hi.
It’s been a long time. Probably because I have spent a great deal of that time avoiding having feelings. All that depression, anxiety, ADHD, codependency, speculation about cyclothymia or even bipolar? Turns out it's just complex PTSD. C-PTSD is a nice term for "really fucked up childhood." The only shocker here is that it took me 34 years to figure it out.
Well... yes and no. One of the hallmarks of C-PTSD is the way it changes your brain into a wily fox that can dodge in and out of your consciousness, and loves to masquerade as, well... all those things I listed above that mental health care providers have suggested might be a problem. Turns out it can even cause autoimmune problems. (Perhaps I'll elaborate when there's an appropriate moment, but I was just diagnosed with Inflammatory Bowel Disease, wherein the immune system attacks your large intestine. Fun!)
Anyway, I've known C-PTSD is a thing for me since my dear sister found Surviving to Thriving a few years ago. Even though I read that and The Body Keeps the Score*, I never really fully grasped just how big a hold this thing has on me, and kind of figured that my journey with my therapist would just work things out. I guess I just expected that, now that I knew what the problem was, it would just go away.
HAHAHAHAHAHA
A few months ago, Laura, my sister, brought her 12 year old daughter to visit me here. They noted how I was constantly on the move, trying to always do more more more, to squeeze more into their visit and to show my niece every cool thing there was to see here. In fact, since Laura's cancer diagnosis (more on that later too), she can't do as much as she used to, and even though she was doing a bit better than she had been, my drive to be DOING so much became a point of contention between us. A couple months later she told me that my need to be constantly on the move reads to her as inauthentic or desperate, like I can't just sit with myself.
This is something I've been ruminating on for a couple of months now. It's been floating in the back of my mind while I watched countless episodes of Drag Race and did months of crossword puzzles, avoiding a confrontation with...well..with anything. Meanwhile, I signed up to make Laura's youngest daughter a Halloween costume well beyond the scope of my sewing capabilities, my old clunky SUV died in Pennsylvania, I've been dating again. I've been barely working and thus freaking out about finances constantly, in spite of which I planned a birthday party and made a costume for myself for that, plus I have spent an inordinate amount of time online shopping for....what? I have no idea. I've bought things, but I really could not tell you I needed any of them. I just wanted to spend the time on... something. Anything. Anything but having to confront what's wrong.
Enter Chris. Like I said, I've been dating again, prompted by knowing I had time off of work after finishing the World's Hardest Pilot. Who wants to sit around and deal with themselves when they're not working? Not me! So I got back on the apps and started making a few dates. Then there was Chris--a guy I knew. A really hot guy I knew way back when I was a PA. God knows when I met him or when the last time I'd seen him was, I just knew him. I think maybe I met him in 2010? 2011? Anyway, whenever that was, he immediately registered my crush and I used to get in trouble with the ADs for flirting and chatting with him. I think I used to run away from him a lot because I liked him so much and it scared me.
Anyway, present day! Let's focus on the present. I saw Chris on the app, and I clicked like, because I liked him. It was very pleasing when I saw that he had already clicked on me! Then he wrote me a message. I could kind of hardly believe that. Then he asked me to hang out. I was certain this was not a date, that it was just about catching up. It was a date. He likes me! Turns out Chris likes me, and I like him. Or he liked me... I kind of am not sure if he still does. More on that later. But anyway, liking Chris and trying to date him has backed me into a corner of wondering who the fuck I am and why the fuck he might ever want to be with me. I couldn't figure it out until he told me he believes in aliens.
I was a little floored by that. He has exhibited much in the way of being susceptible to conspiracy theories, and I had been wary of this, unsure what my feelings were. But when he said he believed in aliens, it was too much confrontation for my unsure-of-its-feelings brain and I shut it down with a lie, paraphrased: "I've never really thought about that. It just isn't something I have wanted to think about."
Right after I said it, I knew I had lied. I let it go, believing it was a white lie and didn't really matter. But it stuck with me. I could have just told him the truth: I needed more time to find my feelings about it. My sister used to watch things with aliens that scared me when I was little and so I have enjoyed believing that science shows us that sentient beings from outside Earth are not likely to exist. These are innocuous truths; why hadn't I just said them instead?
That same evening I lied some more, although perhaps more to myself. I asked him what he wanted us to be, something amorphous like that. I told myself I was asking the right question, but I was too scared to ask if he felt like we saw enough of each other or too much, if he wanted us to be exclusive or preferred to keep things open and casual. I botched it though. When I clarified I just said I wanted to know what he wants. It blew up in my face, he asked if I was seeing other people. I told him I was, which I had told him up front... and he was incredulous. He obviously had not expected that. I was a little drunk and kind of hoping it would make him laugh told him about a grip I'd gone on a couple coffee dates with.
And then I wondered why his communication changed with me. Jesus fucking christ.
The lie stuck with me, and slowly it has become apparent to me that I have been lying constantly for the last 35 years. At 7, not knowing how to deal with my dad's suicide (not the worst part), I ate and got obese and my fatness gave me some social anxiety (not the worst part). When I engaged with the kids on my block, they teased me mercilessly (not the worst part). When I went to my mom for help, she continually told me to ignore them or avoid them and left it at that - and THAT is the worst part. That part taught me that I could not count on her for help. My sister didn't help either; in fact, she teased me about my weight too. That taught me I could not count on her for help. I was alone, and the only way to soothe myself was to hide in my books and write my stories (and eat, because food will fix it! And steal, because stuff will fix it!). And if I wanted to do that all the time, I had to get my mom and my sister and my teachers and everyone else out of my way. I had to control the narrative. I had to lie. Constantly.
And I never learned to stop. I've dealt with negative consequences over and over and over, but never anything so bad as to make me stop. In fact, some of the lighter consequences just made me better at lying, or at least better at convincing myself of things that are not true. Thinking back now, I think I can see where others have seen it in me and decided to disengage with me or stop trusting me...friends, lovers, coworkers, bosses, even Laura.
For 35 years of my life I have been faking that I'm perfect - and obviously nobody's perfect and obviously my constant inability to be authentic has led to some REALLY imperfect shit (being late because I am dishonest with myself about the amount of time I need to get things done, not following through on things because I convinced myself I'd have more time or energy, failing to ask for help when I was overwhelmed, taking jobs I was not particularly qualified for, getting drunk and saying things--true or false--that conflict with lies I've already told, etc., etc...) Anyway, I have been doing my best to control the narrative of my life so that I look as perfectly imperfect as possible, even down to having a separate blog from this blog back in the day because I was afraid that people who knew about this blog would see certain things that I felt I wanted to write about but was afraid to show them!
I have lied to my therapist, I have lied to my family, I have lied to my friends and employers and definitely to my lovers, and basically anybody that I care about. In fact, the more I care about someone's opinion, the more I lie to them to try to make myself look better to them. No wonder I keep getting my heart broken! No wonder I have had friction and frustration from Aunt Jude, whose judgement I inexplicably fear above all others! No wonder I barely know what my feelings are or who I am and can't identify what value I bring to this world--I have been lying to myself over and over and over!
I am so, so ashamed of myself. I am ashamed that I have been dishonest with so many people. But I am also ashamed that this fucked up bullshit has robbed years away from a life I wish I could have lived honestly.
That all ends now. No more lying. No more pretending to be anything other than what I am. I am shooting for radical honesty--Laura made me laugh when she said that if I do that, my tendency to lie will probably help me fall somewhere in the middle. But I really hope not. I really really want to be honest. With you, with myself, with anyone who will listen. I'm not perfect, and I'm exhausted of trying to pretend that I ever could be. I just want to be me.
The little girl I used to be believed it when bullies told her she was disgusting and unlovable, and she kept lying because she desperately wanted to hide those qualities from other people. But now that I'm a big girl I know that the right thing to do was to tell that little girl that those bullies were wrong, and to show the bullies that they were wrong by being the best person she could be. If I'm going to be my best, I have to let others help me. I have to let people in on who I really am, flaws and all, instead of just trying to control the narrative.
So. Radical Honesty is the new directive. Let's see where it gets us.
*Since we're being radically honest, I got through about a third of The Body Keeps the Score and was no longer able to pay attention because... Attention is hard for trauma brain that wants to hide from its trauma. Especially attention to subject matter that forces one to see the trauma brain for what it is. I listened to Surviving to Thriving on audiobook, which, since I'm constantly listening to podcasts, means I can tell you some of the highlights but certainly didn't deeply retain a lot of its contents. I just learned that the trauma brain doesn't learn from listening too well, something that I suspect may be covered in the book.
