January 14th, 2020: Vulnerability

So, I realized this morning that I've been looking at my friend problem the exact wrong way. I've been trying to poke and prod my way of thinking and acting, trying to find the flaw of why friendships were hard for me in the past. And even though it made me emotional sometimes, I never came up with anything constructive. 

Well, the answer was way more obvious than I gave it credit. 

The problem isn't that those people made me wary. They did, and I was heartbroken by how they treated me, but the real problem is that I'm working under the assumption I'm that same girl. I'm not. And the problem isn't I don't know how to connect to people; I make casual friends quite easily. 

The problem is that I learned to not need people and now I don't know how to be vulnerable anymore. Because the only reason I ever used to be vulnerable was because my mental disorder was literally holding a gun to my head. 

Hell, when I put it that way, maybe I never really knew how to be vulnerable, not organically. 

Even just yesterday, I had a wicked sinus infection and was hit with waves of horrible exhaustion. I almost took a nap on the ground in the middle of making lunch and almost had to stop halfway through my soup because feeding myself was tiring. 

But I kept insisting to my boyfriend I was okay and nobody needed to take care of me. 

Sure, maybe I did it. I took care of myself all day. But my dog didn't get as much care as he deserved, and I almost passed out while microwaving a bowl of soup. Just because I could take care of myself didn't mean it was my best option, was it?

But that's my catchphrase lately, isn't it? No matter how bad I feel or how hurt I am or wherever my mood takes me, I saw "I'll be fine because I have to be". 

And I get why I like that sentiment. It was born out of me needing to save myself when no one else would.  It's meant to reflect how I can survive anything, even if I'm the only one left to take care of me. When I felt like I was drowning and everyone was leaving me, being able to say that with confidence became really powerful to me. 

But it's cut me off from people, too, hasn't it? I can't admit anymore when I'm not okay. Or, I can, but never that anyone can do anything to help me, because I assume they can't. Because I'm not open and honest and vulnerable with anyone anymore, excluding my boyfriend. And he still has to crack me like an egg to get at what's wrong sometimes. 

I'm not struggling with friendship because I somehow repel people. It's because I don't let people in. Just because I tell them the fact sheet of my life in a very monotone manner doesn't mean any of it was really open or vulnerable. Because the things people are more uncomfortable with, their identities and their romantic relationships, I'm perfectly settled with. My insecurities are with my work and my writing and my relationships with other people. And I refuse to talk about it, not until it's spilling over so much that I have to say something. 

Other than my boyfriend, no one knows I basically have no close friends and it makes me more miserable than I like to admit. And no one except him knows that my passion for writing terrifies me, because I'm convinced I'm secretly, horribly mediocre and I don't know what to do with that because it's the thing I care about the most in this world, the thing that's kept me alive in my darkest moments. That I write so much because it keeps me breathing, not because I know I'm any good. I'm still convinced I could even be secretly horrible. 

Crepes, I need to bring this shit up with my therapist next week. Yikes. 

Well, I guess we are having a breakthrough kind of day, aren't we?

Time to now do shit about it. Time to learn to be vulnerable.