreover, I WANTED to be rained on.
Now, this wasn't normal rain, this was cold winter, up-in-the-mountains-where-it-snows rain. Sure enough, 5 minutes in, it came. Now, normally when I walk on this trail, I take the right path that goes behind the house, but this time, I went down the left. I kept walking for a while, but after a few minutes, the rain felt like cold dagger-like pinpricks on my skin. After a mile or two, it became too much, and I found a small covered table to sit under while I sat there. I sat there for about an hour, miserable the whole time. The thing is, what I really wanted, the whole time, was for my Dad to talk to me, to tell him how I felt, to possibly even get some sort of resolution or comfort from him. When I was walking, I focused on how miserable I was, on how much I wanted to drown in that. I felt very sorry for myself for not being able to tell my dad what I wanted, and I was mad at him for never understanding.
But through all of that, there was something else I wanted even more, though I didn't like admitting it, even to myself. I wanted to be found. I wanted to see him walk down the trail after me, and ask me to come home, that it was all going to be ok. Now, I'd thrown myself in this situation, and I'd even taken steps to take a different trail specifically so I wouldn't be followed, but a part of me kept hoping he'd show up, despite my impossible expectations of him both being able to accurately read my emotions and realize that I'd taken the wrong path. I wanted him to suffer worrying about me, though that's certainly not a chivalrous thing to admit. It is, in fact, a very selfish and pitiful thing. If he didn't come, maybe at least he would watch the rain and worry, wondering why I hadn't returned. Maybe he'd ask me about it. Maybe I'd tell him. But what I really wanted, all along, was to be found.
I still do that actually. I have problems I tell no one about, and I trust that they'll notice the subtle shifts in my actions, and realize what's wrong. I set up blocks too. Like I said, there's things I don't know tell anyone about, so when those things bother me, there's no one to approach. I'll pretend to be happy, and I'll deny any hunches without evidence that I am upset about anything. I don't tell people my expectations, and then I feel more isolated and miserable when they don't meet them. Martha used to say I expected her to be a mind-reader, and that's not entirely inaccurate. I did, and I do. Maybe not all of my thoughts, but some of them. It's unreasonable, I know, but I don't feel like I can help it.
I walked home in the rain. It died down a little, but never went away, but I'd decided that I'd been out there long enough. When I got home, everyone asked me if I was ok and what happened, and I told them...the surface story. Then my dad told me something. He said that him and Josh ran off when the rain started and walked down the trail looking for me. They never dreamed I'd taken the path I did because my brother knew I always took the other one. My prediction was correct, and my countermeasure successful. But that meant something else too. My dad DID worry about me, and he actually left in the rain to look for me. While I was never found, it was only because of a single precaution. He still didn't know he'd done anything to upset me, but that was fine. I'd gotten everything I wanted in that moment. Everything I could have ever expected, being reasonable.
2 or 3 weeks later I tearfully told my dad everything I'd ever wanted to say over the last 18 years. It ended well.
Now, this wasn't normal rain, this was cold winter, up-in-the-mountains-where-it-snows rain. Sure enough, 5 minutes in, it came. Now, normally when I walk on this trail, I take the right path that goes behind the house, but this time, I went down the left. I kept walking for a while, but after a few minutes, the rain felt like cold dagger-like pinpricks on my skin. After a mile or two, it became too much, and I found a small covered table to sit under while I sat there. I sat there for about an hour, miserable the whole time. The thing is, what I really wanted, the whole time, was for my Dad to talk to me, to tell him how I felt, to possibly even get some sort of resolution or comfort from him. When I was walking, I focused on how miserable I was, on how much I wanted to drown in that. I felt very sorry for myself for not being able to tell my dad what I wanted, and I was mad at him for never understanding.
But through all of that, there was something else I wanted even more, though I didn't like admitting it, even to myself. I wanted to be found. I wanted to see him walk down the trail after me, and ask me to come home, that it was all going to be ok. Now, I'd thrown myself in this situation, and I'd even taken steps to take a different trail specifically so I wouldn't be followed, but a part of me kept hoping he'd show up, despite my impossible expectations of him both being able to accurately read my emotions and realize that I'd taken the wrong path. I wanted him to suffer worrying about me, though that's certainly not a chivalrous thing to admit. It is, in fact, a very selfish and pitiful thing. If he didn't come, maybe at least he would watch the rain and worry, wondering why I hadn't returned. Maybe he'd ask me about it. Maybe I'd tell him. But what I really wanted, all along, was to be found.
I still do that actually. I have problems I tell no one about, and I trust that they'll notice the subtle shifts in my actions, and realize what's wrong. I set up blocks too. Like I said, there's things I don't know tell anyone about, so when those things bother me, there's no one to approach. I'll pretend to be happy, and I'll deny any hunches without evidence that I am upset about anything. I don't tell people my expectations, and then I feel more isolated and miserable when they don't meet them. Martha used to say I expected her to be a mind-reader, and that's not entirely inaccurate. I did, and I do. Maybe not all of my thoughts, but some of them. It's unreasonable, I know, but I don't feel like I can help it.
I walked home in the rain. It died down a little, but never went away, but I'd decided that I'd been out there long enough. When I got home, everyone asked me if I was ok and what happened, and I told them...the surface story. Then my dad told me something. He said that him and Josh ran off when the rain started and walked down the trail looking for me. They never dreamed I'd taken the path I did because my brother knew I always took the other one. My prediction was correct, and my countermeasure successful. But that meant something else too. My dad DID worry about me, and he actually left in the rain to look for me. While I was never found, it was only because of a single precaution. He still didn't know he'd done anything to upset me, but that was fine. I'd gotten everything I wanted in that moment. Everything I could have ever expected, being reasonable.
2 or 3 weeks later I tearfully told my dad everything I'd ever wanted to say over the last 18 years. It ended well.