Maple Syrup.

Tuesday 17th of December 2019

I worry too much about what other people think of me. The end.

Okay, let’s dive deeper, or divert to a different subject all together. Honestly, I have no idea which direction I’m going to go in. Let’s see.

I have such a fear of being abandoned, left behind that I want to do everything I can to make someone want to stay in my life. I make myself into something that needs that person, because, if I need them, and they know that, they can’t possibly leave. And, if they do, well, I just didn’t do it right, I failed. I didn’t reduce myself enough, or I just wasn’t worth it.

I see my abandonment issues, I do, I see them clouding everything. I thought I was fine, I thought I had dealt with them, processed my dad walking out on us three times, my family shunning me like we’re in prehistoric times. I didn’t realise it was my mother’s abandonment that still an issue. She’s never even really abandoned me, well, not really.

During a meditation I was asked if when my mum went into hospital to have my sister, leaving me with my grandparents, if I feared she wouldn’t come back. My answer was no, to which I was met with the response, “Really? Are you sure?”

Then the disembodied space voice asked: “Did you feel betrayed, abandoned by her?” My answer was again, “No.” And I could hear the audible disbelief in the silence.

I didn’t want to look there, but it’s funny the places you’re forced to look.

My grandparents weren’t talking to us, we weren’t allowed in their home anymore. My dad had driven away in his red car. I don’t remember him saying goodbye, just watching him drive away from the upstairs window and my mum telling me he was gone now.

Then she went into hospital for two weeks, and with nowhere else to go, my grandparents reluctantly took me in. They made sure to tell me that. There was no visiting, no phone calls, not that I remember, but there must have been, right? Then again, they still weren’t speaking to her, so it does make a twisted sense. But there must have been more? There must have been more than just hours of not speaking to anyone? More than just days of not being hugged or even touched? Sounds a lot like my life now, actually.

When my sister was younger, I had this mini phobia of her. I didn’t like it when she hugged me or touched me. I wasn’t used to it I suppose. In a way, I’m still not. I believe in personal space, I flinch when people come to close. My whole life suddenly makes a lot more sense.

My mum’s not big on physical contact either, she gets that from her mum, who abandoned her when she was a toddler. My mum was raised by a neighbour and then later, nuns. She only formed a relationship with her mother later in life, and even then, it was rocky. Being touched deprived seems generational. How did we end up here?

I read about a study that said humans need at leas ten hugs a day for optimal mental and physical health. If not hugs, then some sort of physical contact with another living being. I can truly go six days without some form of physical contact, honestly, I counted. No wonder I live in my head so much, I’m never alone or touched deprived there. But what I can imagine isn’t real, and that’s the point, isn’t it?

Two minutes to midnight.

One minute.

Midnight.

I don’t want to go to sleep. Let’s hang out instead.

I’m not where I want to be. I’m not where I want to be. Where do I want to be? Not here. Not real. I want to be imaginary. Imaginary things don’t get hurt. I’ll be pulled out at playtime and bored times and need someone to talk to times, I’ll be like you. I’ll be like all the players in my head, just part of a game, not real, not here. I’ll be somewhere safe, contained and perfect. Somewhere with rules and structures and the ability to forget and erase. Undo. Undo. Undo. Rewrite. Rewrite. Rewrite. I’ll be a video game avatar, that’s what I’ll be.