Return of the living dead
Aug. 16th, 2002 10:13 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
m_cobwebFunny how memories and emotions I thought long put to rest can resurface, sometimes just with a choice of words or a tone of voice. I would be more distressed by this currently if I didn't feel that I may be finally working through some of these old heartaches, maybe to process them more thoroughly this time around.
I grew up with a father with untreated anxiety and depression. He was constantly annoyed with me, constantly criticizing, never allowing me the space to be me. To this day, if I feel that I am annoying or crowding someone, it feels the same as if this person were angry and telling me that I don't deserve to take up space on the planet. I'm still trying to convince myself that it's okay for me to take up space.
I was in a highly toxic relationship 8 years ago that still comes back to me in nasty ways, reminding me of constant and unending hostility and criticism from the other person and routine anxiety attacks and neediness on my part. I had a relationship in college with a guy who seemed to be clinging to life and to hope by the narrowest of margins. I spent so many late, late nights trying to give him hope and convince him that his existence was worthwhile. He couldn't be faithful for more than about 15 minutes, damn him--and in fact got engaged to his ex-girlfriend while I was home on spring break--and so I never took that relationship as far as it could have gone, but in many ways I felt like his lifeline. And we had a bond that never completely severed, much to the dismay of my friends.
One thing I picked up from that relationship was a very complex calculus of balancing my needs with someone else's. It's never been as simple for me as "what I want." If something is really hurting me or being destructive to me, I can tell and I will halt it then. But there's a lot of space before I reach that point. And in that space, I'm placing in one half of the scales my convenience, my concern for the other person, my concern for the relationship as a whole. In the other half of the scales is the other person's need for comfort, for security, for solace, for companionship. If I don't have all the information to fill the second half of the scales, I don't know how to decide. It so often feels like the wrong decision, no matter which way I turn.
These things make me appreciate Sean and how nice it is to live with someone who rarely triggers these feelings. At least after being together as long as we have. Many times he had to say to me,"I'm not Eric," or I'd have to say, "I'm sorry, I'm hearing Eric." I can't believe that even now I'm "hearing Eric." I don't know that relationship could have caused so much damage or why I haven't processed it better by now.
But I guess I'm leaving the bell jar a bit now, and running up against situations that are challenging me. I just hope people can bear with me while I dredge up the ugly stuff and try to turn it into something positive. Maybe I'll get some good poetry out of it at least...at last.
I grew up with a father with untreated anxiety and depression. He was constantly annoyed with me, constantly criticizing, never allowing me the space to be me. To this day, if I feel that I am annoying or crowding someone, it feels the same as if this person were angry and telling me that I don't deserve to take up space on the planet. I'm still trying to convince myself that it's okay for me to take up space.
I was in a highly toxic relationship 8 years ago that still comes back to me in nasty ways, reminding me of constant and unending hostility and criticism from the other person and routine anxiety attacks and neediness on my part. I had a relationship in college with a guy who seemed to be clinging to life and to hope by the narrowest of margins. I spent so many late, late nights trying to give him hope and convince him that his existence was worthwhile. He couldn't be faithful for more than about 15 minutes, damn him--and in fact got engaged to his ex-girlfriend while I was home on spring break--and so I never took that relationship as far as it could have gone, but in many ways I felt like his lifeline. And we had a bond that never completely severed, much to the dismay of my friends.
One thing I picked up from that relationship was a very complex calculus of balancing my needs with someone else's. It's never been as simple for me as "what I want." If something is really hurting me or being destructive to me, I can tell and I will halt it then. But there's a lot of space before I reach that point. And in that space, I'm placing in one half of the scales my convenience, my concern for the other person, my concern for the relationship as a whole. In the other half of the scales is the other person's need for comfort, for security, for solace, for companionship. If I don't have all the information to fill the second half of the scales, I don't know how to decide. It so often feels like the wrong decision, no matter which way I turn.
These things make me appreciate Sean and how nice it is to live with someone who rarely triggers these feelings. At least after being together as long as we have. Many times he had to say to me,"I'm not Eric," or I'd have to say, "I'm sorry, I'm hearing Eric." I can't believe that even now I'm "hearing Eric." I don't know that relationship could have caused so much damage or why I haven't processed it better by now.
But I guess I'm leaving the bell jar a bit now, and running up against situations that are challenging me. I just hope people can bear with me while I dredge up the ugly stuff and try to turn it into something positive. Maybe I'll get some good poetry out of it at least...at last.
