who-is-sunny-d
Who Is She?
Trying to find out who I am, who I was, and who I will be.
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When I was young, a psychiatrist at a mental rehabilitation facility once told me that my problem is that I try to go through life without stepping on any toes, and that I can’t.
I always remembered this because I thought, “why not? And why is it a problem for me to try?” Shouldn’t everyone try their best not to hurt others?
This found its way back into my mind today as I read someone’s Facebook post that called me (and Matt, probably) out without directly stating names, and nosy that I am, I read the comments too, and went from feeling like maybe I’ll actually get something done today, to “maybe I’ll crawl back into bed and be depressed again because no matter what I do, I can’t seem to help stepping on everyone’s toes.”
So I realized a lot of things.
Number One: Some people just want to be pissed off and nothing you do will ever make them happy because if you try to do what they want, it will directly conflict with something else they want, and they can’t have their cake and eat it too. So for those people, you have to just not feed them at all. They don’t get any cake because they’re party poopers who just want to have a pity party for themselves and eat all the cake while telling everyone around them why they suck.
Number Two: Trying to go through life without any toe-stepping is called people pleasing, and it’s a type of conditioning caused by people of the sort I just mentioned. It’s typically a product of growing up in an abusive household, and later in life you end up in similar relationships because your people-pleasing nature gives off certain vibes that attract predators. Human predators. Takers, looking for givers to latch onto and drain of everything. And once they’ve drained you, they leave you for dead and go on the hunt for someone else to destroy.
Number Three: Here is why it’s a problem. In trying to avoid toe-stepping, you fail to create boundaries, preferring to just sacrifice your feelings to save someone else’s. Why? Because you’ve been conditioned to believe that you don’t matter. And what’s worse is, those who drain you and abandon you over and over again in your life just reinforce that ideology.
Furthermore, the more you internalize, the more you drive yourself crazy. And then maybe one day, you feel that you’ve got some unhealthy feelings you want off your chest, so you write it all down on an abandoned blog somewhere just to get it gone without having to break the news to someone that maybe they’re being kind of an ass, because who wants to hear that? Not you, that’s for sure, because you’ll spiral into a depression feeling like “who am I? Do I even know myself? How could I have hurt someone I loved and not even known??”
And you know that by telling the person directly, that’s how they’ll feel and then they’ll probably call YOU a jerk, and so to save the relationship and avoid any problems at all costs, you opt for the blog and everyone wins…
Except when they find the blog and see what you said when you were hurting and either ghost you without explaining why, or confront you directly, making you feel trapped and won’t drop it until you end up saying the worst possible thing you can think of just to make it stop. But you think you’re just postponing it until you can process it, and then it turns out it’s just over. Forever.
And THAT’S when you finally let it all come spilling out because you’re angry that your attempts to avoid conflict caused the very worst conflict, and you don’t feel like you deserve to be thrown away forever just because you dared to feel things you couldn’t control and chose to let those feelings out somewhere you thought they couldn’t see, so they could just dissolve into the void and disappear.
But they don’t. And your friend does. And the feeling that you’re shit and not allowed to feel and all you do is hurt people and drive them away sends you spiraling into an even worse depression that you’ll probably never end up getting back out of.
You’re left wondering why you didn’t just keep your mouth shut, even online, and whether things would’ve gone worse if you’d just told them, or if they’re the type that you can’t please no matter what you do, and then you destroy yourself, constantly reliving the fight that ended it, and everything that led up to it, and wondering what you should have done instead, and it never occurs to you that maybe they’re just a shitty friend and can’t face that fact. But that can’t be right, because you’re the dumped one, not them.
But maybe they dumped you because they were afraid of their other friends finding out how they handled the situation and they want to make sure your side never comes out, so no one else will know that they were, indeed, a shitty friend/partner/etc. People like this very carefully craft a persona for their friends to believe in by hiding details about themselves, playing up other details, and acting in a way that doesn’t reflect who they really are. They tend to be very private, but act on the surface like they’re super friendly and outgoing.
And when they have one of these rows, they cancel the other person so their side never comes out, meanwhile all they do is tell everyone their side, playing up how hurt they were and what an ass you were and deliberately leaving out EVERYTHING they put you through. Some even go as far as to smear you as crazy and use reactive abuse to catch you in fight or flight mode as a means to reinforce this smear campaign.
Which type of person are you?
If you’ve apologized even once, and they haven’t and refuse to talk to you ever again, you’re a giver and they’re a taker.
If you ghost someone over one fight, or really just at all for any reason, you’re a taker.
If all you want is for your friend to understand that you never meant to hurt them, and aren’t interested in telling the world that they’re an asshole, you’re a giver.
If you never fully recover from losing a friend and will always feel like it was your fault, even when you can logically deduce that it’s not, you’re a giver.
If your friendship consisted mostly of you dropping everything to be there for them when they were hurting, sending them anything that made you think of them, and giving little gifts to help them through hard times, but not really getting any of these things in return, they’re a taker.
And if they take your feelings as a personal attack, rather than respecting that you feel things too, and maybe evaluating themselves to figure out how to be better, they’re a taker.
Don’t be a taker. You don’t have to be a taker. This world is too cruel and this life is too short to make it all about you. Let bygones be bygones. Bury some hatchets. Become human before it’s too late for someone else. The things you put others through when you trash them… those become the fuel for their self-worth issues. It keeps the cycle going, rather than breaking it at last.
You can be the change someone needs in their life before it’s too late. You can be a giver if you choose to be. You can give life to someone who doesn’t feel any reasons to live anymore. You can be the person you pretend to be. Why pretend when you can actually be that person?
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I’m thinking that maybe I am not a fan of this life thing.
It is too fleeting and too fragile for how overwhelmingly painful and tragic it all is. It is too filled with apathy for a being who is weighed upon by the suffering and tragedy of time.
I have seen what can happen to the innocent and what humans are capable of doing not just to other humans, but to any other living beings, and I have experienced torture and loss and abuse and neglect, and so many other things that I feel at times like I have lived more lives in 35 years than most will ever live in 100. Because I hurt for the hurting as well. I suffer with the suffering, when most turn a blind eye and close their hearts off.
I just. The only time I’m not suffering alone is when I’m sharing someone else’s pain.
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Here’s something I thought yesterday:
Life literally can’t be all sunshine and rainbows, because without a storm, there can be no rainbows. It’s called a RAINbow for a reason.
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I apologize for the whine seeming posts as of late.
Life isn’t always sunshine & cherries. Especially for me. But I’m trying to work on having a more balanced blog. Get the heavy bags of trash off my chest so I can get back to all the self discovery and what not. 😬
I’ll have some actual content later today. As long as nothing goes wrong.
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I’d like to make an addendum to this statement. Specifically, the things you say in conversation or on a social media where friends will see.
I am adjusting this because I think that a blog is a safe space (or at least, it ought to be) where you can say how you feel and get it off your chest without being judged or condemned for it. It isn’t healthy to bottle things up, and if life has taught me one thing, it’s that it’s also healthy to avoid confrontation. This is why most people pay a therapist to listen to their gripes, but I’ve kept a journal for over half of my life, and a blog is no different as far as I am concerned.
I also realized that the whole “if you can’t say something nice, say nothing” ideal applies to the things you say about yourself, as well.
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Today, I saw someone at Goodwill. Someone who looked suspiciously like someone I used to know. But I thought, “shouldn’t they be in Texas?”
They checked out just ahead of me, and after I left, I suddenly got a follow request from that exact person on IG. Someone who hasn’t spoken to me in probably two years and the last time they did, it was pretty rude and aggressive.
But then I remembered that time at treatment when I saw someone I thought I knew who belonged in San Diego. Then we spoke and they confirmed their name and where they hailed from, and then at the end, they were having the damnedest time getting their blood pressure under control, which is one of the things they scan during a polygraph exam.
Also, we’d exchanged numbers, but I was never able to get hold of them again. 🤔
It’s hard to know what’s going on anymore. If Matt wasn’t a witness, I’d think I was going nuts, but thankfully he’s been there for a lot of the odd bullshit. When you’ve been gaslit and fucked with as hard as I have, it’s only natural to feel unease and distrust. They fuck with me more to call me paranoid and try to psychoanalyze me as schizophrenic, but the doctor thinks I’m perfectly sane, just more observant than most.
Sometimes I wish I could turn it off and just be stupid and happy, but my intuition and observation skills have overall served me well, even if people have used them against me to smear me as paranoid and crazy. But I’ve rarely been wrong. Just gaslit into thinking I’m wrong.
I still wish for justice, but I’m too worn down to go after it. At this point, I’d just settle for the actual truth. But narcissists can’t face the truth if it means admitting they did terrible things. So I’ll just have to settle for what I know to be true based on the evidence I collected on my own.
It’s truly shitty, the things one person is capable of putting another through. I wish I’d kept to myself more. I wish I’d never thrown a party and hosted a bunch of strangers. What the fuck got into me that that even passed into the realm of good ideas in my head? 🤦🏻♀️
I miss my son. I should have been content with what I had. I was probably just being selfish. As usual. 🙄 I hate myself most.
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I’m in so much pain. Some days it’s not so bad and I feel almost normal, and other days it seems like it’s getting worse at an alarming rate. Usually it’s my wrists, almost always my lower back, and sometimes it’s knees, ankles, hips. Sometimes neck. Sometimes everything at once.
Today, though, it feels like everything from the top vertebra of my spine down to the last. Even the rib joints hurt. So I’ve been in bed all day, trying not to take more than ibuprofen. I don’t like taking cyclobenzaprine unless I’m going to bed, cause it makes my eyes go out of focus, and since my wrists aren’t acting up today, I thought I could at least draw while laying.
I realized that when I’m physically hurting, life seems a whole lot more pointless than it does when I’m okay. I know I get depressed when I have a cold or the flu, but I guess it happens when I’m in pain as well.
It’s hard not to feel hopeless knowing that the pain will only get worse with age, until I’m legitimately crippled and I can’t think about not being able to do art. It makes life feel pointless.
And then I heard someone say “lone wolf” and started thinking about things people have called me and said about me and how I have no friends and wondering if there’s anyone around who doesn’t hate me, or isn’t waiting for me to die because I’m a burden and am only going to become a worse burden… then I thought about being full crippled and a huge burden and not even having the physical autonomy to put myself out of everyone’s misery.
My mom’s always saying things like “if I ever have to depend on anyone else, just shoot me,” and I’ve always felt like this was more of a jab at me than a true statement about herself. And I feel that the only people left in my life are only still here because they don’t have much choice. Everyone else I’ve ever known and cared for has left me.
Have I been a burden to everyone? Should I continue…? No one would tell me they want me gone, but I’m sure they must. But do I make that decision for them? How could I even talk to anyone about these feelings knowing how many people have ditched me just for having them?
All I’ve ever wanted is to feel like I’m not worthless. To be loved in spite of my flaws. To feel like anyone actually sees *me,* and not just my illnesses.
But how can I, when everyone abandons me, always?
When my grandparents are gone, no one in my family will love me. I wish I could be with them, and it kills me that I’m anchored in this shit hole instead of spending what life they have left with them.
Life is such a shitty experience. It’s short, it’s sad, and it’s full of pain and goodbyes. Is it really so hard to imagine why I might not particularly enjoy it?
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I get so lonely.
Most of the people I love are either far away, dead, or refuse to speak to me (in my daughter’s case, incapable). All I have here is Matt, (and my mom & brothers, though they aren’t a fan of me) and my cats. So if anything happens to anyone else, things could get bad.
I’ve tried to make amends with those I’ve hurt or alienated, but that hasn’t been enough and I don’t know what would be.
People get so offended when they find out that they’ve hurt you, and they make it about them and next thing you know, you’re on your own. I should have a right to speak freely about what’s bothering me, even if it’s only to myself on a blog I didn’t think anyone knew of. But I’m not.
So why should I talk about anything at all where anyone else could possibly see? If people only want toxic positivity and your honest compliments, they’re going to be in for a bad ride in this life thing.
No one’s ever sugar coated anything for me, not even when the doctors came in to tell me my son had a brain tumor. So why should I sugar coat how I feel when someone hurts me? I’m kind to others and don’t attack them unless provoked first. I should at least be able to have a safe space to say how I feel.
Alas.
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I also realized that the whole “if you can’t say something nice, say nothing” ideal applies to the things you say about yourself, as well.
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Today, Matt & I had a conversation about optimism, pessimism (glass full status, you know), and being a yes person etc. It was very enlightening.
Turns out, we’re both yes people. But he said he’s a glass empty type, whereas for me, it depends on whether I’m drinking or pouring, or if I’ve dropped it and it’s shattered. But generally, I tend toward the positive and optimistic.
The funny thing was that despite being yes folks and me being pretty optimistic, people tend to regard him as a no person and me as a Debbie Downer. We discovered that this is likely due to our autistic tendency to be more vocal about the things that upset us, and less vocal about our little autistic obsessions (as people are generally alienated by our geeking, so we have learned to keep it under wraps), so we probably come off as grouchy, negative people, but we’re actually very chill and generally open to whatever.
We’ve grown very adept at adapting, if you’ll excuse the alliteration, due to being suddenly and dramatically thrown into situations we have to just learn to deal with. And I realized that for me, that’s basically my life story, but my grandparents always dealt with it so gracefully that I never even knew it was a bad situation, except when gram would pull me close and ask me in a hushed voice not to mention certain aspects of our situation to anyone, like when our utilities were cut off, or when we were living in a van after an eviction.
I didn’t even know we were living in it at first, I just thought we were camping. Neither of them ever complained or made it my problem or showed dismay about things. It was just how things were now, and we had to deal with it.
I still ended up developing adjustment disorder later in my life, but I think mostly, that stemmed from my mom’s sudden extended absence from my life when she joined the navy, then her drastic personality change when we were reunited, and from there it just spiraled due to things always getting blown to hell the moment I grew comfortable and began to trust my circumstances. It always happens, so now I’ve learned to fear happiness, and although I have the mental ability to switch myself into survival mode to get shit done and change the situation at the drop of a hat, I eventually break down once things are in place.
If the situation is completely out of my control, like getting dragged out of my bed by cops and beaten in the street before being sent to the hole due to my ex’s never-ending desire to make my life a living hell, I skip survival mode (at least after unintentionally kicking the cops’ asses trying to escape) and revert back to infancy. Literally. When stuff like that happens, I curl up in a fetal position and cry until I’m bushed, then sleep until I can’t, then repeat the process. I can’t eat, especially when they deny me my fucking anxiety meds and expect me to just deal. All I can do is cry, sleep, repeat.
But that doesn’t happen every day, and I hope to god it never happens again. Also, I don’t blame my mom for any of the things mentioned above. She joined the Navy because it was all she could do, and no one comes back from boot camp as a whole person. She was soft and sensitive and very loving before she joined, but when I moved back in with her, she had become… someone else. I can’t help if some of my mental trauma stems from her either directly or indirectly, just as one can’t control their genetics.
That’s why I have a hard time talking about my early traumas. My mom takes it as a personal attack, even if I am calm and simply explaining who I am and why, not pointing fingers or assigning blame. It’s just how things are, and I wish she would learn to make peace with that fact.
I have a hunch (read: evidence) that both my grandparents are autistic. So I would assume that my mom would be, too. But oddly enough, she doesn’t really seem like it. Autistic people, at least the ones in my family, including my husband, seem to internalize 99% of their emotions, which explains why I never knew just how hard things were when I was little and we were trying to survive. It’s a little different now with social media, because now we can internalize it in person, but if we feel strongly about something that’s bugging us, we can post about it to let off steam, and who cares if no one even sees it? You just rant a little bit and forget about it.
Thus, people who only know anything much of us from social media can easily make the assumption that we’re whiny little negative Nancies. In truth, though, this isn’t who we are.
It has made me realize that if I’m going to be on social media, I should try to have my presence reflect how I really am. Or maybe I should just keep away. I’m still working that part out.
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Me: I can’t watch this goofy-ass kids’ movie because it’ll make me cry (mem’ries).
Also me: Oh, look, a documentary about Amy Winehouse. *sobs through the whole thing* (2meirl4meirl)
Everyone she needed kept leaving her, causing her to get worse and worse until she died trying to cope. And even when she died, everyone fucking just made fun of her death. She was so fucking beautiful and talented, but people only wanted her art that came from her pain; wanted to be fans, rather than friends.
They kept her sad and used her up then made fun of her death. People fucking suck.
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I’m learning a lot of hard things. About my family, mostly. And I guess about why I’m so messed up.
But I’ve been feeling very sad, and more than ever, missing my kids. It makes it so hard. It won’t get easier. That’s why you’re meant to have support.
I better not talk about it anymore just now. Things have been chaotic and I’ve been falling asleep as soon as my head hits the pillow.
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