Two weeks that evoked all kinds of conflicting feelings are closing out. Again and for the gazillionth time, I’ve tried to make myself heard, seen, felt. But I don’t get the feeling that I’m getting anywhere with that. Maybe I’m really seeing things wrong and I get the feeling that I actually do – in part. In other ways, those past two weeks seem to confirm that I’ve been spot on with a lot of things, the main point being: At the end of the day, when for once it should be all about me and noone else, it never is. It’s them vs. me, their suffering vs. mine, a pissing contest of emotional strife, we can’t ever seem to get beyond that and meet half way. They say they understood me more than I know. Maybe that’s true – in their world. I can’t see or feel this reciprocate back into mine. There is an invisible barrier that I can try to shoot holes into, but it never crumbles.
I need to understand that I have to stop killing myself over trying so hard to establish a relationship that never was, that went out with the bathwater in the very first few weeks of my life. I don’t really connect with my bio family – never have when I was younger and certainly don’t connect now, when I have made a whole other person of myself than the version they must have seen in me. I’m even feeling conflicted and partially guilty for writing this and there is this faint trace of a doubt, whether or not I’m making a big mistake. But then, when I listen closely enough, when the noise dies down to silence, when I reach into the depth of my own being, I know that I perceived everything for what it was: A charade of sorts. Or a misguided approach of self-healing on their part at best with me being the remedy for damage they incurred in their lives. In other words: The damage got perpetuated by my very existence. For about some 35 long years I’ve been trying to make myself heard without slamming my fist on the table. Well… it seems I should have done the latter far more often than I dared to. But back then, this wouldn’t have been me and even now, it still somehow isn’t me.
I want to be whole. I need to be whole. And I can be whole, if I finally give myself permission to move away from a “relationship” that may have been good enough to keep me alive and outwardly healthy. It was good enough to provide me with permanent accommodation, food and education. And it is still there as some sort of safety net – but one I’m more than reluctant to actually use. I have used it this time to not have to endure plain torture back at “my” flat. And I feel guilty for having done so.
I’ve been trying every frequency on the channel dial for many, many years. Whenever I think I’ve tuned into something that might establish some form of communication – even if there is crackling and static -, in the very next minute something else is being said or done that renders my hopes null and void. Maybe I’m wrong here, it’s possible. But my feelings aren’t – if I dare to validate them for myself.
So I’m going to have to move on. As I tend to do things in an all-or-nothing-at-all manner, there might be no looking back. Let me rephrase that: There should be no looking back. The human being in me is overwhelmed with this. It feels like needing to switch off a vital part of me: Compassion. How can I be compassionate with total strangers and turn this quality almost completely off with family? I don’t know. I don’t feel I can.
I hope that the universe will provide the answer and then gently guide me towards manifesting it…