Why is it that just when you are confident that you have shut the door on the past, it has come around with it's crowbar to break a window? I mean, seriously? You've done everything you possibly can to deal with it. You've gotten to the point with therapy, prayer and medication that you can finally come into the room where the door is without worrying about it, and there it is! And you're, like, “what the Hell are you doing here?”, and there's broken glass everywhere and now you have yet another mess to clean up and you're left standing there with all the anxiety and insecurity that of being 15 years old. It'd be nice to just leave and go see a movie, eat and drink yourself in to the sweet cradle of numbness for a few months, but then you come back and it's still there and now your another 15lbs overweight and nothing has been resolved. How does someone successfully infuse the horrors of the past with the wonderful of the present? I've given up hope on any fantasies of entitlement to there being a Happy Ending, but can't there be a “happy-ISH” ending? One where I can have backbone and boundaries without being a complete bitch?
To get the door closed in the first place took a long time. My first step was facing the fact that I will never be the Hero. I can't fix people. I can't change things that have already happened. “Couldda Wouldda Shouldda...” doesn't help anyone. And any delusions to the contrary are setting a person up for the absolute failure. Not that I am against failure. There's security in futility.. Sometimes, the thought of actually succeeding is much more frightening. Success would mean having to live differently. But it's much more palatable to fail because you were lazy, did nothing and ignored the situation than if you really tried and just didn't measure up to your own unrealistic expectations.
And THAT was the second step- IGNORE IT. In the name of “moving on”, just go on and pretend like that ugly part of you never existed. It's like carrying luggage and trunks around with you everywhere you go, and when someone asks if they can help you, you're quick to say “what baggage?”. And you try to open doors and go up and down stairs with it, and it's obscuring your vision and you try to get other things accomplished while you're carrying it. Then when you can't possibly deny that you're carrying it, you're pride says to people, “oh this? It's nothing. I got it. No, these bags aren't the reason I'm having trouble. I'm just an idiot.” because, of coarse any normal person would be perfectly able to navigate life carrying 400lbs worth of luggage. Shit happens to everyone. Just get over it.
Then, eventually, you're just tired. You can't possibly carry these bags another moment. And you begin step three- being RESENTFUL. You hate these bags. You hate the people who gave them to you. You hate yourself for lugging them around all this time and you are very unappreciative of the people who knew you were carrying all this stuff and did NOTHING! (Except ask you if you needed help about a million times, but thats completely beside the point).
Now I have declared myself entitled to -step four-BITTERNESS. I can sit here and stew and do nothing but be immobile because I've carried bags around for years. I hereby absolve myself of any responsibility. I can sit on top of these trunks which are an epitaph to my suffering and self medicate because the world owes it to me. I don't have to unpack them or deal with whats in them or move forward in any way because “do you really want to add to my pain?”.
While you were sitting there, bitterness built up walls so you could now -step five- ISOLATE. The easiest way to not be disappointed or be a disappointment is to distance yourself from others. It's how you survive. It's how you can wear your hurts as a badge of honor while avoiding being hurt any further. And theres a large part of you that truly believes that you really are helping the people you love
by keeping them away, but in truth, you're giving them their own bags to carry around. Bags with your name on them.
I woke up one day and realized you can't “get over” things, I had to do the work to “get through” them.
So, with the most supportive loving husband and the two most amazing children ever to walk the Earth as motivation and encouragement, I began the journey of unpacking and identifying things and patterns for what they were. I could look at them and see how A plus B equaled D. I began to tear down the old steps, build new ones that actually worked and repair the foundation of my life. Relationships would be different because I was different. And the good things about myself that were always there could finally be seen and appreciated. I could admit things that were and how they affected things that are and relearn how things can be. And I began to know Joy that I was completely clueless was even real. And I got through, and got on.
But, what to do now with a broken window and remembered feelings and severed ties that want reattached? I don't know. I guess I just start by sweeping up old glass, repairing the window, and not live in fear of opening the door.
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