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@lostandfoundminusthefound
Someone might breaks down in front of you, but that can lead to a helpful breakthrough.
I drew this after a weekend with my sister where we had a humorous hand moment and great talks. She sent me a beautiful prose afterwards and I was inspired to put together this piece. I was amazed by my own perspective and depth I created and the different textures I was able to make. My favourite piece to date.
Rainy days aren’t without their rainbows, even if you have to make do until it shows.
I wanted a chance to work on another person so I revamped the Weathering the Storm. Some pencil and pencil crayon later, and I’m happy with its progress. One day it’ll be exactly how I imagine it.
The heroine can get hit but still have to fight, someone else has be in the line of sight.
Final draft for my sister. Took me through my travels to finish and decided last minute to add the red, but overall I’m proud of my progress from the last and my perspective. Graphite and pencil crayons.
The light in the night that offers the briefest reprieve in the dark of the eve.
Because sometimes even in the light, you feel so dark inside. I drew it a while ago and avoided the challenge of features but it was a good initial step. All pencil in one of my favourite notebooks.
The heroine may fall but still won’t quit and someone else has to step in to take the hit.
This is the first draft I made for my sister. I am working on drawing faces and people better but the colouring and general idea came out alright.
How I Verbalize LOVE.
When you’re as robotic as I am, it is foreign to find the motor pathway to say the words “I love you”. I can voice my “I’s”; I can declare my “love’s”; I can convey my “you’s”; the process of adjoining the words is as invasive for me as if the “love” meant I was sewing “I” to “you”. But, as of late, I have realized how much I am connected, how much I am dependent, how much I am steadied by love. So I have tried to articulate these three words that are near worthless separately but compound into something invaluable.
It always goes like this.
A moment where we are laughing or moments away from parting, I feel it.
Tension.
But tension only I can see, the person merely continues on in ignorant bliss. I concentrate all my attention onto them, anticipation ramping up the beats of my heart until they are too close to be distinguishable. I can feel myself dropping my gaze to my feet as the first sounds stumble past my lips.
“Hey, uh, you know, uh...you know, I know I never say this...”
It is nonsensical. I know the words, but it’s like someone deleted the phrase from my conversation selection. Through disuse, the words are an old car engine that, despite the key turning to try to produce that life-giving spark, it putters and refuses to turnover. My emotions have rusted shut, coated in those reddish-orange flakes.
With half a beat, I give myself a moment to breathe. If I try too hard, I’ll flood the engine and lose any chance of starting it. I pump myself up, remembering why I need to say this in the first place. In a last ditch effort, I turn the key.
The inhalation transitions to words.
“I,” the sound leaves my jaw agape, keeping the same shape as my strength building inhalation. I was a constant, straight edged and simple. The small step surges into the next, louder and stronger.
“Love,” with the ‘v’ my teeth meet my bottom lip and I resist the urge to bite down, holding back the finale or replacing it with something less meaningful. Love was an expression, undefined without a solution. By now, I am carried through on momentum alone, finishing steady and resigned.
“You,” the unwavering ‘ooo’ ends as I press my mouth shut, uncertain of the response. You was the answer, making the value infinite. Will they laugh? Will they question me? Will they toss me in the air as if it were my first words?
“I love you, too,” they reply unfazed. The words are second nature for them, as if it were obvious. But they smile. The smile that reminds me why I love them. The genuine acceptance of me and sentimental attachment we have together.
So we continue on. Laughing, chatting, and being friends.
Counselling: 4th Session
“What’s wrong with me?“ I ask in defeat.
The statuesque version of me, with her back upright and shoulders relaxed as she grasped a pen and notepad in her lap, remains static as she responds flatly, "Other than using me as a method of analysis and manage your emotional affairs?”
A dry laugh escapes as I confront her mockingly, “I thought you were supposed to be humorless?”
“I am, as I am a manifestation of your rational side.”
“Yet, I’d say you just made a joke,” I tease.
Counselor!Me does not rise to my instigation, but merely states, “I only cited our sessions because you view them as unconventional. I have no opinion of their factual abnormality.”
“So because I believe that having sessions with myself as a counselor is strange, you can allude to them as a basis of what I define as strange.”
“Essentially, you are correct.”
I smirk at this, thinking of how I could redefine terms to make Counselor!Me say humorous things more often.
“That will not benefit your situation. You are here for a reason that we should discuss,” Counselor!Me says, reading my mind. Or our mind. The logistics of how I conceptualize this is not rigidly in place.
Her reminder forces out the humor that had warmed my chest, sobering me up as I return to my original question, “Why am I like this?”
Counselor!Me does not miss a beat before countering, “What do you mean by ‘this’?”
I resist the urge to jump to my feet and pace the room, opting out for rubbing the back of my hand with my thumb in concentric circles. After a moment of deliberation, I elaborate, “Not this, us discussing my issues. If anything, that is one of the more sensible eccentricities I have. No, I mean why can’t I be normal?”
“What is your definition of normal?”
I snap, “Enough of the bullshit! You know what I mean!”
My outburst does not even illicit a flinch as she responds calmly, aggravating me further, “You need to say it. Or we can’t deal with it.”
“I can’t bring myself to hold eye contact with others. I can’t tell people how I really feel. I can’t be physically close to other people without being uncomfortable. I can’t even look in a mirror without hating myself!”
Counselor!Me keeps her gaze level with mine as she lets the seconds tick away in silence. I realize after the first few that it is not silence she lets hang between us but breathing room. My inhalation and exhalation initially hit in rapid succession but in the suspension of conversation I am able to decelerate my breathing rate and regain composure.
“Sorry,” I apologize the instant I feel composed.
Counselor!Me dismisses it without a thought, “No apology is necessary. You have pent up frustrations. When you release them, they can come out all at once. I would recommend you elaborate these frustrations so we can identify the root issue and determine solutions or management tactics so you aren’t condemned to these negative experiences.”
With a sigh, I state rather than ask, “Why do you have to make so much sense.”
“To help you rationalize and handle your emotions and experiences when they overwhelm you.”
“That was rhetorical.”
Counselor!Me simply replies, “I know, but you are reassured by reminders of how helpful these sessions are when you are upset.”
A small smirk flashes on my face. I always forget how comforting rationality can be.
I softly bite my lip before saying, “Sometimes I think it would be easier to just find an isolated place to lock myself away in. Sure, my friends and family would initially be concerned with my disappearance, but in a few weeks or a month they would barely notice my absence. No one in my life depends on me. I don’t play a big enough role in anyone’s life to cause a significant difference when I am gone. I am not good enough at communicating with others to form the emotional bonds that result in others truly relying on me. I am a passing moment. A shallow and light-hearted enjoyment that another person experiences but once the moment passes, I do not require a second thought. I could see my face and name slipping from the memory without much effort, leaving only a general feeling of content. I am a stand in for the person or people that will come into their life or are presently unavailable.”
Counselor!Me holds her gaze with mine, letting the words linger in the air.
“So, you feel replaceable?”
My mouth is inexplicably dry as I try to swallow before explaining, “It’s more than that. I don’t even need replacing because there’s nothing to replace. I am filler. I am the extra in the scene. I am nothing of substance. I supply no assistance nor hindrance. I just float through their life and there will be no significant impact when I am gone.”
“And where are you going?”
I sigh, “We both know there isn’t some place I’m going where I’ll have to leave everyone behind. But I mean, in the general sense of how life goes. People go to school in different places, they get jobs, they travel, they meet someone and get married. Like molecules compressed in a container being released into the world, everyone expands outward into different and random directions at varying speeds, bumping into each other or other molecules to bind and continue on together. The problem is, I am like a noble gas with nothing to give to form a bond with someone else.”
“You do know noble gases are known for their stability.”
“I do, thus why you can tell me,” I pause before thinking about the implication, “Are you saying I can’t be a noble gas because I’m not stable?”
Counselor!Me remains neutral as she states, “I am merely pointing out that with your metaphor, if you are like a noble gas then you must be stable in a solitary state. Are you stable by yourself?”
“Considering I am talking to you, I’d assume not.”
“Then you are a molecule, or specially a single element, who needs others to bind and stabilize you.”
I let my face fall into my hands, “I regret using this metaphor.”
Counselor!Me’s voice still penetrates the ineffective hand shield, “Then what are you trying to express?”
I life my gaze out of my hands but leave my chin perched on my hands as I struggle to articulate my meaning, “I just mean that we all diffuse outward, and I have no lasting connection to any of those around me as we scatter through the world.”
“You are aware that you aren’t just molecules flying through space,” Counselor!Me tells me rather than asks, “You and those around you are sentient with memories and conscious thought and emotions. Distance, or lack there of, does not equate to bond, you can be across the country or globe and still be friends with someone or you can be right next to someone and not have any emotional tie to them whatsoever.”
I resist the urge to roll my eyes, automatically agreeing with the statement and seething with frustration from my inability to argue with logic.
A moment of silence passes before Counselor!Me follows up with a question, “What do you want to say?”
I burst with unhindered thoughts, “People always leave. I just can’t be the person they need. I never will be. I am too broken. I am not wired right. I must be because if not then what I am, the good and the bad, is not enough. I am someone they can let go of without even noticing. If it’s not that I am too robotic and emotionally stunted to form meaningful relationships then it means that what I think of as a good friend can let go of me without any significant consequence to their life.”
Tears have pooled in my eyes and I know it is the core truth. I can tell myself over and over that I am just too apathetic or distant to connect. But the truth is buried behind that reasoning. The empty seconds that follow my confession lets the truth seep into every corner of the room. I tilt my head upwards and hope the tears remain unshed. I lick my lips to hide how my teeth drag across the bottom lip, wishing to put the words back. I can feel her eyes on me, giving me my moment of shame in the truth as I drop my eyes to the floor.
“People haven’t always left. Many are with you and show no signs of leaving anytime soon.”
“And that’s when it hurts the most, when you don’t expect it.”
“So, you mean to always suspect it?” Counselor!Me asks without a hint of condescension.
I exhale, exhausted, and answer, “Expect the unexpected.”
Counselor!Me proposes a question that mirrors one rising in my own mind, “Do you ever wonder if this expectation of abandonment hinders your ability to make profound connections?”
“All the time.”
Those three words hang between us. I feel the truth resonate outward. I swallow, knowing how pathetic it sounds.
“You think I would leave?” it is not Counselor!Me, but another voice in astonishment.
“You think I don’t care?” asks a shocked voice.
“You don’t know how much you mean to me,” a somber voice says.
“You don’t know how loved you are,” a sorrow-filled voice adds in.
The voices fit to all the faces in my head, all my friends and family.
In a chorus, they state so matter-of-factly I am left with only certainty of their words, “You matter to me.”
I let the tears roll off my cheeks unhindered, not even raising a hand to brush them away. A slow exhale leads to more, and with each I feel a little lighter. I raise my gaze to meet Counselor!Me’s. They contain understanding and reassurance that these tears were necessary.
The words cycle within me. You matter to me. You matter to me. You matter to me.
I let the tears fall and the words cycle until I had no tears left and the words come with every beat of my heart. With that, I thanked Counselor!Me and returned to reality.
Part of Me.
A part of me wants to go out with friends.
A part of me wants to dress up and have a good time.
A part of me wants to smile at that cute guy next to me.
But there’s this other part, a part that disagrees.
The other part of me wants to curl in a ball in my bed.
The other part of me wants to never see another soul again.
The other part of me wants to run away and never look back.
The problem is, the other part plays dirty. The other part will tell me how much I annoy my friends, how it makes them hate me. The other part will tell me how unattractive I am, how worthless it is to dress up, how having a good time isn’t possible for the pathetic. The other part will tell me smiling at the cute guy won’t only be a waste of time, but will ridiculous or disgusting to him.
The other part doesn’t always win the battle, but I never come out the other side unscathed.
For now I’m still kicking. Bloody and bruised, but I’m still here. And I’m going to keep fighting until I crush that part of me.
Counselling: 3rd Session
With my hand on the smooth wood, I push the door shut. The hinges lack any creaking noises I have come to expect, leaving me in an uncomfortable silence as I turn to face Counselor!Me. I let my eyes meet their framed duplicates but I instead stare through them. It takes me a moment to realize that her mouth has moved to form words that I deafly let pass by without my attention.
With a swallow, I apologize, "Sorry, could you repeat that?"
Counselor!Me patiently repeats herself, "I simply stated that you seem distracted. Would you like to elaborate?"
I try to swallow again, but my drying mouth inhibits my attempt. "Could I have a glass of water first?"
"Please, help yourself." Counselor!Me gestures to the pitcher of water and available cups on the table in front of her. I approach with a steady pace, fill a simple, circular glass with water that is cold enough to immediately form condensation on the outer surface. I sit in the soft, black arm chair diagonally across from Counselor!Me. I forgo the chaise, partially to drink my water in comfort, but more-so to be able to sit forward with my elbows resting on my knees. I take a slow drink of water and hold the glass between my knees, staring at the clear liquid as I swirl the cup.
"Feel better?"
I can't take my eyes off the mini whirlpool forming in the cup. Instead of answering her question, I propose my own.
"Do you ever wonder about rooms?"
Her voice holds no humour or impatience as she asks, "Can you be more specific?"
"We take a space and close it off from the rest of the world." I say and quickly continue, answering unasked questions, "Yes, I know there are very few truly sealed rooms. Even in a room like this, we have ventilation, cracks beneath the door, etc. And no, I don't think once I enter a room the rest of the world just falls away."
"I asked for neither of those answers, yet you feel the need to provide them. Would you like to say this 'room' that you are referring to as being closed off from the world is metaphorical?"
"Yes, I was moving in that direction," I agree. I stall. I don't know how to continue.
"What is in this metaphoric room?"
My unoccupied hand finds its way around to the back of my neck, massaging the muscles as if they are the cause of my delay. I find my words hesitantly, "No, it isn't like that."
Counselor!Me pushes further, "A room is built to contain. Now, it might not be material objects but there must be something inside. What is inside?"
With a sigh, I release the words, "Feelings. Thoughts. Fears." She waits, not a note of judgement or confusion in her eyes. I know she wants me to continue. Her next question will press just as much. Following a quick gulp of water, I continue, "I compartmentalize. I would say to an extreme, but I don't know what is going on in other people's heads."
"You discuss your issues with a logic-based version of yourself. We can label this as extreme."
The corner of my mouth twitches into a smirk as I say, "You're not wrong." After a quick inhale, I continue, "Throughout the day, I feel, I think, I worry. And I shove them into compartments and trek on, reasoning that I don't have time, or it is inappropriate to express these…experiences."
"Many people do the same. Otherwise society would crumble under the momentary emotions of its citizens."
"I know. It's partially why I hate myself for losing it. I should be able to handle my emotions, but they hijack my body and I have to go through everything short of an exorcism to regain control," my voice rises towards the end and take a moment to down the rest of the water.
"You feel consumed by your emotions?" Counselor!Me asks.
With a sigh, I elaborate, "It's like a smell that I closed off in a room, where its diffused and built up and now when I open the door the smell hits me, causing me to nearly keel over from its strength."
"But smell eventually dissipates, or you become habituated to it. As keeping with the metaphor."
I am suddenly on my feet and I hold myself back from shouting by a hair's breath, "Does the smell of rotting fish go away? Does the smell of gasoline burning ever truly leave your nostrils?! Maybe my metaphor is flawed but its because there is no way to perfectly describe this feeling. I am bottling these feelings, storing them away, and when I face them after they've festered? It is an absolute mess. And the longer I wait, the easier it is to accidentally pop the cap."
Calmly Counselor!Me requests, "Can you please sit?" Once I comply, she asks, "You were flooded with a round of emotions recently?"
"Too many. Maybe an entire year’s worth? Maybe just the really horrible ones that I have been avoiding for the past few years."
"That is a lot of emotions. How are you feeling after facing them?"
I forcefully exhale my breath and stare at my hands, which I wring as I reply, "Angry."
I expect another prompt.
I don’t get one.
I know why.
With another lung crushing exhale, my hands cease their wringing to circle around my midline as I correct myself, tears pooling in my eyelids, "Broken."
"You think having emotions breaks you?" Counselor!Me asks the infuriating question. I know the answer I should give, but we both know I do not have the heart to try and lie.
"I think my emotions are too much to indulge. They carry too much punch. They inflict more damage than I can withstand."
I can feel her next question before she asks it.
"Your emotions only hurt you?"
I squeeze my hands hard to keep them from wiping away the tears that have yet to fall. A choked sigh heaves its way past my lips before I find a few words, "No, and that makes it worse."
I can feel Counselor!Me tilt her head slightly and sit forward in the office chair as she prompts, "And why does that make it worse?"
I swallow a sob that threats to over take me and elaborate, "They hurt you with good and bad. Love and hate. Happiness and sadness. I can be hurt so much more by a good emotion, the warm embrace of knowing happiness can squeeze you too tight. The light of love can blind. The good can hurt me because I realize how little of it I feel, or how easily it can be taken away, or why I no longer feel it. With bad emotions, it is so much easier to just be like 'I am sad and it sucks'. But knowing you were happy in that moment, or knowing what love is like, and then losing it."
"It is not the good feeling that hurts but its absence."
A surge of energy floods through me, I passionately continue the thought, "The hole left behind when its gone. The backlash for feeling so good hurts more than it does to feel bad. So why even want to feel good? It'll just end badly. Why love when it'll just leave a hole to drag down everything else?"
I am holding Counselor!Me's eyes in mine, the frames of her glasses obstructing the path in the smallest way but I still see it. I know she knows. And she knows that I know she knows. But I just don't want to say it. Her gaze is unwavering, and I know I have to say it.
"I just didn't think I could feel so hollow after. I always thought of myself as a robot, as near emotionless as a person could be-"
Counselor!Me interrupted, "You need to stop trying to skirt around this. You are a person. You have feelings. And you…"
I complete her sentence, my voice wet with the tears and lament, "And I lost someone. Someone in my family died. A piece of love I felt and loved back is gone. And that, the pain behind that hurts more than all the anger and sadness and fear and guilt and everything. Because it now contains all of them. Where I once felt love, now I am angry that I didn't spend more time with them and pissed that they are just gone so suddenly and sad they are gone, and I am afraid of losing more people I love, and I am guilty that I didn't show or tell them that I loved them more and all of it."
"So, where you once had a positive, is now negative making it feel doubly as negative than as if it was merely negative from the beginning. That is what you are trying to say?"
I swallow the lump forming in the back of my throat and continue, "It's more than that. There isn't a quantitative value to love or happiness, just as there isn't a value for sadness or anger or fear. The good things, they're like an arm or leg, it’s an extension of my body. The bad things are like pain, like a cut or such. But bad things in place of good things are like amputations; a lingering pain that never fades, a piece of who you are that is missing, and amnesic moments where you think you are whole only to have it taken away. Every. Single. Time."
My punctuated end held in the air. The pause brought me attention to my rapid, shallow breaths and my clawed grip on the armrests. Immediately I released the armrests and let out a long, deep breath. With the breath, the tension in my body snaps, sinking me into the cushions of the chair. Little do I know, the tension had not only been holding myself upright but also the tears at bay. The first fell slow, blazing the trail for the rest. I lift my hand to wipe them away when Counselor!Me speaks.
"Why are you ashamed of the tears?"
I lower my hand and let the tears fall, untouched.
I open my mouth to speak but the words elude me. After a couple of attempts, I finally find my voice, "They signify my inability to deal with my emotions."
"And if you broke your arm? Would it be respectable to cry?"
"Well yeah, but-"
"Or if your appendix burst? Or if you chopped off your finger? Or lost an eye? Would it be respectable to cry then?"
"Yes, but-"
"No. You listen to me. Emotional pain is just as real as physical pain. And physical pain is even regulated by the body, decreasing sensitivity in many cases after the initial burst of pain. Emotional pain doesn't have the same regulatory processes. The time scale it works on isn't a day, or a week, or a month. You experience them over your lifetime. Physical pain heals. Emotional pain can reoccur if you don't deal with it the first time."
"But it isn't real. Its all in my head."
"Just because these wounds aren't visible, doesn't make them invalid. If anything, it makes them worse. You can see bruises, scars, and blood when you are physically injured. You can't see how the emotional pain hurts you. You can smile and laugh with your friends or enjoy a meal with your family and no one may know if you don't express how you feel."
"I guess," I continue, "I just still don't like sharing my emotions, especially emotional pain, with my friends and family."
"So, to refresh my memory, you don't want to talk to your friends and family, whom you love deeply, about the pain you feel at the prospect of losing them because you don't want to burden them with the fear you feel knowing how lost you would be without them?"
I pause. I try and connect everything she said with what I had previously said. I propose to myself, even though Counselor!Me is technically also me, "Why does that sound so convoluted when you say it but not when I think it."
"Technically, I can only say it because you think it."
I sigh, "That is beside the point." With an exhale I continue, "You're right. And I see the logic but why do I struggle with sharing my feelings?
Counselor!Me casually leans back and proposes her own question, "Why do you not like to cry in front of others?"
The words were already falling out of my mouth before I had time to think about it, "I fear vulnerability."
"Do you think they will abandon you in your time of need when you show them your vulnerabilities?"
I almost laugh, "Almost the exact opposite. I know they would never abandon me. No, they would try and comfort me. They would pity me."
"And why does comfort and pity so negative?"
I breathe. It is that feeling growing in my stomach, again, demanding I keep it all in.
"Please?"
My gaze finds her's and I know she understands how the feeling threatens to take over.
"I worry that they have this picture of an invulnerable figure who withstand a nuclear blast-worth of absolute shit and would barely blink. What happens when they find out its all an illusion? What happens when they find out I'm nothing but…" I can't find the word to accurately describe my flawed self.
"Human?" Counselor!Me supplies.
I sigh, "I get it. People are vulnerable. We aren't all strength, all the time."
"Yet, you expect yourself to be super-human?"
I lash out, "I expect myself to be better. I expect myself to be reliable. Reliable people do not crumble. Reliable people do not break, they last until the end of time without so much as a crack."
Counselor!Me pauses. I can see the answer in her eyes to the question I expect is about to be released from her lips.
"I know. I know it would be better to break, rebuild and improve to prevent similar problems in the future. Instead of trying to ignore how the building is coming down around me." I keep my eyes on my lap, knowing that one of these days I will have to let it all come down and rebuild.
A hand reaches out and grabs mine. It holds my hand firmly but not constrictively. In that moment, I am anchored. Every time I have felt like I could float away without obstruction or concern from those around me, but here I feel like I couldn’t disappear if I tried. The hand gives a slightly squeeze as if to say, Yes, I am right here with you, and the tears fall easily. My uncertainty falls away. My walls crumble. My strength is gone, and weakness is all I have left. The tears come faster in heavy sobs. I know my face is puffy and my eyes are red. I even know the wetness that will be in my voice and how it will catch but I use it anyway.
"Thank-you for being here," I say through the tears as I lift my gaze to meet not Counselor!Me, but my friend. A friend I haven't known long, at least by my standards. A friend who might not appear emotional or sensitive at a cursory glance but understands my emotions on a level of such depth that she knows I don't need condolence or consolation. She's a hand late at night that reminds you that you aren't alone and that its okay to cry. I stand and pull her into a tight hug.
She hugs back and calmly replies, "Anytime."
The room dissipates without another word.
Repeat After Me
Just because you understand other people’s feelings doesn’t mean yours are worth any less.
Now repeat over and over.
Hopefully if I say it enough, I’ll believe it.
Reliance Vs. Alliance
Imagine two hands grasping each other. Is it a handshake or a hand-up?
I’m not arrogant enough to presume that depending on which scenario you dreamed up coincides with my idea of reliance and alliance. I just know that two people connecting, becoming friends or any kind of relations, should be a like hand shake with equal dependence from both sides. Each are equally vulnerable and strong as the alliance stems from dependence on the other’s strength and having them rely on your strength. Whereas a hand-up involves one person being completely reliant and vulnerable towards the other. The person holding the other one up has power and control over the entire interaction.
Why, pray tell, do I bring up this imagery to describe these two terms? Simply put, I have trust issues. While relationships, whether they be romantic or platonic, should be found on alliance, I shy away from them and find myself forming relationships where the other person relies on me. Trying to find a way to disclose the basis of many of my relationships has shown me just how unhealthy it is for my need to be in control.
That is, I do not actively seek out those in need but instead I do not seek connection. Period. I retain a space between other people and myself. In the truest sense of the phrase, I hold those around me at arm's length. However, when someone falls and they need someone to help them up, I am there. As someone with very low emotional intelligence, I may not always be able to help them to the extent they need. The hand I reach out to help them up with might not be strong enough to carry them right to their feet, but it is strong enough to help them find their footing to stand up themselves. But I question why I have this ingrained tendency to only connect with those who rely on me, why do I need this control and power in a relationship. It is not as simple as my being a control freak but due to my inability to deal with my uncertainty in how others feel.
Honestly, the reason I base most of my relationships on reliance over alliance is because I have doubts about whether the other person would want to be in a relationship with me. I bring very little to any relationship--being awkward, annoying, aggressive, stubborn, weird, self-centered, obsessive, and competitive--so there is little reason for anyone to want to form this connection with me. I respect that. I understand why no one would choose to be in a relationship with me. That is also why, when another person relies on me, I give them every ounce of strength I have. I do not abuse the control they entrust in me. It takes this trust that they place in me for me to begin to trust them, and even then it takes an extensive amount of time. Years, in fact. Many that have even known me for upwards of ten years still haven't gained my compete trust.
For example, no one knows about this blog where I disclose my deepest thoughts and feelings about myself and those around me.
Why?
Why can't I trust someone?
I have experienced no great trauma nor outright betrayals of my trust. The only source I can see is how a couple of friends I had when I was younger drifted away from me, easily and without regard for my feelings. I was a toy that had outlived its use and now they passed me off for the newest model. Friends I had trusted. Friends I would have done anything for. They didn't tear away leaving this noticeably raw wound that could be patched. Instead they eroded me. Shaved off bits of me until one day I looked down and realized a chunk of me was gone. So I guess that's what I am, a dried up riverbed. A misfit toy who's missing a button and held together by frayed threads.
I guess my problem with all this circles back to how I only form relationships out of reliance than alliance. If I am always the one with the power, the one in control, then what happens when I lose control, when I fall to pieces in vulnerability? I cannot turn to those who rely on me and, as horrible as it sounds, I have no one I truly rely on. So when I break, I remain broken until I gather up the pieces and the duct tape to put myself back together.
One day I hope to find someone I can rely on, an alliance that can withstand the test of time. But until then, I guess I will let others rely on me and break alone. Then I will write about it here for no one to read, as if to scream into an empty void how broken I am and how tiring it is to put back together.
A hero stands on the edge of a city that she gives her strength, but inside she holds the world at arm’s length.
I finished a sketch then added some colour. It was kind of inspired by my Super!Me post. Maybe one of these days I will learn to paint and make a nice water colour version.
We are unique, let us be different, let us thrive in what is best for our soul..
INFPunite (via infpunite)
Something to remember
Things Left Unsaid
Before I can delve into the portion that pertains to the title, a short prelude is necessary to provide the framework. I am introverted. For those that believe that that equates to shyness have never met an introvert like me. I may not be the standard for all introverts, but I am easily exhausted by social interaction. That doesn’t mean I don’t talk, hell I am probably louder than most people. With friends who I am comfortable around, I can talk until the words in my head align and I eventually convey some semblance of genuineness. Until this point, nothing I say is very reflective of my true thoughts; every word is generated for the listener’s benefit. The plasticity of my persona consists of great variation; the environment completely dictates who I am. And personally, I don’t see this as an issue. I am whomever the situation calls me to be: a jokester, a confidant, a silent body, an adviser.
Now, the friends I am comfortable around will move passed the hats I wear. For these people, I am not only their friend, but they are mine. Not to say those, whom I am a friend to but I don’t consider as my friend, are not friendly and hold some illusion of a relationship with me. Instead, I would propose the friendship is superficial, for lack of a better word. In this case, I mean causal or without depth. They are only privy to that which I deem appropriate for whom they require, which hat they need. All of my friendships start at this stage and advance. As a friend of mine mentioned as of late, I don’t hand out my substantial friendships without great consideration, thus adding a sense of ‘honour’ (her word choice, not mine) to the promotion. I would probably call it a defense mechanism. Whatever the label, I keep these two types of friendships very distinct. Regardless of which friendship I provide, I am observant and aware of the other person. I have to be. If I don’t pay attention, I tend to say the wrong thing or interpret what they’ve said wrong. So, I have learned to listen and analyze people to infer their meaning during social interaction. And here’s where I proceed to my main point.
The friendships I limit to one way interactions are easier for me. There is no risk for people not to accept me, to reject me. The friend gets everything they need and I feel accepted. Win-win. The problem is I have never held the one way friendship under scrutiny. No one has ever been able to realize the arm’s length they are held at or the lack of dimensionality on my part. I would love to claim that my front was just that ironclad but we all know that people see what they want to see.
Recently, I have been spending more time with a friend, who is still in the first stage, and every time we hang out I realize she is incredibly detail wary. Everything from outfits and hairstyles and comments made by strangers are logged and constantly contrasted to previous notes. It is amazing how attentive she is but its terrifying for someone like me who bases these initial friendships on the other person not noticing the lack of depth. Almost every time we hangout, I will have a moment of ‘did she notice my slip up?’ and suddenly our conversation pauses due to my own mental debate. With every momentary pause I take, I worry she takes my sudden silences as boredom or disinterest. So not only might she be noticing my lack of depth or the false front I put up but she also might think I do it because I am disinterested in the friendship. The idea that she could believe any of my actions were because of her is almost just as horrible.
I could just tell her. Tell her about the defense mechanism and my uncertainty in what she might know. But it normally takes years, like five years, and we have only been friends for about eight months. So I have an internal struggle of acting normal and just telling her the truth.
Maybe it isn't entirely "would it benefit her to know" argument but "would it hurt me to tell her when I don't know she won't leave". I told you, I use the system to ween out people who don't want to know the real me but enjoy having the hat I wear for them. Maybe I'm just convinced that she can see passed the hats because I want to believe they aren't more than who I am. But I don't know what would be worse: continuing to keep a surface relationship when she can tell I'm holding back or throwing her into the deep end when she didn't notice there was anything but the surface. The one choice would make her feel like I don't care, like I don't want her to be my friend, but the second would most likely end the friendship, as my depth holds no light and would cause any sane person not invested in me to run for the hills. I guess that decides it then. If I would either hurt her by making her feel unworthy of my friendship or hurt myself by losing a friend who could have been really close, then there is only one real option. I'll tell her. Tell her that I'm a very guarded person and all the little adjustments you make around people are to keep them from asking questions. And that in reality I'm not any one of them but parts of all of them. That I'm rarely myself, especially since it's harder and harder to remember who that is. I just hope she accepts my shittiness despite how I pretended I was so great.
Resonance
I learned about resonance in my grade 11 physics class. It was a part of the mechanisms of a wave. Now let me apologize to those who have an in depth knowledge of wave properties or have recently learned about such, it has been a while since I was exposed to the terms and I feel as though the fog of my memory may blur the reality of the subject. However, the just of the idea has held itself firm in my mind. The demonstration of its movement was made using an extended spring, allowing for the wave to travel to the end and back again along the other side. The movement, though, is not what I have pondered since.
I remember my teacher, after showing us a diagram and demonstrating it with a string, taking us into the science lab. At this point, sound or a wave for that matter was just another concept to me: lines on a page that followed a pattern that led to predictable results. I watched with mild interest as my teacher placed a Bunsen Burner on the floor and sparked its flame. Fire generally hadn’t been required for any of my past physics experiments. He grabbed a long cardboard tube, almost taller than himself, with the width that would allow for a soccer ball to roll through, and lifted it above the open flame. A class of once loud and rowdy teenagers quieted to a deafening silence. I was almost certain the tube would catch ablaze in his hands as he lowered it onto the flame. A low hum filled the silence and was quickly followed by murmurs of excitement from my classmates. The hum had a musical feel that reminded me of a trombone or a tuba (I apologize again, as my musical instrument recognition is fairly poor). Just as quickly as the sound had come it disappeared as my teacher dropped the tube lower on the flame. He continued to play with the placement, creating and ending the sound.
That was resonance.
Movement of air that collided with a barrier in the right way, at the right time, reaching the end of the tube at the right spot. The proof of the prefect combination rang out around me. That feeling of cohesion, or everything coming together, hasn’t really happened for me. Sometimes I find it momentarily but, just as quickly as it came, it’s gone, as if I over shot the tube placement. Except, when I try and readjust, the spot has disappeared.
I have never resonated. I have never felt that cord struck within me. Then how could I possibly know of the existence of its abstract perfection? Because I recognized it everywhere around me, as clearly as I saw that spring form that standing wave or heard that fire's bellowing note. Some of my favourite songs are justly so as they match my cord's frequency, relinquishing all tension that builds up in its silence. Books have come to meld into my being only can because they connect on a deeper level, reaching and understanding the feelings I feel but fail to deal with. Even movies and television can have moments that grab me with emotion and cause the truth to reverberate within me.
I think that’s why I am so passionate about the written word or mindful melodies or sentimental scenes. Because without it I would be alone. I would float from place to place, uncertain of my own existence in regards to normality. Everything I am feels completely separate from the world (to be clear, I do not say this in the sense that I am the only unique individual to ever walk the Earth but that, despite being an individual, I fail to connect with the other individuals around me). I can feel the gap between me and everyone else. I could and would float away due to this isolated feeling but brief moments pull me back. Moments where the pulse of a song reintroduces breath to the body or words on a page have more weight than the 1 ounce paper or the emotional, distant glance an actor/actress makes when the character is so desperate to avoid tears but is unable to walk away.
I guess I crave resonances because it means I have finally found the perfect way to move with the perfect people at the perfect time; I found my perfect place in the world to ring out in clarity. Until then, I will hold the stolen moments of connection to perfection through my music, books, and shows and remind myself that I am not alone.
Counselling: 2nd Session
“Excuse me?” the voice breaks the washing machine of a thought process, where I had been stuck going around and around getting beaten during the turns, “Are you still with me?”
The solid cushion of the strange chaise longue beneath me pressed against my shoulder blades, my upper body carving into its upholstery. I couldn’t seem to push against the pressure to get in a full breath. With my entire focus on my breathing, my eyes refused to open. The string of thoughts in my head are so knotted I don’t know where to start. I say the only thing I can.
“I don’t know.”
The sound of a chair cushion being compressed and decompressed as a body shifts proceeds the voice, “Look at me.” With those words, the spell lifts and allows my eyelids to do the same. My gaze found the hard stare in a moment. Counselor!Me’s eyes, outlined by those sleek black frames, holds a resolve that I know could never be shaken. The question is straight and the stare does not waiver, “Are you with me?”
My words have every intention of being sharp with sarcasm but my lips blunt their edge with the half-hearted truth, “No, I’m not.” If I didn’t know better, I would have expected a comforting grasp of my hand or soft word of hope. But that isn’t who Counselor!Me is, there aren’t any warmth or emotion in the logic; those cozy hugs are supplied by Hippy!Me. I’m kidding, I do get emotional support from loved ones and friends (I’m not a complete hermit). Counselor!Me is here to coax me through the emotions I don’t want to deal with, nothing more and nothing less.
“I need you to focus, okay?” I nod without a word. “Now, why are you here today?” The question hangs between us. What little breath I have been able to retain is forced from my lungs as I sigh.
“I am just so much less than I should be.” Counselor!Me is silent waiting for me to continue. The words spark the dry underbrush of my muddled thoughts, catching fire and spreading through the forest of my mind. “I am less than what people deserve, less than my potential. I am less intelligent. I am less considerate. I am less hardworking. I am less pretty. I am less kind. I am less responsible. You name any good quality I could have, and I am less than my potential. Less. Less. Less. LESS!” By the end of my rant I’m screaming the word. My entire body is shaking with the fire inside; the fire that is burning everything I have built up to the ground. My polar opposite sits across from me, composed and cold as ice. I know we only sit in silence for seconds but in that limited time the fire subsides, leaving only the embers smoldering.
“And how long have you had these feelings of inadequacy?” The question catches me off guard, again I had mistakenly half-expected empty words of consolation.
I recover quickly and respond in truth, “Years. The only time I remember feeling not less, but like I had met and even exceeded my potential, was when I was a kid. I didn’t even realize how outstanding I was with my openness and carefree thinking. It was simple, I just was the person I was meant to be. And now…” the strain holds so tight in my voice that the word drops off before I realize I didn’t have more to follow.
“And now you feel like you’ve strayed from the person you were meant to be and in doing so that you have failed yourself and anyone close to you,” Counselor!Me finishes with precision.
“Exactly! And if it was only myself I was failing then I’d probably deal with it, but I fail my friends and family on a daily basis. To the extent that I don’t know why they keep me around.”
With this, Counselor!Me stops writing and leans forward in that sleek black office chair and speaks with a certainty I could never hold, “You believe you are less and that your loved ones deserve more, correct?”
I nod, unsure of where this line of questioning is going.
The speech continues, “And these people that mean so much to you, they aren’t dumb or dense, are they?”
I shake my head.
“They aren’t in a constant state of disappointment or frustration with you, are they?”
Again, I shake my head.
“Do they ever speak to you in pity or condescension?”
The words rise before I know it, “Never, they aren’t those kind of people.”
Counselor!Me continues to lecture me just as an evil villain monologues for the hero trapped before them, “So, in conclusion these people whom you care for are smart, good people who don’t voice any reservations and aren’t known for a charity friendship. Do you think such a person would stand for a friend who failed them so completely as you believe you have?” Before I could answer, another question was posed, “What are the chances that ALL of the people you care about could do such a thing? Maybe one or two, but we both know there are more than two people who care about you in this world. You know these people; you know your family and friends. They aren’t pushovers, they aren’t mindless drones who agree with everything. These people are strong, caring, funny, amazing, beautiful, confident, trustworthy, and loving and they–,” Counselor!Me is cut off as I butt in.
“And they keep me around. Despite my failings. Despite my inadequacies and uncertainties. Despite my inability to interact in a socially acceptable way. They stick around. They call. They text. They make plans and laugh at my horrible jokes and play along when I try stupid games.”
Counselor!Me speaks up as she leans back in the chair, “See, you don’t fail them–,” she begins, but again my voice cuts into hers.
“But I do, they just don’t seem to notice. I guess I’ve exceeded at one thing, my ability to pretend, to put up a false front and feint adequacy. So, while they are these amazing people who deserve the world, I fake being the world they deserve in hopes that one day I might be. I’ve dupped them. Tricked them. Cheated them. I would say I am a wolf in sheep’s clothing but that isn’t even true because I mean them no harm. No, I’m a donkey in sheep’s clothing. An ass who has no right to pretend to be apart of the herd. It’s guilt; that’s what is eating away at me. Guilt in knowing I have the potential to be a good friend, sister, daughter, niece, student, role model, and every other title I have ever held in my life and yet I’m not, no matter how long I pretend to be.”
*****
*****
*****
The silence ticks by and I wait for Counselor!Me to say something logical. Nothing comes.
“I cannot convince you of anything you do not wish to believe,” I startle at the lack of edge to the voice, as if Counselor!Me has resigned to the notion that I am irreparable. Tears pool and I blink them back. “But I know you want to believe because you are here and you are emotionally affected by the prospect of remaining how you are now. However, that isn’t enough. I need you to listen to me and answer my questions with straightforward answers, can you do that?”
“Yes but what if–,” I begin before she cuts me off.
“STRAIGHTFORWARD answers. No if’s, and’s, or but’s.”
“Okay,” I say in defeat.
Counselor!Me uses a clear, steady voice, “No one is perfect. Everyone in the world has faults and shortcomings. Do you believe your friends and family are perfect?”
“No, but–,” I begin before Counselor!Me interrupts.
“No buts.” the words contained a finality that ended the argument before it could start. Counselor!Mr continued, “Do you feel that their imperfections let you down?”
“Of course not.”
“Just as you have seen them for their imperfections, your friends and family have no misconceptions of perfection on your part. And just as with you, that doesn’t mean they are let down by these flaws. You think they perceive you as an all perfect person, as the false front you wear around them, but what if they know you pretend? What if they find you impersonating a perfect person endearing?”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
Counselor!Me sighs and continues, “I mean, these people who you deem as smart, good, and caring, they aren’t blind. It isn’t the person you are pretending to be that they care about. It is the person who tries to be perfect that they love. You try. You fail. You try again. Who couldn’t care about a person who tries to be everything for everyone?”
“So following your thinking, because I pretend to be better than what I am, fail, and keep pretending, my family and friends care about me?”
“Yes.”
“Then if I ever stop pretending, I fail them?’
“No, that’s not how it works.”
“So if I pretend to be better than I am, I don’t fail them. And if I just am who I am, I still don’t fail them. Then how do I fail them?”
“By doing the exact opposite of what you are doing right now. You CARE. That’s what separates failure and success.”
I sigh in exasperation and retort, “All you have to do is care about people and that makes everything okay?”
Counselor!Me responds with a question, “Do you need anything from your friends and family other than for them to care about you?”
“No, but-.”
“Again, no buts. You try to be everything they need or you are everything they need. It doesn’t matter whether you are or not, it is whether you want to be.”
“So because I care, I am everything they need? How can you be so sure it is enough?”
“Because in caring you promise to keep trying and, in the end, what more could anyone ask for?”
I pause a moment to think. The logic was irrefutable, but something else gnaws at me and I propose it to Counselor!Me, “Then why do I feel like they deserve more?”
The sigh held disappointment, “Maybe you want a way out. A reason to walk away from every relationship you have ever had because ‘they deserve more’.“ She finishes with air quotes.
“I don’t want lose all my relationships though. I just…” I feel the truth condensate behind my eyes. I look away from Councillor!Me in fear that her cold stare will break the storm. The words come out quick, as if they could fly passed Councillor!Me too fast for her to understand, “I am just afraid that if I admit that I am enough then there won’t be anything left to blame when they leave. Nothing but the dislike of me.”
“Better to just tell yourself you aren’t good enough than they have a problem with your personality?”
My gaze drops to my hands, which lack anything to fiddle with. As I stare at every ridge and divot, glimmering shimmers of light begin to appear. Slowly, at first, the edge of my index right finger, middle of my left pinkie, down the line in my palm that began to shine then the shimmer was almost everywhere, blurring my vision. It is a tidal wave, followed quickly by the heavy winds of my breath.
With an attempt at regaining composure, I inhale deeply and exhale slowly as I push the words from the back of my throats where they have been choking the sobs of my cry, “I can be better: stronger, kinder, happier, or more helpful. I can’t change my personality. And if they want to walk away, it’s easier to tell myself that if I met best of my ability they wouldn’t have left than they just don’t like me for who I am.”
A beat of my heart passes, then another. My vision, in which my hands are wringing themselves, dulls into shapeless blurs. I refuse to look Counselor!Me in the eye. I worry I will see the one thing I cannot take in this moment: pity. I know she doesn’t experience such emotions, or really any emotions, but sometimes the irrational choices are second nature.
“I love you,” the sound raises my blurry gaze from hands to Counselor!Me, but instead they catch my mom’s glimmering eyes wet with tears. She stands next to the office chair Counselor!Me is poised in, so composed and together. Yet my mom’s eyes don’t leave mine. The mess of a daughter, who can’t talk about her emotions without breaking down and is constantly letting her down, is the one she told she loves.
“We all do.” My gaze clears as the tears slowly etch their way down my cheeks and scans passed my mom to see my dad, sister, brother, aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents, and friends. The friends that are present surprise me; I see longtime friends who look at me with tears in their eyes like I’m their lovable idiot and they didn’t want me to ever doubt myself like this, but there are also people I had only known for what felt like a passing moment. The friends I had and lost with little effect on them, or so I thought. These faces contain a gratitude, as if the small time we were friends was one without regret.
The sound of the cushions in the office chair being released from compression drew my attention back to Counselor!Me. Everyone else vanishes without a sound as a hand grasps mine.
“They always will.” And with these words I am weightless. The pressure that restrains me to the couch vanishes and Counselor!Me pulls me easily to my feet.
“What happens if the weight of my inadequacies pull me back down again?” I ask, uneasily.
Counselor!Me surprises me as she wraps her arms around me and says softly in my ear, “I will always be here to remind you that it’s okay not to be perfect, if you try and care then you are already the best version of yourself.”
I give a tiny squeeze and release her, and with that the office fades away. I return to reality to fight another day, remembering all the people standing in that room who care about me despite my failures. I make a silent promise to work a little harder but know that, no matter the outcome, they will always care.
I love being an INFP sometimes. Especially when people say I need to break out of my shell.
One great thing I’ve noticed is that some INFPs can ‘mimic’ other types. When people say 'Oh, you need to be more social!’, I can just engage Extravert-Mode.
Of course, it doesn’t last and I end up acting like a broken-down android after a while, unable to talk or respond to stimuli.
…Or is that just me..?
I do not presume to speak for all the other INFPs, but I know exactly what you mean. I call it the Reboot phase.
Personally, I find an isolated place to recharge and with such tact that those who do not know me would never expect my need for escape. I see it as a courtesy to provide them comfort with the easy going interaction they are accustom to.
Maybe one day they’ll notice the glitches as I breakdown, but until then I’ll let the program run.
