Clouds that drift through..

This is probably a repetitious entry, one that I’ve worded in other ways in the past. I was trying to explain something to DarkRen earlier, and since I don’t know that it came out well, will try to be clearer now.

A few weeks ago I wrote when I was in what I can only term the grip of deep depression and worry. I hate it, loathe it; it bothers me immensely, to be so weak that it takes control of all I am. I sensed beforehand, that something was coming, later likening it to PMS, because it’s the only thing I could truly compare it to.

So when yesterday, I felt the gloom approach, I cautiously hoped that it might only be a minor visitation, so to speak. And anticipating it, the knowledge that there was something coming, to prepare, helped it not be so tormenting, not as intrusive.

I have always been more of a quiet person, though when I was young I craved someone, anyone to speak to. I was chastised by teachers for talking too much in class, or by a classmate who disliked it and punished me physically for it later, rather rudely. My parents’ response to my being pushed in rock/sand gravel, to where both knees were bloody and I was sent home.. “You must have done something to deserve it”. That stated while applying peroxide and bandages. It made me less inclined to confide in my parents from that point onward, I was only in third grade at the time.

I was the one kid every school has, the one beaten up or picked on. Handmade clothes, hand-me-downs, I definitely didn’t fit in. On St. Patrick’s day, my first visit would be to the kindergarten teacher to ask for her to make me a shamrock I could pin to my dress, since I had no green clothing, but it didn’t keep from the rest of mockery, nor the fact that when class started, I was left in the bathroom, after being beaten up, the shamrock torn and left on the floor.

This type of thing continued, in varying degrees, throughout high school. Even those who were the ‘outcasts’ did not truly include me in their group, which looking back is not such a bad thing, for it prepared me for where I am now.

So I ask myself now, did I really do something to deserve it? Partially, perhaps, for even when I was home I was alone most often. I can see there is a slight case of paranoia, expecting the worst, and yes, it happens often when you do. The rare times I would hope for the best, I found that I had hoped in the wrong direction, I had not discerned that my hopes were towards those who would trample on my heart and soul.

So now, I do not confide in many, not family, nor acquaintances, there are very few that I will speak of what is in my heart. And honestly, can anyone blame others for not wishing to deal with hearing regurgitated angst? That’s not what the majority of people wish to hear, especially those who are more positive in outlook, or whose lives are happy.

DarkRen listens to me every day, he is extraordinarily patient, and I am constantly amazed, no matter how much I might blather on, he still wishes me to confide, regardless of how bleak I might be. I was trying to explain to him, tonight, how his patience and acceptance of me helps, because it lets me not feel alone, lets me feel safe.

I feel that because of that, that calm acceptance, I can let down the guards I built around me, the walls that I dare not let doors be built into. For the first time I am seeing when these times might impact me, I can recognize that something is bothering me, and while I cannot pinpoint what causes it, what prompts it or how to fight it, I am seeing them and can try to arm myself to combat it once it hits.

M was patient with me as well, she would not try to shame me or use ‘tough love’ to try to badger me into feeling or seeing things differently. Because of this, I could be myself, silly or outrageous, in a way I can be with few others, and indeed few have ever seen me that way.

Those weeks ago when I feared, I thought that perhaps it would be better if I were to avoid him, avoid everyone. That time was so intensely bleak, that I felt that I was diseased and that others, who I cared of, might be tainted.

I suppose I say all this to note to myself that I can learn, even though it’s but a small step, it is -still- a step. Understanding helps, recognizing beforehand helps, facing it instead of letting it carry me into depths of despair, as I was prone to in the past.

When I wrote of my father the other day, I thought how brave he was, that he could live his life without the past shadowing him too much. Though he stuttered, it did not show in other ways, his secret safe until he died. He did not shame his father by speaking of the past, and though it was a heavy burden, he did not seem weak to me at all. I don’t know what I would have done had I known, what I could have done, except to let him know how much I loved him, and I just pray he knew.