Insecurities

I got to thinking, after something that Jason said to me last night.  We were talking about the ways in which I express myself.  Through dress, the way I talk, etc.  And when I asked him how he thought I did, he said writing.  My backlog of memories, all written down, all the journals, all the novels, everything.  That I’ve written about them almost as a way to convince myself that I’m here, that those events that have shaped my life and person actually did happen.

He’s right.  And he was also right on something else.  I can only write prolifically when I’m at my most insecure.  How else do you explain me being able to churn out almost four novels in the two years when I was in emotional turmoil over things concerning Dan ,Melanie, Dolly, and everyone else I thought was leaving me behind?  And then not being able to type out a suitable sentence now, after things have been settled?  I haven’t written on my novel in I don’t even know how long.

I’m insecure about how much I mean to people.  What people think of what I write.  How much I can trust people.  Why I put such a high amount of trust in some when I know I’ve been betrayed before.  I’m insecure about finding someone to love me.  I’m afraid that I’ll never truly love someone for the rest of my life.  I’m scared of never truly succeeding.  I find myself thriving on the notes that I get in here, because it encourages me to write on.  That I do exist.

That I do exist . . .

For so long, I didn’t.  For so long, I was ignored.  For so long, I didn’t mean anything to anyone.  Not that I could see.  But I do matter.  I know I do.

“Why?”

Because I’m worthwhile.

“What makes you worthwhile?”

Because I care.

“What do you care about?”

The people around me.  My friends.

“How do you know they’re you’re friends?”

Because . . .

“Because??”

Because they’ve proven to be.  Because even if we don’t see one another, I can still talk to them over IM.  I still offer my ear, they offer theirs.  Besides, why aren’t I worthwhile?

“You know why you aren’t.  Now, tell me why you are.”

I’m trustworthy.  I’ve changed a lot.  Grown a lot.  My experiences have taught me things about myself and about other people.  I’m not so wrapped up in myself that I don’t notice other people’s pain, joy, or whatever else.

“That’s it?  That’s all you can say?  No wonder you can’t tell yourself why you made such a difference in Jason’s life.”

Because I don’t know!

“Yes, you do.”

No, I don’t!  I don’t know what it was about myself that made him trust me, made him want to care about me back then!

“You’re the one with the memory.  You figure it out.”

::Sighs::  I’ve tried . . .

“Try harder.”

What am I supposed to say???  I was a wacky, talkative Beatle fan back then who was curious about everything, but had a deeper mind than, apparently most people, thought.  But I don’t know how I gained the trust of someone like him.  I can’t figure him out.  Every time I think I have all the pieces, he throws some more out to me.

“But who says that you figuring him out is the key?”

What?

“But who says–”

I heard you!  I didn’t really try to figure him out back then.  I was just me.  He was just him.  He just wanted a friend who wouldn’t drift away.  I just wanted a friend who wouldn’t drift away.  He said he saw simialrities between us.  Were these the similarities he was talking about?  That he saw then that I just wanted a friend?  And since he wanted the same thing . . .

“You were the one he chose to care about.”

Or, realized that he did, as far as he said last night.

“Yes, he did say that it was more a realization than an actual choice, didn’t he?  But then, do you belive that?”

I’m not gonna get away with saying’ I don’t know,’ am I?

“Nope.”

I didn’t think so.  I’m not sure.  I mean, on one hand, he does seem to be the one person I know who is capable of just not caring.  Yet, the more I see of him, the less I believe that.  He cares.  And caring isn’t something that anyone can just turn on and off.

“Isn’t it?”

No.  It’s not.  No one was made without emotions, though people may try to seem like they were.  Everyone has them, everyone feels things.  Emotions can be deadened, or heightened, or just lie somewhere in the middle, but they aren’t just not there.

“I think you may have gotten somewhere.”

–Notes–

Hey there 🙂 … I had asked for some advice for a freind of mine who is very addicted to smoking. She’s tried the patch, but it gives her weird exotic dreams and she wan’t try it anymore. Also.. I’ve been having female problems and I have to have an endometrial biopsy (sp?) done. I’ve had problems with prolonged periods and now I’ve found out that I have a cyst in my uterus. 🙁 [nobodyspecial]