For someone who’s close to obsessed with self-discovery and personal expression, I stifle myself quite a lot. Most of it’s been going on recently.
I am a person who needs to talk about my problems. My head is a busy and confusing place. I spend so much time there that it’s impossible to squish a little objectivity in there. Talking helps bring me out of the head I’m constantly in.
But see, the problem is that I’ve become so afraid of my past self that I’m almost afraid to ask for help. In my younger days (which, unfortunately, are only a few months ago), I would whine about every little thing that went wrong. And, being someone who needs to talk about my problems, I sort of made some scenes trying to get that. I am mortified. Maybe it’s the boy-who-called-wolf thing. As time wore on, fewer people responded to me–and rightfully so.
Now, I’ve become so averse to melodrama that I seem to add “not in a melodramatic way” to nearly every feeling I express. I’ve become so afraid of that mortifying person I was that I have trouble even asking for my emotional needs to be met.
I’ve been keeping everyone more at arms length now, and that’s exactly what hurts me. I am craving a closeness that I can’t even describe. I am hungry for deep connection and deep love. The sense of lack is overwhelming at times. When I have a problem, I don’t go running to anybody. To be honest, I don’t have a specific person I would run to anyway. Which is good, you know, not to totally overwhelm one person, but it’s sort of like being spread too thin. Plenty of people would be willing to listen to me, but in all honesty, there’s something missing. There’s always that word–missing. I so need closeness, but I just don’t really feel like it’s happening.
I am so confused even as I write this. Of course I would want to cultivate closeness! I don’t know how I’m conveying this, and it’s probably coming out wrong. I’m afraid to make a move to cultivate closeness. That’s it. I’m so terrified of that melodramatic me, that overwhelming me, that it’s a struggle to reach out.
So this all connects to stifling myself in that I feel the need to reach out, but I stop myself. Barriers go up. These days I don’t really connect on a deep level to anyone. It’s all humor and laughs–which are great, but just not satisfying this need I have. There’s nobody whom I would call late at night and cry to, and having that somebody is very important to me.
Quiet, reflective Abigail is on the rise again. No, that’s not a bad thing! I have two interesting parts of myself that ebb and flow, one being distinctly dominant at different points in time, or sometimes using them at equal capacity. But the problem here is that quiet Abigail is becoming suppressing. At moments when I need closeness, or even just a conversation sometimes, I push the need away. I tell myself, “Abigail, you will never be an annoying little shit again.” So while naturally quieter me is emerging again, it’s with a bad twist. And it feels suffocating. It feels suffocating, needing and wanting emotional intimacy and connection, but being afraid to ask for it. I sit there, craving the company of someone I can cry on, but I do nothing. I feel like asking for anything will make me feel like that annoying little shit me again.
I’ve always wanted to be that tough sort of lone wolf who really doesn’t give a care. I’ve always wanted to be that mysterious “woman of few words” who can do everything on her own. But I’m not. I’m trying so hard to be someone I’m not, because I feel like being the person I really am is too close to that terrible old self. Quiet Abigail is fine, like I said earlier, but right now she’s trying to kill the other side–what would I call her–Enthusiastic, Open Abigail? I mentioned that I tend to use these beautiful facets of myself freely and at equal capacity, but one part of myself is being asphyxiated. That’s exactly how it feels.
I am mortified of that old self, and it’s very upsetting. Even a little uncomfortable writing blogs like this (maybe that’s why I do it, to attempt to bring myself out).
But, of course with all of this, I’m not trying to sound like some confused teen who’s asking, “Who am I?” No, I know exactly who I am. I know all about myself. It’s that I’m afraid to be the side of me that was once behind the face of my immaturity.
At this point I’m just rambling, and nothing I say will further this blog post. I can only hope y’all can get the idea.