For the Record

I have a lot of problems. But I think we all know that one of them is the fact that I tend to stifle my thoughts and feelings when I don't know how to deal with them.

However, unfortunately the problem doesn't stop there. I have a naturally big mouth when it comes to my personal problems, and my obvious inability to shut the hell up leads to me vomit things onto Pandora instead of A) facing them myself or B) discussing them with the appropriate people. It's weak, it's immature, it's unfair, and it's something I've grown increasingly frustrated with over the past few weeks.

Last night, I posted some freewriting. It was a lot less profane than the first one, but, in my mind, a lot more inappropriate and hurtful and it kept me from sleeping well.

I don't understand myself. I don't understand what I'm thinking when I write things. I don't understand why I think it's a good idea to post things. I don't understand, and until I do, I really don't know that I can keep blogging, at least not about anything personal.

This is not a call for people to tell me that I need a place to open up, or that they enjoy reading about my personal life, or any number of the encouraging things that part of me would like to hear. Please don't say them. Blogging like that doesn't help me. It hurts me a lot, and if I keep it up, I'm positive that it will hurt other people too {if it hasn't already}.

It's BEYOND time for me to grow up enough that I can A) deal with my problems in an appropriate manner, and B) deal with my problems in an appropriate manner.

So yeah, that's pretty much what needs to happen.

But before I end this post, I want to set something straight. I'm about to be really honest, and it's going to be monumentally hard, but I actually believe it's a good idea.

I rambled before about not being able to trust Sam. And I cannot believe I said that.

Not only was it wrong to blog about that when I don't even mention it to actual people, but it's really unfair of me to feel that way in the first place.

Guys, Sam is great. He's a great person, but he's an incredible friend and boyfriend also.

On Pandora, you only see a teeny, tiny, inconsequential sliver of how crazy, emotional, ridiculous and confusing I am. I get emotional, and I don't want to talk about it; I get all weird and I read my old journals, and that's always a terrible idea; I get really, really into things like Batman and debate; people often mistake me for angry when I'm actually just passionate about whatever it is we're discussing.

You see some of that on Pandora. But imagine being around that in real life. In person. All the time. And being expected to cope with it.

Over the years, I've had five intensely close friends with whom I have shared my insanity. They're people that I share my writing with, spill my problems to, ask opinions of, and look to for help.

There's a pattern with these friendships. Once I open up to the person, the friendship lasts about a year or two, and then the person moves on and we aren't close anymore.

Do I blame these people? I could be fooling myself, but I don't think I do. Am I sad? Well, yeah. But I understand. *I* wouldn't want to deal with me. I cannot conceive of anyone ELSE wanting to deal with me. It's such a job; I'm such a piece of work.

But there's one exception to this law of lost friendships. And that's Sam.

Out of the five closest friends, Sam has known the most and been the closest for the longest. Yeah, he did some things that he's not proud of, and I wasn't thrilled about them either, but he's here now. He's still around. He still listens to me. He still talks to me. He still helps me. He still makes me laugh when I honestly don't think I can.

And as far as I can tell, no matter how difficult I am, no matter how emotional I get, no matter how hard I try not to let this go so deep...he's gonna stick around.

He knows the terrible things I think. He knows how I struggled with my mom. He knows about the masochism issues. He knows the doubts I have about God. He knows all my secrets. He has for a while. There aren't things that I can't tell him.

Except for when it comes to how much he means to me. I don't say that. I don't like to talk about attachment or trust or really deep, scary love. I'm almost positive that he knows anyway, but it's like if I say so myself...I dunno, it's almost like losing a game. Or going into battle without armor. After giving my sword to the approaching army.

I don't like to be open like that, because I'm a coward.

My biggest problem with trust isn't with everyone else. It's with me. I lack the emotional courage to put it all on the line and live life RIGHT NOW. Sure, you get hurt more if you do that, but that's what life is about. Life isn't about getting by without scars. It's about getting hurt and healing and learning to love life anyway.

I'm tired of trying to be tough by not trusting people. It's high time I learned that being tough IS trusting people. And my not trusting people, my not trusting Sam, is a reflection of who *I* am and the condition of MY heart, not a reflection of their, of his, character.

Sam, you're doing everything right. I love you and I'm sorry for being ridiculous and unfair. I'm working on it.

{I also think the whole distrust thing in the deleted post probably bothered ME a lot more than it bothered him XD But it bothered me a whole hurtful heck of a lot, so I just wanted to set it straight.}

And I might get laughed at or mocked for this, or the feelings in this post might get treated lightly. That's what I'm afraid of, it's what I'm always afraid of. And if that happens, it will hurt, but that will be okay. It's all part of the process. It's all part of letting my heart be part of the world again.

Good god, I hope I don't regret this.

~Stephanie