I wanted to write a post about how tired I am, but it seemed too difficult…
I know I am in kind of a different phase of things. It’s less trauma-oriented (although you shouldn’t get confused—I deal with trauma memories every single day) and more about personality integration.
I think this sounds like it might be liberating or exciting or any of a number of positive kinds of experiences. It is occasionally. For like about 30 seconds. Mostly it isn’t. Any positive emotion about it gets lost in the immensity of other negative emotions.
I’m scared. Not scared of the uncertainty of all of it. Scared of the certainty. In parts of myself, I am proceeding despite a complete conviction I am doomed. Authenticity is a doomed endeavor. It is both so difficult as to be impossible as well as bound to be the cause of my death.
That’s how I grew up. Authentic relationships were not going to come to any good, and I think a lot of people come out of that kind of experience as people-pleasers. They pretzel to get approval so that they don’t get killed or abandoned or otherwise left to miserable fates. I am not a people pleaser. I just don’t get close. But I think fate or the universe or whatever has it in for me. I must please some faceless, nameless, non-personified force whose real desires are indecipherable, but will not be mine. Most certainly not mine.
So the challenge now is relaxing enough to take in the idea that life is profoundly different now. My life was that way because my life was controlled by callous, unemotional people and one raging nut-job who was wildly emotional but equally callous. It isn’t anymore, and the truth is fate is not a sociopath. Human beings are mostly not sociopaths and they are a lot more forgiving and understanding than my parents or Yuri. And there is space just to be me—whoever that turns out to be.
But I am exhausting from trying to manage the fear.