Broken Spork

You know, one of the funny things about being who I am is the possibilities meeting others has.  I get excited when new people come into my life because I’m interested to see who I’ll become in front of them.  Sometimes it’s good, sometimes it’s bad, sometimes it’s TERRIFYING but...  it’s exciting.

To say I’m a mirror is a simplification.  I’m like one of those magic mirrors that tries to be what you most desire but ends up creating a terrifying abomination.  It’s not that I’ve got bad social skills or I’m bad at reading people, it’s just that I apply them in precisely the wrong way all the time.

I’m not proud of this, there’s no virtue in being what somebody else desires at the expense of yourself.  I’m also far from unique, it’s an extremely common affliction for people coming from shitty families or other bad environments where they NEEDED to erase themselves to survive.  The ego is a powerful thing, even if you were never in physical danger it doesn’t mean you weren’t fighting for your life, your reason to exist, every single day.

It’s a shame, really.

And there IS a person inside me.  I’ve seen glimpses of them.  Getting excited about stupid things, going on spontaneous adventures, making cool stuff for themselves and themselves only.  I want to let them out of their goddamn box, but the moment anybody else so much as GLANCES in my direction they scurry back to hide under that blanket of imitation.

I mean it’s a valid question, what even is authenticity anyway?  Certainly being authentic shouldn’t be conflated with being an asshole.  I think it’s good to take other people’s needs into account, even if they conflict with your own.  You don’t need to be your “full self” for every second, especially if that conflicts with someone you’re close to.

But that’s the thing, it’s a choice.  You’re choosing to not be loud or not get angry in order to respect somebody’s needs or traumas.  No matter how much time you spend with them you will never question whether you are able to be those things, because you know that you are a loud and exciting person at heart.

Now remove that bedrock.  Imagine somebody telling you that they would prefer if you didn’t use the letter “M” in conversation, and never questioning it for a second.  You spend a few hours with the person, and you start to wonder how you even used it before.  It’s a bad letter, you think, they have a few good points.

The person didn’t do anything wrong.  They didn’t brainwash you, they merely made you aware of a preference.  It was the appropriate thing to do, they probably didn’t expect you to follow it.

But then they leave.  And you find yourself still not using that letter, still looking over your shoulder every time somebody else does.  It’s absurd.  It’s a joke.

That person could be dead and you’ll still live your life not stepping on their cracks.  They have completely left the equation.  

This is not consideration.  This is obsession.  

The mere idea that somebody could be offended by this action, no matter how innocuous is going to haunt you for years.  It joins the family of ghosts riding on your shoulders, always whispering in your ear.  

You’ll never be good enough.  

You’ll never satisfy them all.

But the good thing is, they have a tendency to leave.  It can take years.  Decades even, but through time and hard work you can stop looking over your shoulder.  When they leave, however, the question remains... what is left?

I could probably write a treatise on how I relate to her...  The whole idea of trying desperately to help your parents when it’s really not your responsibility, when they’re doing perfectly fine, when they don’t even WANT your help...  but still that urge to lose yourself in helping them and earn the respect you so badly need.  I’m sure kids from fucked up households the world over can relate to that, many more than I can.  At least I wasn’t physically abused by anyone other than myself.

Well now I know why I like her so much.  Her parents never physically abused her.  She was loved and protected.  But when she yelled at them, stood up for her needs and demanded they stop fighting, she lost everything.  It’s a codependent’s worst nightmare.  This is why we accept abuse to prevent being cast aside.  She’s living in a void state, financially and physically independent but mentally chained.

Much like I kind of am now.  Except... my parents still remember me.  Well, I haven’t shouted at them.

I reads "The use of birthing persons in political discourse is excluding women from a conversation about their rights"