There’s far too much to take in here.
The number of things that constantly happen around me is astounding. I came around to this realization the other day as I briefly surfaced from my own inner turmoil. I am currently on an organic farm, learning about permaculture on the west coast of the US. Yes, this is where my travels have led me since 2015. It’s been a whirlwind, but I can’t call it uninteresting.
But there are other people on this farm learning and volunteering alongside me. One person, in particular, I have noticed, has been perturbed for the past few days. He won’t go into detail (and honestly, who can blame him?), but he said that as we sat around a campfire that after deliberation with his sweety (person that you’re kinda sorta involved with but due to location can’t be in the same space) compared to his mother was a stark contrast in matter of opinions concerning his kept issue. I don’t know why this was a particularly outstanding moment to me, but it was as if someone had just slapped me awake out of some dream. Yes, the past month I have already been here have been marked with tribulation: it hasn’t been a happy time. I’m around new people that I don’t know, and they are all younger than me except the instructor. I am in no shape to be an example to these people. I am not someone you look up to for any purpose or reason. I have ill fitting coping mechanisms that have led me in so many directions. I am — maybe have been? — a people pleaser my entire life and I say now I can’t go on that default programming. We have to have new programming that doesn’t involve people pleasing, pushing ourselves aside — way aside — in order to accommodate people just to get them to like us. It’s a ridiculous notion that may have led to our survival in the past, but it’s no longer necessary. But what are we if we can’t get people to like us? What are we without that external validation??
Validation comes from within, that Buddhist voice says.
Well no shit, Sherlock. But where can we find this “validation” within us? We went to Ecuador for two weeks to do Ayahuasca and San Pedro in the Amazonian Jungle to try to find that! And what did we learn from that? Well, that everything my brother said or did to me was not my fault. I shouldn’t have to punish myself for every single little thing that happens to me when I screw up. We don’t need the abuser’s voice within this head telling us how every one of our moves is stupid or that was wrong, or you should have thought of that more. Maybe then you wouldn’t be such a goddamn failure.
Some people are graced with the critical voice. The critical voice pops up when you’re getting down on yourself sometimes. It says horrible things that a human shouldn’t utter unless cut off in traffic. It yells. It screams sometimes.
Mine has a goddamn megaphone and is constantly yelling at me. All. The. Time.
I take a step wrong and it goes off. It’s a minefield in my mind where I don’t know where the next one is, when I’ll step on it — yes, a matter of when not if. Sometimes, it’s quiet for distinct seconds where it lies waiting like a predator.
This, in turn, contributes to this people pleasing aspect of me. If I can just make this person happy, then I’ll prove to myself that I am not just a screw up, that I can do something right, and you’re wrong about me. That’s how I’ve lived my life since… since I can remember. I’ve shaped myself into someone I thought people would like. I studied and watched, and I became manic pixie dream… girl.
Ugh, just mentioning that.
But it worked. It worked to a point where in some circles I was… well liked. People wanted to be around me and weren’t disgusted by my own entitled strange personality. People wanted to be around me! For once, I felt like… somebody. Somebody wanted and important… someone that mattered.
But then I went off to South America. I guess a part of me wanted to be rid of this phony personality and the only way to do that was to remove myself from the picture completely. After this stage presence for more than seven, maybe eight years had taken a toll on me. I could not tell you what it was I represented if I tried without the masks on. Each of them had their own personal set of values that depended on the crowd. But what was I hiding? That was my main question. Who was hiding deep within me? Who did I throw into a chest and forget about in hopes of “greener pastures”?
Ayahuasca awakened something within me that I’m still trying to figure out. She’s calling me back, but I can’t do that right now. Or anytime soon. Trust me, unless a way magically manifests into my universe, that’s not happening. But I will be going to Alaska. I’m so close, I might as well after my time here.
Either way, what this all adds up to is that my slate has been wiped clean and I don’t know what to do about it. I keep wanting to revert to my default, but… it’s like the files have been corrupted. They won’t run like they used to. Some don’t even work anymore. I can still access some programs when I need to, but some of them… they won’t activate. They won’t run. But then how do I even access basic functions, like society? Like trying to be personable? Relatable? Those are important. I shouldn’t have defragged the entire hard drive like I did, but all this wasn’t going to delete itself. And I got a little crazy and heavy handed. Now all I have are jokes that really don’t make sense and sometimes I go a little too far in trying to explain myself, reveal too much when that much should not be revealed. I used to have locks and management. I had fail safes and ways to ensure…. But now that’s all gone. It’s all gone. Now I’m trying to rewrite the entire system knowing only little bits of code to just have a half functioning system.
I also thought about my latest ex yesterday. I had a long car ride ahead of me and it dawned on me that I will very likely never see him again. I’m not going back to TX for at least fifteen years…. and I don’t know how many of my friends will survive that test of time. I don’t know how much more isolated I’m going to be in the future. I joke around that I’m not gonna have a life when I get to my next gig in FL, but that’s actually pretty serious. I only have 4 friends still left in FL, and they’re all spread out all over the state. Plus they’re all married.
Me? Hah. I don’t think people like me will have that kind of fortune. I’ve now tried this relationship thing officially twice and quite frankly, I’m not sure someone like me will find that. I’m just gonna have to deal with that. Much like my gender ID. Am I happy about it? No. But I have to live with it. I continually want to be someone else. I don’t want to be me…. But for the love of God and all that is holy, what the actual f*ck that even means? Why do I find myself so detestable? What is so detestable about me? That I lied to survive? That I catered to the whims of every person I met just to get a twinge of validation to avoid suicide? That there was some reason to live…?
I still STILL struggle with this. STILL. I realize that the person inside that tells me that I am worthy of such hatred is the remnant of emotional abuse that I went through (VERIFIED. Brother exploded at his wife the same way he would do to me the last time I was at my parents’. Almost got into a fight). I have to keep telling myself that’s the virus. We have been living with it for so long, it’s like trying to untangle a tomato vine that went unattended for months. This must be done gently, but I keep breaking vines and branches. I just feel like I’m making this worse because now the plant is going to suffer more. It’s not gaining anything by my screwing around with it and breaking it. But maybe that’s just to see what will heal how. Maybe it’s supposed to break just to get in the right growth pattern. Tomato plants can heal…. It’s gonna hurt in the meantime to get myself sorted out, but I’ll get there.
I can only hope I can reprogram and become the gardener in this massive jungle of misshapen plants.
God, I got a lot of work still.