I tell parts of my truth here; never the whole truth. It’s not for lack of honesty. To tell the whole truth I would need to be writing at every moment of every day because my truth is a constantly moving thing. What I write is simply whatever has moved into the foreground as I lie down at night to go to bed. It’s the part of the truth that just happens to be present for me capture.
I say that only because I’m aware tonight of all that gets left out.
I have been comforting myself the past couple days with fantasy. It’s a familiar fantasy, the same one I’ve been playing out ad nauseum for months. In it, I get to wave my happiness–my rightness–in the face of someone who’s let me down. Someone who ended up not playing the role in my life I had hoped this person would. I was disappointed and I took it personally. I ascribed to it some lack of worth on my part. Had I been more worthy, things might have gone differently. This is what some tiny part of me has been whispering in the dark recesses of my mind. It’s crap, and I believe it. I don’t know how not to believe it.
I don’t want my past to control my present, and it does to some extent. Of course it does. I find this infuriating at times.
I don’t want to live my life now trying to prove something to people who aren’t in my life anymore. I say this with a particular character in mind, but the same could apply to so many from junior high school friends, to teachers, to the people my parents used to be (and the people my parents never were). It’s like I’ve carried a hundred people on my back, let the ghosts of them join with my own dark whispers to become a chorus. I don’t want to live beneath the weight of them anymore. And, I don’t know how to free myself quite yet.
I’m not sure what the truth is in all this. It’s a bit too messy to be carefully parsed into a single a phrase. I want to be loved, and it hurts when I’m not. This is true. I want to be enough for anyone I meet and like, and it’s nearly impossible for me to let it go when it seems that I’m not. This is true. I want to love myself more than I need other people to approve of me. This is also true. There are likely a hundred other things I could say that are true. I can’t say them all and still sleep tonight.
Being human is a messy endeavor. This is true too.