I’m dealing with some uncomfortable feelings.
I struggle with pushing people away. It’s what I do. I’m convinced, often, that people will leave or that there’s some sort of obligation to be polite. It may be illogical, but it’s a thought that drives me more than it should.
I was feeling overwhelmed today by the sheer volume of unanswered messages, emails, and phone calls. A stack of, “Let’s catch up soon”s and “I’m so sorry I’ve been busy”s. I finally started to work my way through everything and I was really struck by this one conversation I had left hanging on pause.
A friend of mine, one I hadn’t spoken to in quite some years, very comfortably opened up to me and pointed out some very specific details of my life as well, things I had shared years ago. I was taken aback by this. Not so much their willingness to share; it was their keen interest and recollection of my life and some of my personal anecdotes that really surprised me.
That’s when I realized, not even in a sad or morose way, but in a fascination with myself kind of way, that I think so little of myself in my relationships that I expect others to not think of my life, stories, and friendships as anything noteworthy. It’s rather unexpected, because I am so deeply concerned with others’ lives and their experiences. I can vividly recall ways in which someone made a difference in my life. I can even recall a girl, [name redacted], that I talked to once in a college dorm courtyard and gave her a reason to live. I gave her my number that night, but we didn’t talk much after that. I remember how she looked and I remember the look in her eyes. She hugged me.
I remember, once, being dressed in a costume where only my eyes were visible. A friend’s mother, whom I had never met, couldn’t stop remarking on how I had “the kindest eyes” she had ever seen. I haven’t spoken to them in years as well, but it stays with me.
Today, as I typed out a very long message responding to this aforementioned conversation I had left paused, I felt so uncomfortable with the idea that this person cared enough to remember such details about my life from so long ago. This was the thread that I pulled until I was examining how I view a lot of things. How I hold the most impossibly high standards for myself, but I hold the lowest expectations for others.
And here I am. I’m uncomfortable. It’s the timing of it all. I’ve been reconnecting with people lately, or trying to, and that usually comes with allowing some kind of vulnerability or relying on someone to be in control of things. I’ve chosen to simply not engage with anyone for a long time now. There’s a sense of safety and control in that.
I’ve felt, over the last couple of weeks, an inherent anxiety attached to these interactions. Hyper vigilant and analytical about things. If it’s someone online I don’t know, then I can disengage and feel protected. However, if it is someone that I know personally, someone that knows me truly or I’ve let past my walls, it’s anxiety-inducing.
I’m an anxious-avoidant type. If I feel the slightest change in a dynamic, I will likely be sitting on my own little island of anxiety about it while pushing away. It means that too much attention freaks me out but not enough will make me also freak out in a different way. I dislike this about myself, so uncomfortable is the only other place to be. It’s forcing myself to send a second message when the first goes unanswered. It’s telling myself not to take it personally when conversation goes dry or responses slow. It’s reminding myself not to block and delete people or things based on whatever ridiculous ideas I have in my head.
I wasn’t always this way. For several reasons, I struggle with the fear of abandonment. I know this. I’m not done with healing that. I know this. I’ve just entered a new territory of being in an officially open relationship, and as a polyam person there’s a lot of relief in having a sense of boundaries and consistency in my relationships. It’s exciting to me but also brings the icky feelings because I struggle with commitment and saying I’m in a consensual and ethically non monogamous relationship seems like a red flag to a lot of folks. Icky and exciting is uncomfortable. I know this.
Which is why I’m here admitting that I’m terribly uncomfortable. Living somewhere in this place of feeling needy and also wanting to be alone; wanting to seek reassurance and also never admitting to it. Feeling terribly preoccupied with relationships I’m currently prioritizing, convinced that it’s not mutual, while terribly guilty over relationships that I’m not prioritizing out of sheer time and mental energy.
I don’t have a poem tonight. I’m just awake and struggling with an awareness that I’m so close to isolating myself again when I know that I shouldn’t. All because of some self fulfilling prophecy that I have deeply rooted in my head that says to run before I get left. Why? Because “brain weasels” go to work, strings together a few data points, and then gets a conclusion.
It’s my blog, so I can write it. It’s my diary for the night, I suppose.
Hope y’all are doing alright out there. May the brain weasels leave you alone tonight. I’m wrestling mine here.
