This post is going to sound retarded. But anyway…
I attract emotionally unavailable men. Or maybe they start out like normal people but they become emotionally unavailable over time. It’s one of those things where if it’s coming up with a ton of people that you date, the problem isn’t them, but it’s you.
And every time I get into another relationship with someone that ends up being emotionally unavailable, I die a little more inside.
And it just happened again, and at first I was mad. I was mad at this pattern. “I’m so over this.” I’d been saying to myself. “Why on earth does this keep happening to me?”
And I figured out today that I’m sad. I’m really, really sad. There’s so much sad that it’s not even sadness anymore, it’s become devastating grief. And I carry around this sadness with me every day, all the time, constantly, but I’m so used to it, and I’ve hidden it away so well, that I forgot I had any sadness at all. I convinced myself that I was a really happy person and I wasn’t sad at all. Just happy. Happy Happy Happy. That’s what people see when they see me or hear from me. Happy Happy Happy. And I really am a lot of the time this positive person and I try to be an uplifter whenever I can. And the vast majority of the time, I manage to take this enormous sadness, and hide it away in a little lockbox somewhere where it doesn’t get in my way. Because it’s horribly inconvenient. And uncomfortable. Who wants to be sad, anyway? Not me. I’d rather be happy. So… surprise… I was emotionally unavailable, too, in some ways.
But now and then I’d get this lump in my throat and I wouldn’t know what it was or why it was there. And then I’d make a joke or laugh or deflect attention from me just long enough to push it down or move it somewhere else so I could pretend it wasn’t ever there in the first place, because it’s really uncomfortable.
Because if I let that lump come all the way out, I might start to cry, in front of other people, which would be horrifying in and of itself, but worse, if I start, I might not stop, which would be even worse, to be That Girl who is a sobbing pathetic mess of snot in the corner who can’t pull herself together. Because then I won’t be That Girl who can get through Anything, and if I can’t pull it together, then who am I then? And then maybe she’s not as strong as she thought she was, and maybe I have to stop being proud of how strong I am which is a core part of my self-identity?
So instead of just being sad, and dealing with it, like a normal healthy person would, I gained 100 pounds, and somehow sabotaged every romantic relationship I’ve ever had.
The sadness is so big that the first few times I meditated all I did was cry, without any thoughts or reason, and the first time I got acupuncture, all I did was cry too, and I could not have told you why. Unprompted tears with no accompanying thoughts are strange. I thought it was so weird that the acupuncturist was telling me about grief afterwards. “After all, no one died… there’s nothing to be sad about…he’s wrong, I’m not grieving anything, he’s got me all wrong…” But there was. I was just in a huge barrel of denial.
I am still not entirely sure why I am so sad. Something to do with a lifetime of reaching out and asking for love, and not getting it back from the people I want it from the most. The emotionally unavailable ones. Which as you can imagine, has become a nasty downward spiral. You ask, you don’t receive, you’re sad about it, but now you need it more, you ask again, you don’t receive it again, you’re even more sad, and… now it’s become this enormous grief that I don’t even know what to do with, and so I either just don’t ask, figuring it’s pointless… or maybe I try to ask, but it comes out all wrong somehow, or I pick people incapable in the first place.
And you probably think I’m crying writing this post, but I’m not. Nope. I have a lump in my throat, but nope, I look stoic from the outside. I don’t know what to do with this. And I’m scared to go down this rabbit hole. And I know how exhausting it’s going to be when I finally break. I don’t want to break and I don’t want to see myself as broken. Even though that’s stupid too, to think that dealing with grief would make me broken.
I keep trying to side step this grief, and have for years, but I’m not getting anywhere with that. I guess I can’t go over, under, around it, but I have to go through. Someday. Soon. But not now, because I don’t know how to do that… so I’ll just hit “publish” with a lump in my throat and then go make tea and pretend everything is okay.