The Mirror Created by Someone Else’s Words
Kind.
Caring.
Sentimental.
Attentive (usually…but I can sometimes be hot/cold)
Passionate.
Compassionate.
Deeply empathetic.
Great with kids, and someone who would make a good father.
Emotional (sometimes too emotional).
Emotionally intelligent.
Observant.
Curious and inquisitive.
Loving.
Dedicated.
A hard worker.
Determined.
Driven.
Someone with vision.
These are all things people have said to me recently.
Compliments I’ve received. Descriptions people have given me. Little pieces of how they see me. Words from friends, old and new, from family, from neighbours.
And almost every time, after hearing one of them, I’ve had the same thought:
Why did Cris tell me I wasn’t these things?
Some of them, she explicitly told me I wasn’t. With others, I remember feeling like she simply didn’t believe they were true about me. At the end, she told me that the person I was in the beginning wasn’t really me. She said that I was pretending to be someone else just to get her to like me.
…and I think that’s part of my difficulties to reconcile within myself.
Am I performing? For me? Them?
Because these aren’t compliments I went looking for. They’re things people have independently seen in me and felt compelled to tell me.
Yet somehow, when I hear them, part of me wants to push back.
Another part still wants to hear them from Cris.
——–
This weekend, I’ve found myself craving again to hear why she said the things she said. I don’t entirely understand why these thoughts are reoccurring. I thought I had moved further away from needing that form of closure. But the last few days have been difficult, and I’ve felt that pull back towards something I know I can’t get anymore. There still isn’t a conversation between us.
One of the hardest parts of remembering our relationship is thinking about the person I was when I needed those words the most. I was falling apart. “The man that can fix anything….except himself.“
I was drowning in self-doubt. I was extremely overwhelmed, depressed, anxious, frustrated, and often disgusted with myself. At times, I didn’t want to live and wished I wouldn’t wake up. I was struggling to understand what was happening to me, and I desperately needed someone close to me to remind me that I was still worthy, capable, loving, and good. I needed to be able to talk with my partner about it, without fear of judgment.
Instead, I often felt like the person closest to me viewed me in a very different way than I saw myself (the healthy version of me). It ate me alive…
I know I wasn’t easy to deal with during that time.
I know I was hurting. I know I was frustrated with myself, and I know some of that frustration spilled onto Cris. I projected things onto her that were my own external and internal issues. I wasn’t always the partner I wanted to be, or fully capable of being. I unintentionally hurt her at times.
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But I also wish I could go back and tell the “sick” version of myself that struggling didn’t make all of those other qualities disappear.
Being depressed didn’t make me permanently uncaring.
Being overwhelmed didn’t make me forever incapable of love.
Being anxious didn’t mean I lacked emotional intelligence.
Making mistakes didn’t make me a bad person.
And needing help didn’t mean I was incapable…or less deserving of being believed in.
I’m struggling to write tonight. I’m having trouble getting the emotions into words.
It feels a little like I’m going through the grieving process again…The waves have been much more intense over the last few days compared to the past when I felt similar emotions.
It comes on quickly and without much warning. There’s pain in my chest. It becomes hard to breathe. Hard to see through the tears. Hard to do anything except let it happen.
I freeze.
——
Today, I tried recording a video diary while I was working on the house. At some point, I had to stop sanding the drywall. But no words came out.
I couldn’t keep working.
I kept stopping, just standing there, sobbing, with wet drywall dust running down my face.
Eventually I calmed myself down enough to get on my motorbike and ride back to the boat. I wanted somewhere quiet. Somewhere I could sit with it. Maybe write. Maybe figure out what the hell is happening inside me.
But I’m stuck.
I can’t seem to understand what’s causing this right now.
Am I regressing?
Is this normal?
What is it that I’m being reminded of? What is triggering these waves?
I don’t have any answers tonight.
Just a heavy heart.
And maybe more than anything else, a heart that craves meaningful human connection, closeness and the space to express myself without fear of judgment…Or worse, my complex emotions and internal experience being used against me.