This post is dedicated to Ed, of Salt ‘n Peppah! fame (my linking sucks, so I’m not even going to attempt). Tell Peppah he has his work cut out for him, cause I think I might love ya! Ha.ha..
I’m a little late in posting this morning. I’ve tried to play catch-up with my emails, but the farthest I’ve gotten is replying to comments left for me, and reading ones left for you. Yes, I try and skim over all of your sites and read some of the comments. Dare I say some of them are more interesting than our own posts at times? I’m hoping to get to some of my subscriptions later. Yes, Pissy is a bad, bad, Kitty and has been slacking on her reading. Sorry!
I actually sat down at my pc yesterday morning with the intention to first read my comments and reply to them, then write a post. I got no farther than one email. It had me smiling, then laughing at his wittiness, and by the end sobbing. Yes, you heard me right….sobbing! No, the eyes didn’t just get moist and I choked up. I literally sobbed into my nightshirt, mopping up buckets of tears that wouldn’t stop flowing. Why? Because of the content of the whole email, the honesty that flowed from his words, a connection I recognized in how we both feel, and most important because of the last thing he said to me… “Thanks for allowing me to share. Thanks for just being who you are. You’re a gift.” : )
I sat and cried off and on all day yesterday, Ed. I know you’re not privy to all my personal information and not aware of it, but the fact is I’ve waited my whole life to hear those words from someone who has nothing to gain and is being sincere. Early on in my blogging I shared how hard it’s been for me to be a chameleon to appease others. I was not a pretty child in grade school, was always hyper, too loud, too needy, too something. I was always made to feel I was in the way, always being shuffled off from one person to another, and always feeling like I had to be what others expected me to be in order to be a good ‘fit’. I adopted the attitude early on that being me was never going to be good enough, because something was wrong with me. Even after those awkward years passed and I became more approachable, I carried these feelings. They’ve never left.You thanking me for being just who I am unleashed 48 years of very painful memories and validated my worth in one sentence.
This floored me I suppose because I thought I had nothing to lose with this blog and therefore have been completely honest with all of you, shared my faults, showed my weaknesses, my ugly side, and felt at best I might be merely tolerated simply because of my dry humor. I find it incredulous that I’ve spent 48 years trying to play roles to fit the many different ideals that others had about who I should be: Have felt I had to buy love and respect from others by always offering the hand-up and hand-out because I thought I wasn’t the type of person that deserved or could be loved without somehow earning it. I’ve always been the one that gets shit on and taken for granted, because everyone knows I’ll forgive and forget, as it’s better to have someone, anyone, than no one at all. I have done all these things for people who say they love me and have my best interest in mind that treat me badly anyway, and yet I’ve offered you nothing, showed you who I really am, and you called me a gift. A damn gift! It would be an understatement to say that I was beside myself with emotion. I have no other words to describe it.
Perhaps as you described that lying just beneath the surface moment of emotion that was preparing you to finally allow yourself to feel everything you’ve repressed, this too was my moment when I was actually able to be receptive to allow myself to feel something real, and accept a compliment. I know that many of you have been there to comfort and advise me, and I’ve appreciated each act of kindness you’ve shown, but still I don’t think I was receptive to it all. There was this underlying feeling of they don’t really know me…they can’t really know me…because if they did they wouldn’t say such kind things about me. Don’t they realize that I’m broken, I need fixed, something is wrong with me, and I’m not the type of person that people care about? Sadly, I truly thought I wasn’t, but still ached because I always wanted to be. You’ve opened my eyes, Ed, to the possibility that maybe I always was and just didn’t know it. Thank you my friend. You’ve truly touched me in ways I can’t begin to express.
I suspect there’s probably a lot of us who were made to feel the same way when we were growing up. I say this, because I believe the weariness I instilled in adults when I was young was due to my depression, mood swings, though still undiagnosed I believe bi-polar disorder, and the fact I was very precocious and quick with a quip. It wasn’t my fault. It was the chemical imbalance, the poor learned behavior I picked up from others, etc. There was no reason that I should’ve been made to feel I had to be someone other than who I was to be accepted and loved. There was no reason that you should’ve been made to feel you had to be someone other than who you were to be accepted and loved. God, this process of learning about oneself and healing seems to be ongoing and neverending, doesn’t it? I sure hope all of us become the people we strive and hope to be when we grow up. What a journey!