Temporary? Insanity

I have trouble letting things go. It’s something I’ve always known about myself, but as life progresses, that fact is thrown into sharper relief. Because it affects me more and more as the years go by. I still cherish ill feelings against the girls who extorted cookies from me in exchange for “friendship” all those many years ago. My self-esteem still suffers because of the many cruel jibes directed at me in my high school years. And I have this horrible, ever present fear of abandonment because of certain events in my dating years.

Deep breathing time, Kim. Time to let it all go.

The more I probe inward at myself, the more clearly I see the effects of certain decisions I’ve made, and realize that the true blame lies with myself, not those people I claim have wronged me over the years. In truth, I’ve come to be grateful to those who were unkind to me. They’ve taught me kindness through their lack of it. I’ve learned that I want to be someone entirely other than who they were.

So why am I still angry with them?

I made a new friend here a few weeks ago, and I was over the moon thrilled. She’s funny, intelligent, kind hearted, and just plain fun to be around. However, she’s got a lot she’s dealing with right now and not a whole lot of mind space for building a new friendship. I don’t hear from her often, in fact, it’s been over a week, and I confess, it’s getting to me. The reason? It’s not just your everyday impatience (though heaven knows I’ve plenty of that), it actually hearkens back to years ago. To something I can’t quite seem to let go of.

I very briefly dated four guys before I met Neil. One of the four I broke it off with but the other three . . . well, there was a certain lack of closure with all three of them, in that once they decided to end it they simply never spoke to me ever again. I? Did not take it well. Especially the third time, because, well, it was the THIRD time. I went a bit squirrelly after that, and have had difficulty letting people get close ever since.

Once I finally accepted the possibility that it wasn’t something wrong with ME, but possibly with the fellows I’d dated, I got a bit angry. In my mind, a whole heck of a lot of blame was tossed around. They’d ruined me. They’d messed with my head with their selfish desire to avoid confrontation. How dared they?

But how dare I? How dare I let something so incredibly inconsequential as past dating experiences dictate the sort of person I choose to be? Because it has. I’ve been sitting here worrying and fretting that I’m losing someone I thought was a friend, simply because I haven’t heard from her in awhile. Why? Because I equate lack of contact with loss and heart break.

As always, I put this into words to make it more than the cobwebbing of thoughts through my mind. To give the lessons I’m striving to learn some sort of actuality.

I choose the sort of person I am, and the ways in which my past experiences influence my present and future. I do not have to be a powerless piece of driftwood cast about on the waves of life. I can direct my path and choose my destination.

I can sail along whatever path, and towards whatever ending I choose.

Most important though, is the realization that I can sail.

By nature, I am a soul searcher. And I hate it. It’s exhausting and painful and humbling and sometimes even horrifying. I mean, as far as hobbies go, soul searching can be a bit of a downer. There are things I’d really rather not know about myself. Or at least, that’s how I’m feeling at the moment. I’m sure I’ll be grateful, later on, for all the opportunities for growth and all that. At the moment though? I’m having myself a big ole sulk.

Yesterday was a bit rough, soul searching wise. You see, there’s this gal I know who is, in many ways, not a person I like to spend time with. I know a great deal more about her than I’d like to. I know a great deal about her lying, her tendency to manipulate others for her own gain, and even certain criminal activities she has engaged in. Apart from all that, she rubs me the wrong way and I don’t like her much.

Things have come to head for this gal, and certain of her actions have been coming to light. And she knows that I know. We were at the same party last night and she kept tracking me down and talking my ear off. I was patient and polite, but made my excuses at the first opportunity. I was sure that she was trying to manipulate me. That her unusually friendly overtures had a nasty ulterior motive behind them. I was annoyed and even a little angry that she thought a little friendliness would change my opinion of what she had done.

Later that evening, I got to thinking about this woman’s life. It has been chock full of problems. Trial upon trial upon trial. She has had more stress in the last year than I’ve had in my whole life. She’s made some horrible, horrible choices, but suddenly it struck me that she must be horribly lonely. Her selfish focus in life has deprived her of friendships and kindness, love and generousity. She has struggled to take want she wants instead of giving people opportunities to give.

Perhaps last night wasn’t a manipulation. Perhaps it was a lonely woman who has made some bad choices, reaching out for friendship. And perhaps I was too cynical to see her behaviour for what it was.

I don’t know. I can’t know, really, what is in this woman’s heart. Her life is a tangle of lies right now, and the thought of trying to sort through them leaves me feeling tired and apathetic. But I couldn’t help taking a lesson from last night, and facing up to a not terribly nice aspect of myself.

I’ve grown cynical over the years. And worse, I kind of enjoy it. I talked to Neil about it last night before we went to bed. About how we sometimes enjoy being cynical because it makes us feel intelligent and superior. We feel like we’ve seen through someone, and we smirk and swagger a little at having seen what we believe to be the truth. And in that surge of prideful feelings we neglect to realize that we don’t know it to be the truth. We are human. Flawed. Limited. We don’t see half so clearly as we think we do.

I felt distinctly uncomfortable last night as I mulled all this over. I winced and grimaced and squirmed a bit as I saw myself more clearly than I would like to. I have a tendency to be arrogant and judgmental. I like taking the measure of a person and finding them wanting, because it makes me feel better about myself. I felt kind of sick, seeing that in myself. I thought I was nicer than that.

I guess there’s hope in the fact that I want to be.