This post has been in draft for nearly a year. Ten months, to be exact. I wasn’t sure if I wanted this out there.
Publishing this now because, fuck it. Why the hell not.
I detest vulnerability.
I don’t know when it started but as far as I can remember, I considered a show of vulnerability as a weakness – crying, especially in public, is unacceptable. Display of emotions other than happiness and anger should be avoided. Needing people is just plain laughable.
My mother told me that even as a child I never cried much. And, unlike most children, I have a tendency to hide my hurts. And yes, I do remember a time back when the edge of concrete block fell on my big toe. My mom only found out about it a week later when she saw my toenail was black and about to come off. I was 5 years old then, I think.
But adult hurts are much more complicated than kid hurts. And I fell into the habit of hiding all of mine.
Nine years ago, my biggest life lesson arrived. It’s the kind of life lesson that fucks up your perspectives in life and makes you question the things that you believe in. When it left, I was relieved and felt myself relatively unscathed. I did my best to go on a direction that made me happy. I was still very much detached, however, and that direction I took did not last as long as I thought and wanted it to.
But I knew that I will be fine on my own – I actually sought it. The moment I feel the beginnings of attachment, I close down. I was happier that way.
Four months ago, a friend suggested that maybe I needed help. I smiled and said “maybe” even while inside I was smirking. No, I do not need help. There is nothing wrong with not wanting to inconvenience myself for other people. There is nothing wrong with not getting deeply involved with my friends’ lives.
Pride, though, has always been my problem. So, just to prove that she’s wrong, I went online to search for a clinic and got an appointment.
Three assessments from three different therapists later, I was given a name and an appointment with someone they thought could best help me.
I considered not going.
I was not going to pay someone to dig into my mind.
I was not going to spend a couple of hours every weekend trying to fix me when I believe there’s nothing wrong with me.
I went last month. Four sessions in and I’m a bit angry.
I was happy. I was just bumping along life doing things I want to do.
Now, I have to deal with all these things that are being dredged up. Now, I have to think about all the whys and hows and maybes and what ifs when all I want is to be left alone. Now, I get emotions I don’t know how to deal with when all I want is to live a carefree life.
Now, I am like glass.