Do I really come off so pretentious? I realize that for myself and many others it’s easy to hide behind barriers of knowledge and pride when in reality all we are inside is glass that has been broken one too many times.
I look down too often to find a piece of myself I forgot I was missing casually lying at my feet. I pick it up and try to piece myself back together, sometimes the hole that I had grown accustomed to feels strange once filled again. I had been used to missing that piece of myself. I’m never as smooth or shiny as I used to be. The cracks never go away.
Too much of a cliche? Well, that’s kind of me in a nutshell. Did it again? Oh yes, over and over.
I have perfected the art of silent crying. We are both on our sides, his arm around me, his body against mine, and tears stream down my face. I’m not sure if he can tell or not, and different parts of me wish for either recognition or ignorance. I’m usually not sure which is better.
My breath is ragged but I work hard to control it, try not to shake even though I can tell I am. He has gotten to understand what the long quick intakes of breath mean between the sobs that I don’t allow to wrack my body but I so desperately want to. The solace I am often offered makes me cry harder, so I usually reject it even though I need it.
On nights like these, I write posts like this in my head, but they never come out the same as I imagine them.
Feelings of inadequacy and doubt are always made more by the frustration, irritation, and anger I turn inward. How dare I feel this way! Why do I think such horrible things? Why do I feel like this when everything in my head is telling me not to? How can I stop?
On nights like these, I teeter precariously close to hating myself over hating the situation or my own reactions. It’s sometimes difficult to separate the one from the other.
I tell myself it’s stupid, not something I should care about, even when I know that the best thing to do in this situation is talk about it, acknowledge it, let the others in the situation help me work through the issue and get to a better understanding it. I do have a Psychology degree, for all that it doesn’t do for me, and I can tap into that information and understand what I should do. The best advice I can give is advice I am rarely able to follow.
To further compound the issue I not only get upset at myself for this situation, but everything that has made me sad, upset, or depressed in the last few weeks or even months or years comes bubbling to the surface. I can’t not think about that one little thing that got under my skin, the time I stuck my foot in my mouth and my staircase wit would have been so brilliant if I had thought to say it, the time I said those horrible things that I didn’t mean, and so on.
My brain swirls with all these horrible memories and just makes me feel worse. Eventually it’s not about the situation at all, it’s just about feeling sorrow.
On nights like these contact and someone who will listen is really what I need, even if I don’t say anything knowing that I could helps more than they might know.
But I do try to say things, it’s easier to say things now than it was four years ago when we were first starting out. It’s easier to say things now than it was one year ago or six months ago. It’s continually easier. I need to gain composure first, though, figure out how to say things, word things correctly so I’m not misunderstood. Once I do I’m often embarrassed at what I say, but I’ve learned that he won’t judge me for it, or if he does he doesn’t say it out loud.
I’m grateful that he has adapted himself to fit what I need at moments like these. He has learned over the years to be patient, though he still doesn’t press me for more at the perfect times but that would be impossible without telepathy.
On nights like these I take the pressure off of my internal bottle, just for a little while, just long enough to feel better, and then I stuff everything back inside again until the next time the pressure becomes too much to withstand on my own.