I Choose This Life (But I Don’t Approve)

I often write my blog sitting alone on my bed. Tonight it occurred to me that though I’m drawn to spending all my spare time in bed, it’s a place haunted by misery and pain. It holds the painful memories of sharing it with the person I loved more than anything. It is a constant reminder of the emptiness both in my bed and in my heart.

I am lonely. I hate admitting that because I consciously choose to make my life this way. I choose to exile myself from the world. But even though I choose this path, it doesn’t exactly make me happy. It’s so difficult to explain. I don’t like being around people – they don’t understand me. They don’t think the way that I do or feel the way that I do. So I withdraw from the world. I lock myself away, thereby creating my loneliness.

Why would I choose loneliness? I think it’s because reality doesn’t compare with my imagination. I know it sounds like I have incredibly high expectations, impossible ideals, but why would I settle for harsh reality? Why would I settle when my inner life has so much more to offer me? If I can lose myself in my imaginary world for long enough I can conjure up peace: both of mind and soul.

It gets harder to leave the sanctuary of my imaginary world. The disappointment of reality burdens my heart. When I’m in the real world I am painfully aware of my loneliness and heartache. I’m aware that I don’t have a connection to someone special, that my heart isn’t entwined with another. So it’s too easy to retreat into my fantasy world, where I can dream up perfect love and perfect acceptance.

This loneliness always goes the same way. I’m (half heartedly) trying to convince myself that I am in love with someone who … ugh I don’t even want to explain this because it’s too embarrassing to admit even to myself. He is a person who exists on earth. But he doesn’t know me, I don’t even really know him. We’ve not actually met, not actually spoken to each other – but I’m infatuated with his voice, his eyes, his crooked grin. Honestly he may as well be imaginary because he is just so out of my reach.

And it’s even more hilarious (in the most self insulting way possible) that I’m acknowledging this train of thought. Clearly I’m not in love with him. I’m just lonely, so I imagine and project these false feelings onto him because he is unattainable. And by falling in love with the impossible I’m protecting my vulnerability. Because in my warped mind it’s better to be hurt by loving someone who doesn’t even know you exist, than it is to entrust your heart to a real person and risk them breaking it.

Thus I am in a perpetual circle of hurt and loneliness. I justify my self-imposed exile with the belief that if I put myself in reality I’d only end up hurt and lonely anyway. This circular “reasoning” is so draining. I put the word reasoning in quotation marks – because clearly the turmoil inside my head doesn’t have even a single iota of reason about it. Nothing about what I have typed is reasonable – except maybe my admission that this entire post is unreasonable.

Smoke and Mirrors

I am a superficial extrovert. Once I am comfortable with people, I appear to be a chatty, friendly, and fun loving person who is just a little on the crazy side. Most people would tell you that I am also a very open and honest person – what you see is what you get.

Yet, if any of them looked very closely, they would see that I barely reveal a thing about my true self. I tend to move around people like the moon orbits the earth – here on earth we never ever see what’s on the other side of the moon. People only ever see one side of me – the carefully constructed, and controlled persona that I want them to see. The other, truer self is hidden very deep and out of reach.

Why do I make myself so untouchable? Why do I so carefully guard my soul with walls so high? Why do I keep people at arms length? I choose this for myself because I am safe from harm.

I feel like if I keep myself at a safe distance from the rest of the world then I protect my vulnerability. I am not exposing my fragile self to the chance of being torn apart by “the wolves”. Being untouchable also means that if I don’t let anyone near me then I can’t disappoint anyone with what’s really inside.

I’m incredibly lonely, more than anyone would ever know. But I choose this place for myself because I am not ready to open the doors and let my soul run free. I’m not ready to let people inside the crystal palace of my mind. I’m not ready to let them learn of the private, fragile me. I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready. But someday I hope to be.

If that day comes, I will take away the smoke and mirrors I’ve so carefully placed to fool people into thinking they know who I am. On that day I will shine like the sun and everyone around will see who I really am. But until then I am & will remain that superficial extrovert.

For who could ever learn to love a beast?

I was out to lunch with a couple of my co-workers the other day, and one of them happened to ask me “Are you seeing anyone at the moment?” My answer to that was a resounding “no” as if I thought she was completely nuts for asking. She didn’t seem to understand why I would say “no” like that, and though I never explained myself – it did get me thinking.

What was my reasoning to be incredulous at the thought that I’d be dating anyone? I think my disbelief stems more from my wondering – who the heck would want to be with me? I’m sure I have many redeeming qualities – I know I am loyal, I have the capacity to be loving, I am genuine and honest, and sometimes have a rather mischievous sense of humour. But that sort of stuff takes time for someone to learn.

At first glance I am somewhat aloof and detached. I have difficulty trusting other people, and tend to keep to myself. But more crucially I’m damaged goods – a single parent of 2 children, AND I live with Bipolar disorder. I mean if my ex couldn’t live with me – even though we have 2 children together – who the fuck would want to put up with me? I know I have many days where I’d like to check out and be someone else so I didn’t have to put up with me.

It’s not like I necessarily believe I’m actually really truly damaged goods. It’s more like I don’t feel like I am whole (I wonder if I ever will be). And if I can’t be whole for myself, I don’t think I can be whole for anyone else.

I’m awfully lonely though, and I’d love to have someone who truly understands me in my life – my own Mr. Right. But I don’t think I have the capacity to be anyone’s Ms. Right. At least not in the way anyone would need me to be, the way they would deserve to have me be. I am too particular, I need my life to be a certain way or I can’t function. I wouldn’t want anyone to have to accommodate my peculiarities because it would be asking too much.

I wish knew better when I got into the relationship with my ex. I didn’t realise the kind of person I am. If I did; there is no way I would have gone that far. I wouldn’t have let it get serious enough to have a family. I would never have willingly put anyone into the situation where I just make them miserable because of the parts of me I cannot control.

Now, I have to live with the fact that I emotionally damaged someone else because of my illness. And I constantly worry that I’m going to ruin my kids and make them miserable. I do the best I can, but sometimes I don’t have anything left to give my kids. My energy, my attention, my affection – they are all limited resources and there are times I don’t have them to give. And if there are times I can’t even give them to my own flesh and blood, what hope would anyone who “chooses” to be with me have?

I’d like to say that I believe that there is somebody for everybody, but it is my belief that there are always exceptions to every rule. And I happen to be an exception in this case.

Note 1: This is not a pity party, I don’t need to be told that I am “whole” or that I will find “Mr. Right” someday. This post expresses personal feelings that I had to get out of my brain into the real world. I currently accept the above as my place life. I acknowledge that I may not always feel this way, but at least for the foreseeable future this is how I see it.

Note 2: The title of this post is a quote from Disney’s Beauty and the Beast (1991)

Down the Rabbit Hole

I have always felt like I was different from everyone. I know everyone has that feeling from time to time, but for me I feel like I am entirely out-of-place here where I am. I feel like I don’t belong – not in this space, not in this time, I just don’t feel like I fit in at all.

I never really have.

I mean I can assimilate reasonably well, I make a passable attempt at getting along with those around me. But in my heart I feel out-of-place, like I am on a completely different plane of existence. It might sound somewhat elitist or egotistical but I really do feel like I think and feel things so differently to people around me.

I thoroughly filter everything I say, so that I never reveal much of what goes on inside my head. I have so many thoughts and feelings but I only let people see maybe 5% of who I am – and that’s as much as even family and friends would see. I have always done it, ever since I was little.

In fact it’s gotten worse as I have become older – I put more distance between myself and others. It is so exhausting always putting my defences up, but I have been terribly hurt in the past so now I go to extremes to protect my real self.

I think a part of my problem is that I think and feel things so deeply. I have always had a habit of getting stuck inside my thoughts. I have a stellar imagination, and sometimes my thoughts get so loud and I get lost inside my head. I forget to vocalise things – doesn’t matter whether those things please me or bother me. So often someone wants to know what I truly think or feel, but I can’t seem to find the words to say. I know what I think, I know what I feel but I don’t know how to share.

And then there is that part of me that doesn’t want to share. I’m so convinced that I’ll never truly be understood, I just want to keep it all locked away. They are my thoughts and feelings. I don’t want to share them – I don’t want to risk letting them get trampled all over and destroyed. Because if someone destroys what’s in my mind then they destroy me.

When it comes to “who I am” – I value my mind above all else. Ego cogito, ergo sum: I am thinking, therefore I exist. Without my mind, and all of my thoughts, and all of my knowledge, and all of my wisdom – I don’t exist. I cease to be. I know it sounds paranoid and delusional, but I fear that if I share those parts of me, let someone actually see those things – then they will have the power to take them away from me and I will no longer be me.

My mind is my own secret garden – a secret garden I long to share with the one who would understand me entirely. But I’m so afraid he doesn’t really exist, that there is no one who would ever truly get me, and that I am completely and utterly alone. Even though I long for the one who would understand me – I won’t even let anyone close enough to try. Maybe I’m writing my own destiny of loneliness.

Sometimes I would like to just stop. Stop the noise in my head. Stop the constant stream of thought that leads me deeper down the rabbit hole and further into oblivion. But sometimes, just sometimes, I welcome oblivion.