Dear one, I want to tell you that paranoia makes sense. I’m not making a mistake exactly. I’m seeing what’s there after being gaslit by culture. The contrast between the truth and the official word is whiplashing.
Like when my mom died. It’s bad enough to lose someone I need and all that entails–her unfathomable physical and emotional suffering, my emotional suffering, loss of the library, how she didn’t get to be old… But the failures of culture amplify the pain times ten.
- Did she get the care she needed?
- Were we prepared?
- Was the estate handled fairly according to the terms of the trust?
- Has our culture been real with us about death, ever?
Fuck no. Of course I would have a huge reaction to that. There’s the failure of the body, but the failure of the culture is the actual betrayal. How could I not lose my mind?
“Wait, this is totally wrong,” is a valid reaction.
Then with too much stress, nothing adds up, and I’m grasping at what’s real, like you saw in the car yesterday. I thought we were close friends, but for a minute in a courtyard, you acted like we weren’t. Please reassure me what’s real because I have no idea what’s actually happening.
paranoia makes sense
Similarly, to newly love someone I believe in, then they drop me is a confusing betrayal. Paranoia makes sense. I gave my heart and began dreaming a life with them. To have that suddenly vanish is disorienting as fuck. To be dropped is hell.
We were collaborative for a moment–that was real. But without negotiation or warning, the collaboration is over. I didn’t get a, “I need space–talk to you in two weeks,” or even a, “Thanks for trying.” It’s like I don’t exist.
So do I exist? I pat my body and believe I maintain my corporeal form.
This person I briefly trusted– I was forming a shared perspective with them, a shared journey. I realize I’m too loyal again. It’s hard not to hate myself for making the same mistakes.
True, I was quick to trust, but I’m on earth to try, form connections, love, and show up. Mistakenly I thought the other person was also showing up.
tender
Paranoia makes sense because I wouldn’t treat anyone like that. Let alone someone I was beginning to form a sweet relationship with. I wouldn’t treat anyone like they didn’t exist who I was just tender with.
But that’s pretty standard–it’s happened before. There’s intimacy, then someone ghosts me, I’m shaken to my very core– I spend weeks trying to get them out of my system and maintain an upright posture. I struggle to keep eating and sleeping despite the emotional carnage, and my spouse does hours and days of work listening to me and taking care of me as I lose my mind.
Then the ghoster sends me a stupid meme on instagram like nothing happened, and I’m like–what? I just went to hell and back, and you think it’s ok to pop in for a weak “hi” to see if you have a chance at more nonsense? Fuck no. I just struggled for my life, due to your bad behavior. I am not going to laugh react to your meme. You can go fuck yourself.
I am so misunderstood. I’m generous and easygoing in a way. But when I’ve laid my soul bare for someone and possibly my body as well, you can’t treat me like I don’t exist, then expect an encore.
griefs
All the griefs feel like the same grief. When I’m hurting like that, I miss my mom. I’m searching for safety and stability, when so little is to be found.
It’s family I’m looking for. I never promised to be normal in how I love. The people who approach me should understand they’re not signing up for easy mode or normal mode. “Did you actually hear anything I said?” I want to ask the person who failed. They were drawn by my authenticity; then they run because of it.
There’s great reward to being real. Thank you, that you and I are working toward being more honest. It’s hard to strengthen that muscle. It’s easy to feel the discomfort of being 3 out of 10 real, get scared, and back off.
I would like to go 9 out of 10 real, which is going to be uncomfortable. But we’re worth it. Intimacy is messy. I would rather not hit the issue, and then the friendship ends. I would rather hit the issue, and that’s where the strong friendship begins. But I am not doing things regular.
contradictions
Do you see my crazy? It’s grounded in the contradictions of what’s there. In a way I see reality very clearly. I might come to different conclusions, though.
My imagination is too powerful. I’m sorry that when that brief lover and I dreamed the four bedroom house in southern Oregon, celebrating holidays together, part of me began living there. Part is me is still living there right now, anticipating solstice and what to make for our shared dinner, meeting all of our nutritional needs.
To say I was looking forward to that is an understatement. I have to tear that part of my spirit away from its dream and try to convince it to reenter my body. It’s hard work to destroy a future. I invested a lot, but I thought they liked that about me.
Definitely for a short time, they liked who they thought I was, but I was too much after all. They signed up for too much. My too much is sacred.
sacred
Likewise, this time of less stability is sacred. It helps me to remember the edge of who I am by experiencing it again. True this time of year, you’ve been away. You missed seeing me lose my mind. This year you can witness part of it, so thank you for supporting me and my spouse.
It’s good to visit an extreme state, do some learning, and recover back to a more baseline way of being. Thank you for holding my hand and hugging me as I cried for a minute, reassuring me in whispers. You comfort me so well.
I love you,
Nest
