So, it's very difficult for me to sit down and write a blog post. In fact, it's hard to express myself at all. It's easy for me to express other people's ideas or my own dissociated abstractions. But, knowing and expressing my personality seems impossible most of the time. Even now, I drudge forward with this post like I'm marching into a blizzard. Posting this will mean exposing myself to the world; exposing my personality. And I simply don't have the understanding of myself that is typical for an adult my age. I often feel empty. I've "lived many lives." I have tried in vain to medicate myself. I have tried to destroy myself. Having a blog seems to mean so much to me that I haven't done it for fear of doing it wrong -- this is the story of my life.
The world is and has been a dangerous place for me. It's seemed a cruel existence that is constantly uphill. I never thought I would be agoraphobic at the age of 30. But traumas and dramas have worn me weary and it's come to the point that I am afraid of my own feelings.
It didn't used to be this way. I was a bright and sensitive child, resilent and adaptive in the face of controlling/smothering parents. I "visited" with people ever since I could communicate. I'd hold long conversations that went into deep topics. This feature in me was so remarkable that by the age of 8 I knew and used the term "gregarious." People were struck at just how "articulate" and "precocious" I was. I always was hanging around older people. I stayed away from home as much as possible and tried to put adults between me and my parents.
Now, I'm trying to get back some of my luster through therapy. I'm looking back at myself trying to find where in my development I got hurt and how I can heal from there. This can be pretty awkward since some of the skills I missed out on are quite juvenille. There was once I time that I needed to be hypervigiliant, paranoid, defensive. There was once a time when my every move and thought were criticised. But that time, thankfully, is over now. The feelings, behaviors, and ideas I acquired being mistreated have stayed though. I feel my writing has to be perfect so much that I simply never do it. I never do it for fear of failing.
I have all of this creativity and compassion to share with the world but it's crippled beneath a net of psychic damage. What's particularily troubling is that I was hurt by someone who knew the path they were putting me on and predicted the very hell I find myself in. They were informed about psychology like a hunter is informed of it's prey. They knew they were hampering me.
But I must "step lightly from the past." And I'm tired of this repression! So, I'm putting myself out here. I'm jumping in. I'm not just the things I'm interested in and proud of but also the things that've gotten in the way of that. I want to present both here.