A Few Truths

Few people understand me.

AND THAT'S OKAY.

Fewer still accept me for who I am.

AND THAT'S OKAY.

Even fewer care.

AND THAT'S OKAY.
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I have said, and meant, that I love people to whatever extent is permissible, no less but certainly no more.  My actions haven't always aligned with those words. Out of loneliness borne of depression (or maybe depression borne of loneliness, I still haven't quite chicken-and-egged that), I've pressed a smidgen too hard, more than once, leading people to distance themselves, sometimes subtly and sometimes much less so. I have chosen to interpret this as their rejection of me. Ironic, since it's actually my rejection of them. It's me trying to make them into something they're not, rather than being happy with who they are.

It's funny, you know. Over the length of my marriage, any time tensions have risen, it's almost invariably been my fault. (Call me submissive or a pussy if you want: it's still true.) It doesn't feel like that in the heat of the moment, of course. But if I'm able to take ten steps back from the situation (and pry my eyes open--most of the time Eva's frustration at me is a product of glued-shut eyes), I will realize yet again that I am the cause of whatever is happening around me.

It's a vital lesson. It's something I know intellectually, but need to be forcefully reminded all too frequently. I AM THE CAUSE OF MY OWN DRAMA. Nothing "just happens". As my parents always said, "life is what you make it". It's all too easy to forget I am a creator.

This holds true with depression as well. My personality is susceptible to it. I've known that since puberty, if not before. By now I know the chinks in my armour that it seeks and exploits. The biggest one, by far, is the belief that the people who do not understand me, accept me, or care for me matter.

I know where that belief came from: a need to be needed. I have no idea why I allowed it to become as strong as it did. Somehow I managed to get to a point where the people who don't understand, accept or care mattered to me at least as much as the people who do. And that's no way to live a life.

I am not responsible for how clearly my messages are received, only for how clearly I send them. If I have sent as clearly as I can but my message of love is garbled into something it's not...the solution is not to try harder, but to accept and move on. Without feeling rejected. Without feeling worthless.

If I try to engage a Russian speaker in conversation using English, I'm not going to get anywhere. That's not my fault, or the Russian's fault. There's no fault. It just is. It won't help to speak loudly and slowly, or even to use simpler (English) words. I can simply accept that this Russian doesn't speak my language and move on in search of people who do.

While I'm at that, I need to remember that I AM SUFFICIENT UNTO MYSELF. This is a truth I set aside somewhere a year ago, and forgetting this has contributed mightily to the depressed state I have existed in.

Take...right now. I have two days off. (Nights, actually, but we won't quibble).  My standard approach to time off over the past year has been to wait for somebody to fill it, then feel terrible when that didn't happen. (And before I got my job, I was off every day...)
Oh, I wasn't just sitting here waiting for the phone to ring, by any means. I'm not quite that dense. : I'd often try and take an active role. "Let's get together", I'd say, and people would feel obligated  to agree. Not my intention at all, but it would come off that way, like they had to say yes for politeness' sake.  And so they'd (quite reasonably) bail, and I'd (quite unreasonably) feel miserable, forgetting both that I AM AT CAUSE and that I AM SUFFICIENT UNTO MYSELF.

My best friends, the people who understand, accept, and care without question--plans with them just sort of coalesce. What's more, I can go weeks, months, and in some cases years without ever doubting the friendship one iota. The next time I see them, the threads will be picked up as if they were never dropped.

THOSE are the people who matter. Knowing they are there gives me the security to fill my own free time up, without having to pester and bother other people to make time for me. The people who matter know that I am here for them, just as they are here for me. The people who don't...don't.

AND THAT'S OKAY.