Being Myself

Sure, that’ll work.

Myself is someone who is very unhappy these days.  Myself hates everybody.  Myself can’t even have a normal conversation.

Thank you, my Depression!  You’ve done a good job of bringing out my very worst.

My very worst doesn’t even feel like me.  But me is where it is coming from.  I’d rather not know about my very worst.  And I hate co-existing in the same body with my very worst.  It feels slippery and cold.  It feels robotic.

The first time I felt this way was in fourth grade.  I had just made a huge scene in the classroom which involved throwing a chair.  The scene was precipitated by my frantic desire to stop a classmate from asking my crush if I could join his group.  I was frantic to stop her and overwhelmed with embarrassment because everyone already knew I loved him, including him, and I only wanted him to say yes, but without being asked.  I wanted him to just want me in the group.  But it was likely he would say no.  And I was frantic to stop any of it from happening.  I wanted to hide.

And after I threw the chair and almost hit the most popular girl in the class and then heard my crush running out of the room yelling for the teacher to come because I was “throwing a temper tantrum”…. well, then I wanted to more than hide.  I wanted to die.

What the hell was a temper tantrum?  And how did he know what that was?

Oh, the humiliation.

I have never really lived it down.  Classmates and their parents brought that up to my face many times over the years, even into high school.

When I think of the behaviors I have witnessed of emotionally overwhelmed little children through my life time, I think that the only difference is that it happens much more often these days.  I was way ahead of my time.  I was a temper tantrum pioneer!

I would delete that day from my life if I could.  Better to be boring and ordinary than to be forever held at somewhat of a distance by everyone due to my inexcusable behavior.  I could have really hurt someone that day.

Maybe that was the day I first learned to bury anger.  Maybe that was the very day when depression settled into my soul.

How can it be that loving someone made me do that? 

He was the first person I loved that I thought could love me back.  My mother didn’t love me and neither did my sister.  My father did, but he was Autistic and therefore clueless.

Maybe I was the first person in my family to have a range of emotions!  I was an emotions pioneer!

Unfortunately, I still haven’t worked out the kinks.

There have been times in my life when supportive people existed.  There have been times when I was happy and content.  Times when I was not in over my head.  How I yearn for times like those again.

I want being myself to feel good again.




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