jakorte's blog

10/27: When strength becomes a character flaw.

Enough already. I’m strong. I’m independent. I hear it over and over, from friends and now from my therapist. Those characteristics have become a flaw. I guess if you project an image of solid rock, people can’t fathom you crumbling. Take right now for example. Proactive me is writing this to share at a later date. Because if I don’t write it now I might forget later exactly what I meant to say, exactly what it’s been like. I’m driven to record, share. Which is in direct conflict with the latest epiphany I am supposed to subscribe to: “You don’t have to give your emotional self to everyone.” Trust me, I don’t want to, but right now I can’t control it. The lack of control frustrates me. Frustration makes me angry; angry makes me cry. It’s only become recently debunked - my self-scribed myth; I only ever cry when I’m angry. Not so suddenly, I cry when I’m sad, too. Or tired, or hungry and exhausted. Or breathing. I don’t know how long the tears have been creeping up on me. They’ve been threatening for so long. I kept adding sand bags to the levee. Still, after all this time, isn’t high enough to keep them from crashing over, sweeping through. And I’ve been diving under those waves instead of riding them. Another monumental advisory this week: new and foreign. Accommodate this phase. Embrace the darkness; cry. Stop fighting it. Accept it. Allow it. Observe it. It is what it is, explained in great detail by Joseph Campbell.

I want to be on the couch cuddled up with the currently spastic kitten. He’s leaping and running and basically expending tons of energy I don’t have. Eventually he’ll tire though. So maybe I’ll set myself up on the couch and wait for that. He’ll crawl up in my arms with stinky breath that the vet says isn’t a problem. And I’ll breathe through my mouth so I can feel his nose muzzle my neck, and fall asleep to his purr. But it’s early evening and that would be wasted time. There are things on my list. I have four days to get them done. Even that isn’t long enough. I’m tired of trying to make progress but failing; root bound. Every task blooms into a garden of weeds. What’s the point of breaking up the root ball if I’ve got no place to put the splits? I’m daunted. And tired. For today, for tomorrow, for who knows how long - I don’t want to be strong, or independent, or responsible. So maybe the answer is just that simple: simply to not be.