I am an introvert, of that I am absolutely certain.
Solitude is absolutely necessary for my survival. Due to a combination of my introversion and magnetic empathy, sometimes I just need total physical separation from all living humans beings just to keep my sanity.
The thing is while I have always been an introvert, I haven’t always been shy. I didn’t always suffer from the desire to be invisible. That part of my personality was acquired.
I have been questioning what it is I’m doing here on a blog for the last couple of days.
What started as an outlet for my (usually) ever changing moods due to my rapid cycling bipolar disorder has become a mishmash of me talking about my life, my pain and my writing.
Am I allowed to have a blog that doesn’t have a one track mind?
I just read a blog post by Alex Press (I’d reblog it but I’m not sure the proper etiquette and lack the know how at the moment) so I’ll just put the link here.
It was written by a woman who is sick, like me, with migraines and and brain damage and heart issues (oh my), like me. She also writes despite these things, like me.
She’s an inspiration and I love following her blog.
So thinking about what it is I’m here to do, what it is I’m hear to say, it came to me again.
I’m here to explain myself, to myself and to others who might be interested in understanding or learning about what it’s like to live in my shoes.
I’m here to give my life structure and form, instead of living everyday without some sort of record of the life I’m living.
To put myself, my life, my mind, and my atheist stand in for a soul into words. To sum up my life. So I can give it further value than it currently has.
Explaining is not complaining.
Sometimes when the pain is too much, when the act of writing about myself seems too presumptuous and narcissistic, I wonder to myself, am I just here to complain about this life that I have?
Today, I think not. I am still explaining to the world who I am. I can write about my pain without it being a whimper.
And if on occasion, a whimper is all I have, I accept that as a part of who I am.
I feel my creativity flow like a sponge caught in the ebb and flow of the ocean tide.
One day I am awash with ideas and visions bubbling inside me like ocean foam lapping on the beach. When I’ve reached my capacity, I overflow and can no longer contain the torrent of my imagination and I focus my efforts to create something new and beautiful. I am swept away by the tug of the words, and every creative drop is purged from me.
I am left stranded and empty on the dry sand of the beach, scorched to a husk by the beating sun, wordless and visionless. Unable to think or create, I am empty and in need of the flood of inspiration that moves me to write and the desperation to have my voice heard. I suck in the tide, every bit of stimulation, absorbing every spark of ingenuity I can find to fuel the creativity that comes once again.
And suddenly it’s there, the wave of brilliance and exuberance that compels me to disgorge my thoughts, my voice, and my art into the world.
I am still bothered by the incident I posted about yesterday.
One of the biggest reasons I avoid confrontation is because it haunts me for so long. There’s that phrase thin skinned. I am the epitome of thin skinned but not in the way it’s usually meant. I can take criticism and insults and have been through a surprising amount of shit in my life and I can handle it all.
The reason I don’t handle confrontation and the backdraft of confrontation is because I’m too nice. Not on purpose. I’m just built this way.
I’m quick to get over my anger. I’m quick to forgive others. I can’t hold grudges. (except for extreme and rare circumstances) .
So what I’m left with after a confrontation like I had the other day is forgiveness and understanding for the other person. And shame, frustration, embarrassment and derision for myself.
I could have done better. I could have avoided the argument. I didn’t have to escalate or react and having done so was childish and immature. The other persons behavior is justifiable based on any number of excuses that my empathetic nature can come up with. My behavior, because I have a front row view and absolute knowledge of my thoughts and actions, is inexcusable.
I can forgive everyone but myself.
I have been angry all day today.
I can’t say I didn’t have some reason to wake up angry. Waking up moist from your son sleeping with you in a very wet diaper because your husband didn’t change him before bed, would probably make anyone a bit testy. I mean it’s pretty gross and really uncomfortable. But it usually doesn’t bother me for very long. So that’s not why.
I have never been a very angry person. I’m more, temperamentally, what you’d call chill, or easy going. I went 28 years without ever saying the words “I am mad”. I will admit, for a very long time I was non-confrontational but a big part of the reason why was because I don’t get mad very often.
(WARNING- 35 years of pent up petty bitterness and resentment ahead)
I imagine that for most people the date of their birth is not such a loaded topic as it is for me. But then again, I don’t really care right now, what normal is, because it’s not my experience and I can’t speak to it.
Fuck, this is already starting to sound cranky.
See, the thing is, I’ve had a hate/hate relationship with my birthday for most of my life.
My birthday is April 20 and that is also the birth date of Adolph Hitler.