Here's me... in a swirling time vortex of solitary, echoing monotony

Tuesday, April 28th 2009, 1:23 AM 274 0

I really should go and get professional psychiatric help. I know this, but it's just one of the many things in my life that I procrastinate about.
Well. I say 'procrastination', but that's a total beard, and since nobody here knows me I'll be totally honest. It's not procrastination. It's fear.
There's only one thing that scares me, and that's finding myself vulnerable. I had to have minor surgery a couple of years ago, and knowing they were going to knock me out for as long as they pleased so they could but me open & remove the insignificant issue that was causing me pain... well, it scared the living shit out of me, the idea of being that vulnerable. If they hadn't given me a good dose of morphine beforehand I would've (no kidding) jumped off the damn gurney & legged it out of there as fast as possible. It got real when the morphine started working though - I cried, which I hate, especially in front of other people. I know it's not necessarily a weakness, letting yourself cry, but I dislike myself for needing to all the same. Even if I do feel better afterwards.
Anything that has the power to make me vulnerable I tend to avoid like the plague. I have casual friends, and I have close friends, but the transition of accepting the former as the latter is usually a very slow process. There again, I have "close friends" whom I often feel know absolutely nothing about me. Because they don't. They don't know me, don't see how I see things, don't know how their often casual dismissals wound me & make me recede even deeper into my shell. I am an emotional hermit but I don't want to be. My heart aches like a bruise because I won't let it go. I don't want to have trust issues. I love my family but I don't know how well I trust most of them. I trust my brother. I trust my dad. I do trust my mother, even though she has the power to cut me down more than anyone else on the planet. I trust her because even though she can (and occasionally does) crush my feelings, she's also responsible for all the good things I feel about myself. And there are many good things, I know this.
I am fairly smart (so they tell me), fiercely loyal, and naturally skilled at most activities which require creative ingenuity. I'm not saying that to be conceited, it's just an important thing about me. If I didn't have my artistic & creative outlets to make me feel good about myself I probably would've suicided back when I was in High School. And possibly taken a few of those bitches out with me - we'll never know.
Unfortunately, knowing there's a lot of good in my life just makes me feel worse when I get depressed about life; like I'm feeling sorry for myself & my reasons for doing so are entirely selfish.
But back to the subject I wanted to discuss - vulnerability.
My fear of being vulnerable, of letting myself be vulnerable - especially vulnerable to other people - is the reason why I'm 26 years old and I've never been in a relationship that's lasted more than 2 or 3 months. I let them get a foot in the door, panic & then systematically drive them away. The poor guys never know what hit them. And they're usually very nice guys, I have enough life experience that I can spot *bad* people when I meet them. It's just that I can't be intimate with a guy I don't trust, and they never want to stick around long enough to earn my trust. They want me, but they don't want ME. What they want is the wretched flesh that contains me. I have no idea why they want it, it comes with enough problems that I honestly wouldn't mind being free of it, yet they do. I don't even take proper care of it, not really. I might if one of them could show that he really does want ME along with me. I don't know how he would do that, but anyway.
I fool around with them and enjoy it, oh yes I do. I can honestly say that I love sex, even though I haven't actually had SEX-sex for about 21 years.
Those of you who can do math with any competence have just realised where all my issues originate from. And talking about it DOES help, kind of, but it doesn't help you deal with all the crap you feel about it in the dark recesses of your brain. It doesn't stop you from the awful, soul-bleeding agony of wondering about the person you might've become if it hadn't happened. It's a hard thing to wonder, would I be a better person? What would she be like? Truthfully it's hardest of all to think you might've turned out WORSE if it hadn't happened... the possibility that one should be GRATEFUL for such a heinous act being committed upon oneself... it makes me sick to my stomach. Not as sick as thinking the "what if I wasn't the only one he did that to?" question. That one's the worst.

I don't always like the adult I've become. She's overweight (comfort-eater), bitchy (overly defensive), critical (insecure) and often insensitive (self-obsessed). But when confronted with the thing I crave the most - human contact of an emotional/sexual nature (the two will, I fear, always be intertwined for me) - I become that petrified & hurt little girl again.
This is why you hear about women sleeping with their therapists. They must be the only guys who know how to help that little girl to not be afraid anymore.
I'm not afraid of going to a therapist because I might end up having sex with him (or even her, you never know). What if they can't help me? What if they can help me but I'm not strong/brave enough to help myself? And the worst, what if they can help me, and do, and I let myself be vulnerable again & get slaughtered?
If I give up my heart and it gets crushed, I won't recover from it.
I know I won't.
Because if I voluntarily hand my heart to someone I'll have brought the consequences on myself & therefore I won't feel I have the right to my anger anymore. There's only so much sympathy you can give to a self-inflicted wound.

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Here's me... in a swirling time vortex of solitary, echoing monotony

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