Me. in Mental Health

That was a thing I never allowed myself to be. Once in awhile, she’d leak out a little, but I always had to stuff her back in her box and keep her quiet because…

Well, we all know why. Every time I ever let a little bit of who I believe I am to slip out where someone could see it, I was ridiculed, belittled, mocked… something. I mean, not by everyone, just always by the people who were supposed to be the exact opposite of that.

You allow me to be me. You don’t belittle me or make me feel stupid or childish or irrational or… crazy.

You know, I wondered if I was schizophrenic for a long time, for years and years. I don’t anymore, I know I’m not schizophrenic (and isn’t that just what a schizophrenic would say?). No, what I’m realizing now is that, underneath all the other things, I’m probably autistic. And that, as a child, combined with all of the other things and the abuse and… I had never spent a single day of my life comfortable in my own body, comfortable with myself enough to be comfortable with others.

And then there was you.

I don’t really understand it, and it all still feels so surreal, but I am most myself when I am with you. I mean, I’m most myself now, more myself than I’ve ever been, with you in my life. Suddenly, I was so comfortable in my skin, so comfortable with myself. I have always had… reactions to being touched. Even when I wanted to be touched, there was always this underlying feeling of wanting to not be touched at the same time. I can remember, as a child, sitting with my knees pulled to my chest and my hands over my ears, just rocking and rocking. I still rock as an adult. No one ever used the term “sensory overload” when I was a kid. ADHD and autism weren’t things that I ever even heard about until I was almost an adult, and they never would have been things for me anyway because my parents just thought I was a brat.

I think that’s a major reason why our lives came together, drifted apart, and then came back together. When I was a kid, I was so messed up, oh my god. And you, you were larger than life to me then, just as you are now. Back then, and for most of my life, every day was a practice in figuring out who I needed to be depending on where I was and who was around me. What face did I need to put on? How should I speak? What words should I use? And I think that I couldn’t figure it out with you. I think that’s what it was. I never figured out who I needed to be when I was around you because who I needed to be was just me, the real me, the hidden me, but I already had her locked up tight by that time and you were so intimidating because I liked you so much and I didn’t even understand why. I didn’t know who to be. I have those few wonderful, sweet memories, and the odd, random flash, but I also remember pretty vividly how I felt at that time. Because that’s PTSD, you know? That’s how memories are stored, how I can close my eyes today and remember every, single detail of a moment nearly 30 years ago, right down to actually physically experiencing my own emotions from that moment.

I remember feeling empty inside, nothing in me worth knowing or caring about, nothing interesting or fun or funny, and nothing attractive physically. I remember being completely baffled by the concept that you, first, even knew my name, and then, that you were actually… interested? In me? Why? Gawd, why?

I have never let a person go as easily as I did you, back then. I remember feeling a certainty that it was better that way, that I wasn’t good enough for you and who could blame you for losing interest in the most boring girl on the planet, anyway? I mean, jeez, I’d never even touched a penis before. I remember these thoughts and feelings clearly, and the feeling of acceptance that it didn’t matter that I thought you were the greatest most cutest boy on the planet, you were better off without me.

And, honestly, I think that’s where that idea started. And, oh my, do I realize after typing that sentence how it sounds and I mean it in no way to reflect on you or your behavior or… It’s just… I think you were probably the best I’d ever had, the best I was ever going to have (for the next, what, 27 years?), and obviously someone as awesome as you would be better off without someone like me in your life. Because I knew already, at 15 years old, just how fucked up I was. Maybe not consciously, exactly, but I had been aware my whole life of some difference in me. And I knew that me as I was would only hurt people, drag them down with me. I mean, who wants to be around a depressed, weird, awkward person?

I’m beating a dead horse, but I guess I needed those years, and all of the lessons, to be capable of being who I am now, or to become who I will become. I still don’t think… I mean… You’re too good for me, still. Because I’m still all fucked up, you know? And you don’t need that in your life. You only need not-fucked-up me and she doesn’t exist. It might look like she exists when we’re together because, when I’m with you, nothing could ever be bad. Or, at least, the bad things can’t touch me there. I can pretend, for a few hours or days, that I’m not fucked up, because I don’t feel fucked up when I’m with you. Being with you just makes all the sense in the world.

I have been seriously questioning lately whether or not I actually do have 2 (or more) personalities. The overwhelming feelings of dissociation I’ve experienced throughout my life, when I actually let myself really focus on those times, have me wondering. There are moments that I can clearly recall, spread over my entire life, where I truly felt as if I was watching myself from the outside, as if I was not in control. They are always times when I say or do something that feels really out of the ordinary, contrary to what I think I know and believe. And lately, the dissociation has been really powerful. It’s almost a constant feeling some days, like I’m not attached to myself, I’m just observing. I’m experiencing thoughts and emotions that I don’t understand, that don’t feel like my own, and I don’t know how to process them.

This all turned into such a clusterfuck, it feels like. Whatever, I guess. It’s a good mirror of my brain, which is a pretty big clusterfuck lately.