“It’s all in the mind.”
― George Harrison
I had an epiphany a few nights ago and the thought has been rattling around in my brain ever since.
I never realized how my relationship with my family has colored so much of my relationships with other people.
If I were being honest with myself then I’d admit that I feel as if I didn’t get enough love as a child. And its left me with this. . . Void. And I keep trying to fill it with other things, other people. I try to conform to someone that could be loved, all while keeping myself distant from everyone, giving the illusion of being attainable while remaining unattainable. It’s like I’m being both myself, the abused, while also taking on the characteristics of my abusers, as armor.
I thought of Batman as an example. He loves me in his own way but not the way I need, wholly and completely. He keeps a piece of himself separate from me when I love him with all that I possess because with him, I don’t want to hold anything back. I want him to see me but instead I find myself in the familiar position of yearning for his love, not dissimilar to how I longed for my mother’s. I never got it. To this day, I don’t feel as if she ever come close to loving me. I can’t believe I’m in the same boat, trying to earn Batman’s love and approval.
And I’ve never felt like I’ve belonged at any one place. Lately, this feeling of not belonging has intensified and I’ve begun to isolate myself from almost everyone. My social anxiety is through the roof and interacting with people has become to feel like a chore.
Each time I’ve found myself in a rut, I’ve managed to claw myself out. This time. . . I haven’t the energy nor the desire. When I’m alone, I feel safe. No one can disappoint or hurt me. No one can withhold their approval or love if there’s no one around for me to try to impress.
I just feel as if I’m in this endless loop and I just want the cycle to break at least once. At least once, I’d like to reach a high and not come crashing back to this devastating low, wiping all traces of any happiness I’d had while above ground.
I hate depression, I hate anxiety, and I fucking hate PTSD, excuse my French.