Vulnerable, with Needs

This blog is not a good place for me to be vulnerable, to express my needs.

This blog is a good place for me to explore my own thoughts and feelings, as entwined as they are, so I can explore my own interior by building symbolic representations of what I think and feel, there for me to see and build on.  By putting myself out there in this way, I build understanding, although, it is true, mostly understanding of myself by myself, which is still a valuable goal.   Refined understanding can lead to enlightenment, if you let it.     Still, if someone else gets a bit of insight about their own challenges from engaging my words, well, that’s good too.

The problem is that I am heading towards a wall.  I am waking up from my former life and assessing the damage.  I know I can’t just do what I did in the past, that I have to be new or be dead.

And with my keen grasp of the finite, that seems like a challenging choice.  After all, the detritus of my parents lives and deaths is still all around me, and I am still profoundly alone.

There is no doubt that my creator, my mother-in-the-sky, has given me signs of new possibility.  She has indicated that I might still be of service, might still find delight, might still be valued, might still learn, might still get what I need.

But the damage and loss are real and deeply affecting.  I wake up from sweet dreams about my past that are now nightmares because they just illuminate what is lost in my own battle to live without getting free.

I watch young people engage energetically on a wide swath of body centred subjects, from sex to hairstyles, and I know that I was never able to connect on that level and never will be in the future.  I was never, ever, ever that young, even when I was really immature.

But still, when the deeper topics come up, then I can engage with authority and insight, really digging down and finding truth.

That truth, though, is cold comfort on long rainy nights when dreams remind you of loss, when the past keeps coming to cut you, and you feel bereft and lonely.

This blog is not a good place for me to be vulnerable, to express my needs.

I can tell you I need the mothering I was denied, the frivolity I missed, the sensuality that escaped me, the caring that people couldn’t offer, the understanding that never was mine, the human contact that lets us be safe and silly, lets us flow and frolic, lets us shed our defences and just be fuzzy.

But telling you doesn’t change the situation one whit.

I thank God for what I do have.  The flowers TBB sent look as good or better today as when I found the FTD box on the doorstep a week ago.  I have ginger snaps and pepperoni, I am warm and dry.

But this blog is not a good place for me to be vulnerable, to express my needs.

And sometimes, you need the creature connection that makes hope a warm thing.

Sometimes.