Starting to write again feels weird after a week’s break but there was just too much to do for me to take the time to blog.
Whatever. Today I told my therapist that I want to prepare for next week as my partner will be away and I know exactly just how much easier I get unstable when I am on my own. We talked about lots of things my partner is and does for me – things I don’t want to share here.
My therapist wanted to know what is different when he is with me and what would happen if he was actually gone forever. My fear of loss nearly crushed me but at least we have a conclusion: My biggest fear is that without my partner, everything would be the way it used to be before I met him. It’s no exaggeration to say that I only functioned before I had him – and he showed me what it means to live; to enjoy. Even today I switch to my function mode when he isn’t near – superficially there is no difference: I go to work as I always do, meet people, get stuff done…but on the inside everything is different. The problem with my function mode is that it leaves me feeling exhausted which isn’t exactly part of the concept of self-care. The other problem is that no matter what I can do, how much I can work and go places, sooner or later, calm will return. And then I start feeling edgy. All the too-intense emotions my partner can intercept with a hug, start attacking me. And it doesn’t matter if it’s joy or fear or rage – I just can’t regulate it and that strongly increases the danger of my self-harming.
My therapist asked what I would like to do in such moments. Scream. Scream, shout, yell until my throat burns. I would love to do that. My emotions make me feel like I’m bursting, as if my body couldn’t contain then. But I’ve never been able to scream. Could I try singing, she asked. I had to smile. Yes, I could do that. If only I knew that nobody could hear me – no neighbour, no friend, not even my partner, then I could sing and everything I usually hide deep inside would come out. But only when nobody can hear me. Sometimes I even wonder if I should buy a car just for that. Why is it so important that nobody can hear me, she asked. And then I could hear them, all the people from my past:
You’re not hitting the notes.
You’re not good enough.
Please don’t give her the microphone.
I certainly won’t miss your singing under the shower.
You should just stop trying.
How did you even get through the entrance examination?
You’re talking too much:
You’re talking too loudly.
You’re laughing too loudly.
You’re breathing too loudly.
Just hold your breath.
Be quiet. Make yourself small. Shut. The. Fuck. Up.
I made the same mistake twice – once with singing and then with painting: I thought I should go to a school where I could concentrate on these things. And as soon as only performance was important, those outlets weren’t what they used to be anymore. I took from myself what could help me.
I know I have to work on the emotional dependance from my partner. But this will be a loooooooooooooong way to go. For now, I just want to regain my voice – who knows what might change when I don’t let it be taken from me by some ghosts of my past?