I really don’t want to feel my emotions. I want a cigarette or to have sex. I already ate five cookies. I am getting very close to the core of many of my relationship issues. The desire to numb is hijacking my brain. Date#14 was Canadian. I don’t even know what else to say, other than I mildly had fun. I am beginning to lose enthusiasm for my constant internal searching and self examination. When I met date#14 for coffee, I was still very much reeling off of last weeks experience. Date#14 and I spent a few hours talking about space (outer), some of our travels and logic puzzles. I enjoyed our time together, but there was a part of me that just wanted to go home. I can’t think of anything note worthy. He asked me nothing of my life, and in turn said nothing about his. He did catch me up on Canadian politics.
I am realizing I have a very difficult time sitting in a space of mystery. Even the thought of an un-opened package makes my skin crawl. What if I became friends with the illusive space of mystery when it comes to my relationships?
What happened between date#14 and I, was not a mystery. I met him. I was not interested. Mystery solved. But what about the relationships that take longer to unfold? The mysterious nature of relationships and the parts of my interactions that are unclear, give me an uneasy feeling of unrest and anxiety. The part where I don’t know whether to call, not call, tell them I like them, wait, don’t wait, become angry, forgive or run away is enough to make me want to give up all together.
Saturday morning at the studio, I danced to a song that reminded me of my first love. It got into my body and moved through me in ways that I was not expecting.
Lyrics: “you must have wanted him to know, you must have wanted the world to know, the little things, and now they know”.
Writing in detail all my process of the project process down is exposing to say the least, even to myself. I think it’s my way of fulfilling the lyrics of the song. I can finally be seen. Twelve years ago I moved to Santa Cruz, California. I was nineteen years old and deeply wounded. I worked for a surf camp and met Mark, a surf instructor and was a truly nice guy. We camped at the Manresa State Beach, sleeping under the Eucalyptus trees on the bluffs overlooking the Pacific Ocean. He taught me how to play guitar. I figured he liked me when I caught him watching me brush my teeth next to that old wooden fence one morning. He just stared at me. Our budding summertime romance exuded a certain innocence. We read each other children’s stories at night before we fell asleep. In the morning we woke up to cool, damp, eucalyptus scented air. We wandered out of our tents, sat down by the campfire and told each reported our dreams. I held it together for him, even though my mind was already telling me false interpretations of reality back then. I loved him dearly and he loved me. We spent a lot of time surfing. Sometimes we would wake up when it was still dark and freezing outside, and he would tell me “were not really going surfing this is just a dream” just to get me to the car. On those clear August evenings we would surf liquid kisses at dusk on the east side, and go to Pleasure Pizza for a slice and a root beer afterwards. We were too young to even have a legal drink. We slept in sleeping bags. I was barley an adult. It seems like a lifetime ago. When the summer ended he went to New Zealand for a couple months. I think I recieved one e-mail from him while he was gone. I remember coming to the realization after many days of wondering where he went, that he was no longer in my world. We broke up officially over the phone. He had returned from his trip and was in Los Angeles, where his family lived. I happened to be in Michigan visiting my family at the time as well. My heart broke for the first time. I’m not sure it ever fully recovered. I’m not sure it does for anyone. I was devastated. I’m not sure what I was expecting from him. The truth is I don’t think I was expecting anything, I just really liked the guy.
I ran into him last week. He was woking, facilitating a project making t-shirts for Violence Against Women Awareness week at my school. He is a therapist now. I was genuinely happy to see him. After a nice warm hug, we caught up briefly. I agreed to making a t-shirt for the project. I thought about what I wanted it to say and spoke from my heart. My shirt read “Healing Happens”. I think he liked it. It has been 12 years since my initial connection with him. I guess if there is anything I wish I could have changed about our past, is would be to consciously savor each moment a little bit more. He is married, and I am still picking up the pieces. I have bits of fragmented relationships past and present swirling all around me. I am tempted to write down every person that I have ever met and had a connection with. I have to admit, I am feeling a bit overwhelmed.
Saturday morning, I got a chance to grieve my lost innocence. I grieved my relationship with Mark and a time in my life, before I drank heavily and the suppressed memories of trauma were still buried deep. I thought about my life back then. I thought about where I was coming from and how I had no idea where I was headed. I cried as I danced it out. I cried because I had no idea, I would unknowingly pick up the cycle of abuse and neglect where my family of origin had left off. I was unaware of how long it would take for my healing to bring me where I was, feet brushing across the floor as I swung my body to let it all go. After the song ended I went over to where Alison, a friend of mine was sitting, sat in her lap and cried.
I wasn’t sure what I was feeling, a release of some sort. Perhaps an effort to rid myself of selfish motives in my relationships. I want to give freely, but my fears and old sabotaging messages keep me from fully exploring my altruistic nature. I am stuck between wanting to hide and continuing to press on with an open heart. I have a feeling I am no longer in the “warming up” phase of my project. I am nearing the center. This level of grief and these feelings are often times difficult to reach. I feel broken.
I have been told by people my whole life, I was too much. I can’t imagine anyone loving me, for who I really am. I can’t imagine not being abandoned, I feel that I am sick and I’ll never be able to heal. My addictive personality wants to fix on the things that will make me feel better like a hug from dance#13. My compulsive and controlling nature is a veil of shame that I wish I could wash off.
Alison held me until I got up to go outside. I walked to the door, my vision blurred with leftover tears. I looked up and dance#13 was walking in the door. Bright eyed with a big open smile on his face, he embraced me and I held on for dear life. He told me he had read his segment and was truly amazed and moved. He was honored to have had such an impact on me. He told me again he wouldn’t run. He said that even if I tried to vilianize him he wouldn't let me. I went home after a dance with dance#13 and a confession of relationship patterns that are no longer working for me.
SHAME ATTACK
I will fall and be hurt in this loneliness over and over again. I will always be alone. I will always be alone. I will always be alone. I will always be alone. I don’t even remember most of the trauma that happened to me as a kid. I remember a lot of numbing. A lot of crying, a lot of it was my fault. I am worthless. I could never fit into the world, that I was too much and annoying. I have shame from feeling unwanted. I could never connect to either of my parents. I have no recollection of ever feeling safe and secure in their presence. I feel as if an elephant is sitting on my chest. I wish I could just numb it all out. What about the other guys? What about the trauma? What about the little girl inside of me that just wants to stand up and scream and use my power to control the shit out of them? The part of me that wants my control back, the part of me that is wounded, the part of me that never got to speak up, the part of me that was raped, abused, strangled, gaged, shut down and oppressed. I am angry . Yes, I am very fucking angry. That’s right you mother fucker. Fuck you. I want to hurt you.
PANIC ATTACK.........
It’s probably no coincidence that since I stopped training for my marathon, I have also shifted my focus to not running emotionally. Here’s what happens when I like some one; I get nervous about their response and project that they don’t like me. Then I try and manipulate the situation so that they will show me they do like me, but I end up feeling more insecure, start to withdrawal and sometimes act mean and run away. So I asked myself what would happen if I just stayed? And then, what if I communicated my wants and needs in terms of my fears, without holding anyone hostage? I have dedicated this year to discovering all the things that stand in the way of my giving and receiving love, focussing on vulnerability and surrender. In this process I am learning how to devillianize people. I am beginning the process of the art of truly listening to and understanding other people’s boundaries. I think part of my difficulty with others boundaries in the past, was about being able to decipher what was really being communicated. I kept trying to fit everything into black and white boxes and never considered my own feelings when in communication with others. Relationships do have two sides whether I am conscious of it or not.
We danced last night, a big group of us under the stars. The evening was winding down and I was waiting to dance with dance#13. He was headed home to Oregon in the morning. It was getting cold and he was dancing with Alison. I patiently waited for a while but I was beginning to feel ignored. I felt my defenses rise. My pulse flare. I was already having a hard time the voices in my head all day, and decided I was just going to leave. Then I felt it. A little alarm in me signaled to me that I was running.
I decided to go back. I walked up to the floor and said out loud “I really feel like leaving because I really want to dance with dance#13, but I don’t see you guys paying attention to me, and I am getting impatient. I really want to leave but instead I am here saying what I want.” I felt like a three year old. They came to me. All three of us stood close in a triangular hug. I confessed that I felt like my insides were being held together by their two bodies pressed up against mine. He told me I had great courage, he was right. I could admit to that. Wanting to run and staying anyway was a very uncomfortably surreal feeling. I said I’m learning how to fall, and burst into tears. I nuzzled my head Alison’s chest and dance#13’s stomach. I was held. My head was held and so was my body and spirit. The vulnerability was intense. I literally felt as if they were holding me together, like I was an amoeba who would have disappeared flat onto the ground if they would have walked away. He asked me what I was afraid of. I said I was afraid of him disappearing. He brought up space and time in between contact. I acknowledged that I have become much more understanding and comfortable with the space between. However, I showed him dark pieces of myself and I felt a connection which I know was mutual, I was afraid that once he left he would then put me in a box, or worse just leave me suspended in the relationship wasteland. I projected (perhaps accurately) that he was pulling out the knife just waiting for the right time to cut the line. I feared that when I did contact him that he would simply not respond. I felt a heaviness in my chest and a floating sensation in my head as I expressed my feelings. My feelings trudged from the pit of my stomach up into my chest, up though my throat and out past my lips. The vibrations of those feelings traveled through the air and landed inside each of their ears. They were so old and heavy, I wonder if hearing them deepened their footprints into the earth. I realize now that I was experiencing a birth of probably some of the most deep seeded and detrimental fears that I have. Once they came out I felt weak. I experienced sensations that I had never felt before. When I looked into their eyes they gazed back softly and securely. I payed attention to reality. They were there, they listened, they held me the energy between his hips, her soft tummy was magnetic and kept us connected and engaged as it laundered the energy below. It passed from me, to her, to him, to me, to her, back to him, bouncing and flowing, swimming and circling and flipping until it began to settle.
We talked. All three of us. We began to speak and be heard. We muddled though how a solution could be found so that everyone was taken care of. He shared his fears too. A fear that he can’t give what is being asked of him, being overwhelmed. I defined what I was asking for. I told him response didn’t have to fall inline with his concept of perfect. That I all I wanted was an acknowledgment, a response. I meant it. I don’t want anything from him. I just want the authentic experience of him. I communicated my need/want then I get to leave it in his hands as to what he does in response. It is not up to me to convince anyone of anything. Reaching out and, not running away was amazing. I felt fulfilled, at peace and loved.
I skipped school today. I had an overwhelming desire to take care of myself. I picked flowers from just outside my apartment, ran a bath, made a sugar scrub with essential oils. I created a mandala out of beads on the lid of my toilet. I noticed as I was placing each bead that they each had their own space, a certain distance in proximity to each other. But they were all connected to encircling the photograph of roses that lay in the center. I saged my self and stepped into the bath tub. I felt I was bathing for bathing sake. I was truly giving myself a gift.
As I walked to breakfast this morning I listened to the song that was playing in the contact improv video where I first saw dance#13. The first line is:
“I had a dream I stood beneath orange sky with my brother standing by” followed by “with my sister standing by”
Then it occurred to me, my brother and my sister. Dance #13 and Alison, my brother and sister in spirit. I am engulfed in feelings of love and satisfaction in relationships that resemble brotherly and sisterly love. They are standing by. I can’t wait to see where it goes from here. My brother and my sister standing by.
No comments:
Post a Comment