“Life is only a dream"

“My heart is warm with the friends I make,
And better friends I'll not be knowing,
Yet there isn't a train I wouldn't take,
No matter where it's going.” 
― Edna St. Vincent Millay

I have been giving my life a lot of thought recently, in between watching old episodes of Doctor Who and tweeting Q & A. I already knew that I was deeply unhappy - hence the diagnosis of depression, but certain things; social interactions and the foundation of my relationships, disturbed me. Thinking about the behaviours of my friends and family, in regards to me, uncovered a lot of problems. Most of which are entirely my own fault.

One major problem for myself and perhaps other people like me, is that the people I know always assume they have to SAY something. No, false. They don't need to say anything, they only need to be there, that's enough. I know you're there, I know how you feel about me sitting by myself, unresponsive - don't vocalise it. I know. I'm aware. I feel the same way, just stay with me.

Another problem is my dislike of being touched. I have an aversion to being touched by strangers. I can't stand being shoved in a queue or being sweated on in a mosh pit. It drives me crazy. Everyone who knows me, knows this. Unfortunately, this aversion was taken by family and friends to the extreme. Most of them believe that I don't like to be touched, at all, ever. I've even been introduced to friends of theirs with the line, 'this is Georgia, she doesn't like to be touched.' This was a joke of course, but I didn't find it amusing, I found it embarrassing. What kind of human being detests physical contact? We are tactile creatures, we like to touch and to feel things, including other people. Which is why, in the darker and most recent moments of my life, a hand to hold or another person to touch - to know I could be felt too, would have been a joy, a blessing even. It wasn't to be though, and probably never will be. 'The myth of the untouchable', it's ironic, because people touch me deeply with their words and actions. It's not me who is untouchable, it's everyone else I know, that I can't reach or feel anymore. I don't know when someone last held my hand or let me hold theirs.

If you can't physically reach out to someone, if you can't express with words how you feel, you're doomed to be alone. I mostly find myself alone, which as an introverted person, isn't all too bad. However, there is a fine line between being alone and being lonely. If you spend all day, every day, by yourself, just thinking, nothing good can come of it. Believe me. You try and find ways to entertain yourself, to fill the chasm of silence and the distinct lack of other people. Sometimes it's harmless, other times - much less so. No matter what I do, whatever distraction I try, like Twitter for example, I always end up alone with my thoughts. They're not happy ones. 

Recently, I've damned the person who said 'time heals all wounds.' That's rubbish. Maybe for those who allow a wound to scab over and then to heal, but not for those who continuously pick at it, so it eventually scars. I pick. I pick at everything until thoughts are indiscernable tiny pieces, which don't make any rational sense. Whenever I try and express those jumbled thoughts, that's when people tend to leave me. Friends have absolutely no obligation to understand my craziness, or to talk me out of a depressed state. They don't have to be there holding me hand or drying me tears, they have a life too. 

When I used to have a lot more friends than I do now, I couldn't bear to see them leave me or to be unresponsive when I thought I was telling them something important. They thought, and rightly so, that it was the ramblings of a mad woman, that I just needed to 'think more positively'. I used to think, 'it'll be okay, I'll be happier, just please God don't leave me, not now. Please not now. I can't do anything, I'm empty, I'm sad, but I still love you - just don't leave me. Please - stay with me. Just STAY with me.' I didn't understand, it used to make me cry more after they had left. To know someone knew you were beyond despair and to see them still leave - it was heartbreaking. I've never felt so unloved and insignificant in my whole life. It wasn't until a friend later told me that she couldn't bear to see me in tears and so ill, that I realised I was being selfish, that I was making her suffer too. She understood, but she couldn't take that pain away.

I stopped silently pleading for people to stay with me. I stopped trying to connect with people. For other friends who are depressed, for anyone who suffers generally, I would say that's the worst thing to do - to be isolated is death. It's maddening even. I just can't rationalise asking someone to stay, if it only causes them unnecessary pain. I'd rather bear it alone.

From past experiences, from this year alone, I know that probably means a shorter life expectancy for me. I've had so many close calls. In some cases, on the brink of life and death, I did think 'this was a mistake, let me live please and I'll try harder. I'll be better, I'll be perfect, I'll be anything people want me to be, just let me live.' Most cases weren't like that though, usually I was happy to end such a sad affair, the thought that I couldn't hurt anyone or disappoint my friends and family, eased me of all my pain and distress. Coming to again, I realised I had done the very thing I thought I was sparing people from. I caused others anguish, when I never wanted to make them unhappy. I just didn't see it as being selfish, what's one less burden in the world? One less person for them to have to deal with? But having friends like mine, who never spare me from their opinions and tirades (which I love) was a bit of a reality check, for a while.

In those moments of limbo, I thought of family and one specific friend mostly, who never leaves me. That caused my heart to swell with love and gratitude, but also with shame. I didn't have to be in such a position. I didn't have to harm and punish myself, because I'm just too sensitive to bear the pain of other's disappointment in me. I didn't have to do this - but I couldn't stand to keep on breathing without living, without love and acceptance. There's only a single person in the world who has ever said that they didn't want me to change and when they did, I cried. Probably not the typical response from others, but it was because that one statement was both touching and damning. As one of my favourite poets Edna St. Vincent Millay wrote, “What should I be, but just what I am?” This is what I am. How can anyone possibly love or even, like this?

Unfortunately for me, depression seems to have become such an intrinsic part of my personality - I can't divorce myself from it. It's as if we temporarily separate, but eventually work out our differences and make up again. We're a bitter couple. Depression is the most seductive and hurtful mistress any person could have, a selfish lover, who is entirely possessive of your mind. No matter how hard I try and stay positive, I'm always dragged back into darkness. I'm an adult now, it's not like when I was a child, running over to my Dad because I hurt myself falling over. He's not going to sweep me off my feet, kiss it better and say 'Georgia, you don't need a band-aid, you just need to air it, it won't hurt soon.' There's not really anything anyone could do, even if they wanted to. I'm not sure what I'm even supposed to be doing. This just doesn't feel like living, I don't feel alive. It's like Bill Hicks said, "we are the imagination of ourselves" and my imagination is telling me that I'm close to drowning, simply treading water - until I physically can't anymore. 

I know I felt like this before, but now I'm feeling it even more.

"Writing is a form of therapy; sometimes I wonder how all those who do not write, compose or paint can manage to escape the madness, melancholia, the panic and fear which is inherent in a human situation."
Graham Greene

Writing for me has always been more of an exercise to unscramble my thoughts, to create something composed yet raw and realistic. I have absolutely no time to read things which are unmoving or so lost in fantasy that characters or people (as they should be) are only caricatures of human beings. There's a reason I'm drawn to autobiographies or writers who tend to use biographical details for their plots and characters, it's simply because it's easier to connect with something or someone which is possible and sound. As many of my philosophy lecturers told me in my first year of University, our minds cannot fully comprehend the impossible or the infinite, so literature/blogs/text in general has to be realistic enough for me to form some kind of connection with it. Good on all those people who love the imagined worlds and people of Sci-fi novels (I've read a few) or abstract works, they're not for me. I was never very good at creative writing, probably because of my preferences, so you will never see a blog post from me which is very far from the truth of the human condition. This is extremely autobiographical, especially this post.

The reason I'm telling you all of this (whoever you are), is because I'm going to do some soul sharing with you. It's a lot easier for me to share things anonymously this way, rather than express my thoughts or feelings vocally or visually, although I haven't tried the latter. I'm sure it would go incredibly wrong, I'm not very creative. 

I have so much to share and get off my chest, but I'm not going to overindulge and send you poor people crazy with my maddening thoughts. There is one aspect of myself I will share though, only because I don't have a choice anymore, it's hounding me daily and clawing at the inner parts of my soul. I'm not quite sure how to express any of this and I have tried so many times to tell different people, but I choke and nothing rational ever passes from my lips. I'll give it a go here though and if this doesn't work, or doesn't reflect any form of rational thought, than I will just have to carry it with me and hope it doesn't drive me completely insane.

I have failed. I've said that before I believe, but this is quite different. This isn't me failing to diet and be like those girls from the magazines, it's not me failing an exam and not being as intelligent as I had hoped to be, it's me fundamentally failing myself and the people I love more than I can express here. I'm sure we all can understand the love you feel for a parent or a sibling, that familial love is what I'm talking about. The people I failed, apart from myself, are my mother and father. That's hard to admit, but this is easier than saying it aloud. Saying anything aloud or face to face with another person makes thoughts or feelings much more concrete and real, perhaps that's why I never could say any of this. 

The one goal I set for myself, that never changed with my hairstyles, moods, age or "fashion sense," was to "fix" my parents. That sounds quite harsh, they're not terrible people that need to be cured of anything, but they're broken. It's not because they separated when I was young, they're far too alike to be committed to one another and are actually far better off apart. That insight did become more apparent as I got older though. My parents are full of problems, which I won't divulge here because that's their life and not mine to discuss, but their problems naturally affect those who love them. I love them, despite any issues they have, so it has always been my goal or the job I set for myself to fix them. The only thing I ever aimed to do was to make them happy. I've done that in some small ways I think. I did okay at school, I didn't rebel like my older sister, I didn't cause any problems for them, I even went to University, all of those things made them happy. That's not the sort of happiness I aimed for though, I wanted to make them genuinely happy not just with me, but with life in general. I wanted to take their problems away and cure them of any unhappiness, but obviously I couldn't do that. I couldn't make them physically better, I couldn't make them mentally better because I can't change the past they're both so unhappy with and being an adult, I have to deal with my own life and can't face all their problems for them. I wish I could though, every part of me wishes I could make them so much happier than they are. Instead, I'm reminded of this failure every time one of them feels down and likes to express how much of a fuck up their life is, how much better things would be had they done this or that, had they not had children or met each other. That's hard to cope with, especially after 15 years of it. Listening to your mother or father, when they're at their lowest, express just how unhappy they are and how much they regret, that's hard to ignore or forget about. Surely any child who loved their parents as much as I do would want to take that sort of regret and pain away? It's hard from me to accept I can't do anything about that now, that I can only comfort them in the present, even if that doesn't seem to help at all. 

To realise that you have failed at something you made your lifelong goal is heart-breaking, crushing and has without a doubt brought me the worst despair I have ever felt in my life. Perhaps even worse is knowing (I wish I didn't) that I truly can't change a thing for either of them, that the goal I set myself is impossible and I was always bound to fail. That's probably due to my stubbornness, I always felt obliged to prove people wrong, to aim for impossible things. Unfortunately that sort of attitude has only ever brought me pain and wasn't worth the effort. Not many things are worth much effort these days.

I just needed to get that one problem out of my head, to ease the pain a tad. I know I probably won't find any answers to my problems, I've set myself up to fail at so many things. I'm sorry this has been yet another post of me rambling my way through illogical depressing thoughts and feelings. I couldn't think of any other way though and I definitely couldn't actually say any of this aloud. It was hard enough typing this, to form thoughts and feelings into written words I can see on my screen, it of course brought me to tears (not a hard feat). 

We'll settle for this being a "secret," confined to this bizarre blog world, which is only a reflection of our digital personas, not quite reality yet. Reality bites. 

Feelings: Making the most beautiful people.

"The most beautiful people we have known are those who have known defeat, known suffering, known struggle, known loss, and have found their way out of the depths. These persons have an appreciation, a sensitivity, and an understanding of life that fills them with compassion, gentleness, and a deep loving concern. Beautiful people do not just happen."

- Elisabeth Kübler-Ross

Following Kübler-Ross' quotation on the feelings of people, or rather the impact of feelings on people, I have to say that I have always connected with people who have not had the easiest of lives. You will notice that these people have a sort of resolve and resilience that is completely admirable, and they do make the greatest friends. More than likely, this is due to the fact that having survived so much and dealt with so much drama in their own lives, they seem to become the more compassionate members of our society. The people who understand when to speak and when to listen, or when to reach out with a kind act to brighten someone else's day. What isn't admirable about that kind of human spirit? Although I am somewhat of a cynic myself, I could never think unkindly about these sorts of beautiful people.

The reason I mention these sorts of people is because very recently in my life, feelings have become such a major issue and my friends (these wonderful people) have helped guide me through it as best as they could. Feelings in general are definitely one of the most important parts of being human (as Dumbledore explained to Harry), but when feelings aren't "good" or "healthy," they are completely destructive. Feelings do not just appear, at least not to me, they build and are shaped by external influences and they can go either way. They can create something amazing like loving relationships or they can destroy everything that was once "good." As I've always considered myself much more of a thinking person, which is true when I'm being objective or in the position to do so, when it comes to my own life I am definitely much more of a feeler or an empath (not to be mistaken with Phoebe from Charmed).* 

Being more empathetic towards people can never be admonished. It is certainly a trait I wish more people in this world possessed, but there is a limit to this "ability" of mine. I think Andrew Boyd put it best when he wrote:

“Compassion hurts. When you feel connected to everything, you also feel responsible for everything. And you cannot turn away. Your destiny is bound with the destinies of others. You must either learn to carry the Universe or be crushed by it. You must grow strong enough to love the world, yet empty enough to sit down at the same table with its worst horrors.” 

Unfortunately for me, I haven't yet conquered the skills required to disconnect myself from other people's lives. In particular I seem to have a problem with getting caught up in the feelings of others and disregarding my own at the same time. This is a big problem for me, a huge problem in fact. The most alarming aspect of this particular problem is taking on other people's thoughts and feelings, while your own aren't stable in the slightest. I've done this, very recently with a friend of mine. To make matters worse, neither of us possessed stable thoughts or feelings, both sets were tumultuous and overwhelming to the point where I began having panic attacks. I woke up from nightmares and panicked, not only was I drowning in my sleep, now I was drowning under the weight of more than just my own feelings. I couldn't bear it. So you see, there comes a point when human emotion can be so hurtful and feeling responsible for other people's lives and feelings can just create the worst sort of despair imaginable, especially when you realise you cannot possibly fix everything. Trying to fix other people and make them stronger is an impossible task if your own feelings and sense of responsibility are built upon shaky foundations.

Everyone knows what it is like to feel stressed (not teenage girls though), to panic, to be nervous or sad when another friend is sad. No one ever wants a friend to feel alone, to be overwhelmed by despair and pain and most people will adopt or attempt to share some of those feelings. However, most people know about the importance of boundaries. We'll call them boundaries because that is what I think they are (think of a wall), even though I've never had a friend say to me "okay George, you're overstepping my emotional boundaries here." They exist because, let's face it, most of us have enough to be going on with and it isn't healthy to become depressed just because your friend is. You can't help people by mimicking them. Once again, another failing of mine. I have a remarkable tendency to absorb another person's feelings at times, close friends or family I mean. I don't actually wander the streets and say "hey buddy, tell me about it, let's have a moment here." That would be absurd and well, despite what I'm telling you in this blog entry, I do have a cap on my levels of compassion and empathy, I only have enough reserves for those I love dearly.

The reason I'm writing all of this, about feelings, beautiful people, the importance of boundaries, is mostly for my own benefit I'll admit. It's more to remind myself of these things which I know, but which I often forget to put into practice. I'm depressed, I get overwhelmed and anxious easily, I'm not vulnerable but I'm not a rock like Paul Simon or Art Garfunkel** either. My own feelings or perhaps even my whole existence, exists in my mind as an outlier in the data. The way I am, I would never want a friend of mine to be. The things I do, like taking responsibility for other people's lives or to take their feelings to spare them pain, I think that is a very humane response, but not a healthy one. I wouldn't recommend doing it. 

People experience different feelings and responses for a reason and I suppose my reason for wanting to spare certain people pain is because I love them more than words can express. I've been thinking about boundaries more and more though and I think that most of our lives are dealing with feelings and experiencing pain, sadness and heartbreak, because these things are what make beautiful people and encourage compassion. Our feelings, our experiences, it builds our foundations and makes us stronger people in the grand scheme of things. 

As for me though, my moonlighting days as a Charmed One have been crippling that progress for some people and I'm sorry, that wasn't my intention. The only thing I created was more pain for myself, I caused severe frustration in quite a number of people and I realised the dreadful truth that I am actually only human, not a Charmed One (although they were technically human). I can't do everything for people (even though I want to). 

I think I would have preferred the power of telekinesis, but only if I could move thoughts or feelings out of my mind to somewhere else entirely. Apart from telekinesis, empathy isn't too bad though, once you learn how to control it. It's just a damn shame it takes so much work, but that's humanity for you, we always have to be feeling something. Nothing is ever easy.  

Notes: 

* Phoebe (Alyssa Milano, the babe) actually did go crazy from empathy when she received that power in Charmed, but she learnt how to control it. Prue (Shannen Doherty, power of telekinesis) did as well in the first series (before she was killed off).  

** I Am A Rock by Simon & Garfunkel, appreciate it.