Spiral

I have had the burning desire to read the entirety of my memory. Many of the concepts and ideas I have embraced came through the filter of fiction, of all things. I never sought meaning from these books and stories intentionally, things would just resonate. My escape, my search for meaning and explanations, my joy and sorrow were found in the books and stories that I read, as though I couldn't understand myself unless I found it mirrored, however badly, through something else. To some degree, movies and music have been influential also, but what are they but a different from of writing, right?

Recently, I reread a trilogy of books by Anne Bishop called The Dark Jewels Trilogy. Her style of writing is fantastic and she paints emotional landscapes with distinct skill. By delving into the emotional and psychological meat of her characters, she creates a world where you are sharply aware of the influence of the world around them on who they become and why. She especially delves into the struggles of women and the relationships between the genders and the reconciling of both within each person. These stories have a running theme of the strength and vulnerability of women and the different ways men relate to these. These characters yell, laugh, cry, whisper and scream all of their emotions.

I realized that I rarely do the same. I have spent my entire life biting back pain, fear, joy, rage, mirth and many other strong emotions because I thought I was supposed to. Taught not to question certain things about my family, religion and society effectively blunted my ability to fully understand these things. When I expressed pain and loss as a child, I faced discomfort and frustration from my relatives. They cared, I could tell, but seemed exceedingly uncomfortable with strong emotions. They blustered about small things and were good and showing anger and irritation and a benevolent kind of distance. But the intensity I always craved was absent or hidden from me. I was forced to turn inside, which made me feel like I was bursting at the seems with what wasn't expressed. As a naturally expressive person, I had no other outlet but to withdraw my emotional self and channel it into stories. I needed so much more than they were able to give in that sense. So, I read and wrote all of the time. I lied too. Trying to get some validation, I made up small stories to get my family to praise me. No luck there. So, I did what I was told and buried all of my hopes, dreams, fears and pain into fiction. I am aware that my family loves my very much and I never doubted that. But being quiet and suppressing things did damage to me, making me doubt all of my instincts....made me doubt that anything I was inside meant anything. Coupling that with forced dependence and making everything they didn't like seem scary, I have spent years in a kind of emotional limbo. Too afraid to be honest because I wanted that validation and frustrated because the intense way I feel things never faded, just grew. This is not to say that I didn't speak out...when I did I met with a seeming lack of understanding which seemed to underscore the futility in expressing it.

I went to political rallies and found true joy because I was yelling and screaming at injustice. We were all releasing our frustrations at a broken system and the toll it has taken on us and our world. I was surrounded by people echoing my concerns and pain and sharing their own. United in a desire to release this, not just to get it out, but to change it! I felt a permanent shift in myself. I was finally feeling validated. The friends I was making were all basically confident about their ideas and willing to listen to mine. They respected me enough to actually challenge me and help strengthen or even change my ideas when necessary.

My soon to be best friend was in that group and in her I found the validation and encouragement that I had been seeking from friends my entire life. She didn't use me or ignore me. She accepted me and even still wants to hear more, to know more about me. For the first time in my life, I was truly valued just for what was inside my heart and mind and it was like cradling a newborn puppy. I knew it could be damaged or destroyed. I was sure of it. So, even with this person, I withdrew and only shared parts of me. More than I ever had, but the wall was/is still there. I still cringe at the idea of her finding out anything I feel is horrible about me. Even after 7 years of solid friendship and growth, I feel that fear resurface sometimes. The fear of expressing anger or doubt especially.

The first people I met in San Diego were my gays. Yes, I said my gays. :-) Meeting them contributed to many changes also. I was being told to express everything, to let loose and howl at the moon, so to speak. And, with the assistance of copious amounts of alcohol, I did. My inhibitions were thrust off with every piece of clothing I took off. I eventually didn't even need the liquid courage. I felt free! I could dance and sing with abandon. I laughed often and centered my life around these opportunities. This bled over to my political experiences and I found that freedom there with some people. I began to expand and spiral upward with these changes. Floating on air from the release of all of that pent up emotion and energy.

Inevitably, I took this to the extreme and it became an almost desperate desire to escape rather than merely a release. I was used and discarded by people I trusted in this space too. Having opened the gates a bit and let them in, I was crushed inside. My fears reinforced, I pulled back in and haven't really been as carefree since. Sure, I have had good moments and it wasn't many people I felt betrayed by, but it reinforced the lesson that you can give everything to people and it still not be enough. The hard lesson here became not really letting these people know that they had really hurt me and just stuffing it down inside and seeming to move on. I see now that I have moved forward in many ways but that my trust in people is a door that rarely opens.

I want to howl with rage when I am injured and sing with joy when I am happy. I want to dance with my arms out, smiling, just because I feel like it. I want to cry when grieved or moved. I am tired of worrying that it will bother people if I really express myself. I want to tell people I love them whenever I feel it and not be afraid. I want to be validated, loved, adored, laughed at and challenged. I want to know that I matter to people as much as they matter to me. I also want to be better at expressing this myself. I want to celebrate being a woman, being bisexual, being unique and not have it overwhelmed by all of the negative that comes with them. I want to laugh at the movies even if no one else is and not be embarrassed. I guess, I want to be me.

When I was 8, I went to church camp. We made tie-dyed t-shirts and decorated them however we wanted, with no direction. After fretting about having no one tell me what to do, I wrote in big blue letters "I Am Me" on the shirt. Only now, 21 years later, can I look back and tell myself that I want that to be true.