You got me back to me

📘 The Spaces in Between

Dragon, 20th August Year 3

I don't think people change, they just rediscover strength to find their way back to themselves.

I've never told anyone, but you weren’t just my childhood friend. You, the beautiful boy whom I knew from the beginning of time, were in fact, my first love. I was so embarrassed and ashamed of my feelings that I’ve never acknowledged them, not even to myself. I tried to hide it, to ignore it, to push it out of my head, to not look at you, not even when your eyes were piercing straight into my soul; a soul I didn’t know I had.

Back then, and up until very recently, I’ve felt so unloved, unaccepted, and alienated from everyone. No matter how hard I tried to make people like me, to be like them, to give in to their wants, I still couldn't truly connect with anyone. I couldn't quite find the feeling of stillness and peace around another human being, that I had imagined would come with being loved and cherished. I’ve always felt there was something unlikeable and unlovable about me, but I’ve never figured out what it was.

My life has been a paradox. I received praise for embracing my true self and inspiring others to think out of the box and follow their hearts. Simultaneously, I faced punishment and ridicule for the same beliefs, labeled as immature and detached from reality. As a result, I think I have become a self-hating self-lover, living as a shell, chasing what one day I aspire to become, but never really having the confidence to take any steps to actually be that person.

It might not seem like a big deal, but this kind of profound duality, this constant seesaw of contrasting reactions to my instincts and beliefs can be very confusing for a child.

On one hand, I would receive praise and encouragement for confidently being myself, speaking my mind, and embracing my uniqueness with unwavering determination. My overflowing enthusiasm and wholehearted belief that anything is truly possible if pursued passionately became a source of inspiration for those around me. From a very young age, I advocated that we should all trust our gut, and follow our heart to find out what we truly want in this life, no matter the circumstances or challenges. In this light, I've been a source of hope, lifting people's spirits and reminding them who they truly are.

Yet, at the same time, when things would come too close to home and I would challenge or inspire on matters considered “as they are” I would be punished and mocked. I would be alienated for the exact same things, the exact same way of thinking and seeing the world. The same people who would make me feel safe to express myself would turn against me for the simple fact that I was always chasing happiness and fulfillment no matter the stakes, in a culture led by compromise and an unfounded sense of duty.

On this side of the coin, I was portrayed as naïve and immature, living in an idealistic bubble detached from the harsh realities of life. People would patronizingly tell me that, only when I faced real adversity would I truly understand what real life is like and fall in line with the rest of the world. It was as though my optimism was seen as a weakness I had to grow out of.

As I grew older, people became less accepting of me. By the time I reached my late teens, I felt alone in a superior world. It was confusing because I didn’t know when it was appropriate to be myself and when it wasn’t. All the calculations and things I would try kept failing so I ended up coasting.

And so, the second paradox was born.

Half of me would portray a loud and confident personality, so no one could see the hurt and shame I harbored, whilst on the inside, I would constantly try and find ways to be the opposite of what I naturally am, in the hope that if I become “normal” I wouldn’t be alone for the rest of my life.

The other half of me needed to have a backup plan. It struck me that, to fully be myself and find acceptance, I had to immerse myself in an environment that resonated with my inner fire, so I could figure out what it truly was I was made for. I yearned to be part of a world where my need to be free, and to live as I please was not frowned upon, it was the norm. In that world I would be invisible and free, I could connect and live around "my people". It was a fire I didn’t have the tools to explore, so, at a young age I erratically decided that the environment was all about creativity, and the world was the movies, but that’s a confession for another day. I later found out that this wasn’t the solution, but a coping mechanism. We’ll get there.

As I entered my late 20s and early 30s, I felt like I was living in a parallel world to everyone else. I felt like an alien on Earth, who had been raised by humans and taught their ways. I was skilled at acting like a human and blended in seamlessly, but no one knew the depth of my being and how different I was at the core. I still knew it, but ignored it and called it protection, dedicating all my energy to appearing "normal". Even when I found people I felt closer to and more relaxed around, I still felt like I was of a different breed.

All of these experiences created a version of me that has suppressed my fire and caused me to torture myself daily. This version convinced me for 30 years that I didn’t know how to be a person, and how to connect with others. It made me believe that I am not someone who can be seen, loved, and cherished in my natural state, and if by some miracle, it happens that someone would want to be around me full-time, I should be grateful and make the necessary changes to not make them regret their choices.

And that’s how I ended up being an incognito people pleaser for most of my life.

At the same time, I have been waiting for this imaginary, ideal life to begin, hoping that I will finally find "my people". Ironically, I haven't taken any action to find them, and instead, for decades, I have gone through a cycle of "why the hell not, I will start now” and self-loathing because “it’s already too late”.

Healthy stuff.

I was numb and alone.

In my mid-30s the big tornado hit.

In the chaos that was my childhood and adolescence, when everything around me was dark and grey, you stood out as bright blue. My feelings for you were both calm and intense, they were so deeply rooted inside me, that it felt like I had been born with them. They started when I started. It was the first time I’ve experienced what it feels like to have someone else's presence affect my body and mind, in an intense, positive way.

It terrified me at every age. As I grew older, your presence felt more real to me. I became increasingly aware and present when you were around, something I desperately needed to avoid at all costs. I never considered for a moment that you felt the same. I was too busy freaking out about how my body was reacting to your presence.

I’ve learned at home that it's not safe to express my emotions or true feelings, as I'd often be mocked or dismissed unless, of course, I held some special pass, in which case I'd be punished for failing to show empathy when my mother told me how my being hurt her. And so, I’ve learned two valuable life lessons: that I shouldn't show emotions and that, when they're displayed to me, I don't know how to empathize, and people end up hurt.

And yet, my stomach would act as a magnet, pulling me toward you. It was almost impossible to look away from your calm face, which is why I would leave my body and let my mouth talk loudly, attempting to distract from the stillness.

I had to push you down and forget, there was no other safe option.

Almost two decades apart I have mastered the art of forgetting. Your whole existence was erased from my being. It would only pop up, along with the ceremonial heart racing and stomach cramp, on the rare occasion my parents would mention your name. As luck would have it, I only had to go through the motions twice. The first time was when they mentioned you came back safely. At the casual mention of your name, a storm started brewing, rising from my toes and heading toward my chest, so I picked a fight and hung up the phone.

The second time was to tell me about your wedding. The year you got married was the year I got engaged. What a joyful time for both of us!

When I heard about your wedding a sharp feeling of sadness penetrated my body. My mind was laughing at how ridiculous I was feeling, I had no idea what was happening, but my body, my body felt a real loss. Half of my soul sank into darkness. I was lucky though, at almost 30, I was a fucking pro, so the feeling didn’t last longer than a second. Still, it hit me like a hammer to the chest, crushing it and taking the air out of my lungs. And at that time, I didn’t know why, but I wasn’t gonna poke that bear.

We’ve both left the country around the same time. Me to study, you to fight in the desert.

Years later, after my own wedding, the runaway daughter returned to the scene of the crime and did the proper thing, throwing a big party to introduce her new husband to friends and family I hadn't seen for almost two decades. You were on the list, of course, so I reached out.

And here I am, in the middle of the night, minutes after we ended our chat, unable to get over the unbelievable phenomenon of how our lives have been mirroring for the past two decades. I am

witnessing in slow motion you coming back into my life. It didn’t take more than a minute for my body to feel all the feels, head to toe.

We talked like no time had passed. We talked about our families, our jobs, our lives. I sensed something was not quite right with you but I wasn’t going to pry after 20 years of silence. Even through typing, the words had weight. They felt whispered in my ears not read from the screen. That night, it hit me, I don’t know a life without your impact on my mind and body. You are part of the code that makes me. Time is irrelevant.

You were the last piece of my journey back to me.

After my recent anxiety attack and disconnection from myself, my journey to understand what exactly was happening to me was taken up a nudge. I had been flirting with it for a couple of years before, dipping my toes into my childhood and having stern talks with myself into being better and more loving to my partner.

This time was different. This time the stakes were serious, they were real. This time I didn’t feel at home in my own head. It felt like I was at the bottom of the ocean. I couldn’t see anything around me, and I was pulled from all directions. Scary things would unpredictably grab me out of nowhere, sinking me deeper into darkness.

After a few scary thoughts and some time, I slowly started swimming upward, becoming more curious and less scared. Whenever I thought I had reached the surface, I realized there was a bit more to go. The longer I did it, the lighter I felt. I would swim slowly and sometimes go backward, but I was sure I have done a good job at detangling myself from all the shit at the bottom of the ocean that was keeping me down there. I was absolutely sure there was nothing dragging me down until I turned my head to the left and saw my foot padlocked to a heavy, iron ball.

You made me realize there has never been anything wrong with me.

The heavy iron ball was my deeply rooted belief that, at the tinniest, farthest core of my being, I am truly not good. I am too different, too disruptive, too odd, too annoying to present myself in my natural state. I knew this to be true because my entire life, I felt like no one truly liked me and wanted to be around me.

But now, because of you, I can finally teach myself how to be vulnerable, more open, more free, and whole at heart for my husband. Because of you, I feel I can finally connect with him and the people around me because there has never been anything wrong with me. Because of you I can embrace this wild, raw, and honestly weird AF creative side, adapt it, and create all these pieces of work I feel I have in me.

And yes, maybe we shouldn’t need another person's validation or act of love to make us feel worthy. Yet, some wounds are so deep and personal, that no matter how aware you are of them, no matter how much progress you make, there is always that tiny, little bit of doubt in your mind that you are wrong, that your being is too different, and you are doomed to end up alone and disconnected. You still strive to be as authentic as you can, but it’s not always easy to fully beat that tiny voice doubting yourself.

“Your place has been and will forever be in my heart.”

Your words pierced through my soul, the one I now know I have. I still felt the urge to dismiss them, but I fought it this time.

When something so magical happens, it doesn't actually come as a surprise. You knew it deep down. Your body knew, your mind knew, and something just clicked inside you. If someone can love me, want my energy, and truly appreciate me in my rawest, unfiltered state, even when the entire world shut me out during a time when I couldn't connect with anyone, then I can return to being fully myself, rediscovering who I am, no matter what form it takes. Because I now believe that yes, I might be rare or odd, but I am a likable, lovable person. If being fully myself means I might lose some of the relationships or friendships I currently have, I know that I will eventually find my people. It would be heartbreaking to lose anything or anyone in my life, but it would be unsurvivable to lose myself.

This is who I am, this is how I think and see the world, and this is how I process information. I find meaning, depth, and reason in anything and I am finally ok with it.

I am complex, I am circumstantial, I am deep, and I need context to describe myself.