On Being Overly Sensitive

Since I'm  pretty sure it's the posting date and not the date a post was originally penned that is attributed when one procrastinates in the shadow of anxiety and trust issues, and then finally--after months--musters the courage to hit the "publish" button, I will start by saying that what follows has been sitting captive in my "drafts" since 12/17/12:

Self Portrait c.2012: It's important to control what one lets out...

I'm overly sensitive. Yep. I've been told that by more than one person. It's usually noted as a flaw, and yet, I draw on that sensitivity all the time in creating nuanced characters, relationships and conflict in fictional works. I also draw on it in my interactions with those who tend to be misunderstood. Because I'm overly sensitive, I tend to give others a chance, even if I don't "agree" with them. Differences can be a huge component of the beauty of life--creating variety and texture.

When people try to blanket those whose experiences are foreign to them with their own overly-specific ideas of how things should be ("it works for me, therefore it should work for everyone"), they make a small world, (and if they try to spiritualize their thinking, a small god), and they will inevitably alienate people.

I'm being alienated by some well-meaning people right now. I know what they think and say doesn't matter, but it still hurts. I'm glad for these trials, though, because they are broadening my world, even broadening my faith. The thoughtless words jabbing at me like knives cause me to immediately evaluate my own rhetoric and vow never to do the same to another person (although it is tempting to flip it around on those who are dishing it out on me... even facing that temptation, I hope, will build my own character.)

Listening to Air Supply's Greatest Hits

I think I'm in need of an intervention. 

"Here I am playing with those memories again,   

and just when I thought time had set me free, 

those thoughts of you keep taunting me... 

...there's no pretending, 

my heart it's not mending... 

Just when I thought I was over you, 

Just when I thought I could stand on my own..."  

(Here I Am, by Norman Saleet, 1981)

Don't know why I'm torturing myself with this stuff. Guess it's a tidier alternative to cutting and other external forms of self injury.

It's not like I miss Todd. I think this may be more of 

the grieving over an ideal lost... so where better to go than back to some of the pop music about love from the pre-Todd era. What messages was Bridget hearing on the airwaves and in the shopping malls during the formative years of her childhood, before she met Todd?

"I realized the best part of love is the thinnest slice  

and it don't count for much,  

but I'm not letting go...  

...I'm back on my feet, 

eager to be what you wanted..." 

(Lost in Love, by Graham Russell, 1980)

No wonder I ended up lost.

"I'm lying alone with my head on the phone 

thinking of you till it hurts... 

I'm all out of love, 

I'm so lost without you... 

I want you to come back and carry me home 

away from these long lonely nights. 

I'm reaching for you, 

are you feeling it too?" 

(All Out of Love, by Graham Russell & Clive Davis, 1980)

I was such a romantic. It really didn't matter what was real. 

"Making love out of nothing at all... 

out of nothing at all... 

making love... 

out of nothing at all..."  

(Making Love Out of Nothing At All, by Jim Steinman, 1983)

It goes on and on. It always was a rather annoying song. As I hear it now, I realize how well it describes what I did... and what we had -- NOTHING AT ALL. 

I tried, though. I really tried. That's what he says, too. That he tried. Chalk it up to dragging out incompatibility way longer than it ever should have been taken. More than half a lifetime. 

My heart is breaking, but it's not because of losing him. It's because I'm realizing how little I meant to him. How I'm not worth fighting for, not worth sacrificing for. I'd be lying if I said that doesn't hit right to the core of who I believe I am. And I know how to let it build up a case against my value, reinforced by "the others" who didn't think I was worth it. I'm trying to deal with that in therapy--examining my harmful thoughts for accuracy, completeness, and balance... It seems like it should be easier, but those harmful thoughts are tricky. 

My therapist says it is natural for me to have "trust issues" after what I've been through. It may take some time to work through this. It probably won't be as easy of a fix as the old pop songs would lead one to believe, moving from heartbreak to brighter days and better nights just because of one chance meeting...

"I used to think I was tied to a heartache 

that was a heartbreak..."  

(Even the Nights are Better, by Terry Skinner, J.L. Wallace, and Ken Bell, 1982)

But I know that is not a given. There are plenty of people who live out their days tied to that heartache, especially when their trust is shattered. Maybe I can learn to divert my heart into less romantic avenues. Maybe age will take away such desire and I can find total satisfaction in the maternal sort of love. 

Maybe.

Then that someone capable of doing more than mending a broken heart--but also of lighting a fire--enters my dreams... and you know what I do? 

I avoid him...

...only to find myself back in bed with Todd. I'm naked. Todd is there, but like a dead fish. If I lie perfectly still, he might not notice I'm there and I'm naked... but then it crosses my mind that I could use him (even though there has been little satisfaction in that in several years)... but as soon as that thought crosses my mind, I am overwhelmed with a feeling of betrayal... as if being with Todd would be a betrayal... but to whom? to what? To some imaginary man of my dreams? to myself? to honesty?

In the morning a friend tells me she had a dream in which she came to visit me and learned that there was a new man in my life. I was curious... did she meet him? Wouldn't it be wild if he looked like the man in my dream (although I couldn't remember what he looked like because I had been so busy avoiding him.) 

I go several nearly sleepless nights, avoiding dreams altogether. They bring too much heartache. Then when I decide I do want to see him... he doesn't show. Even the man of my dreams is unreliable. 

"Close your eyes, 

I want to see you tonight in my sweet dreams..."  

(Sweet Dreams, by Graham Russell, 1981)

Yes, Air Supply could supply the soundtrack for my disappointing dreams.