It is fairly common knowledge among the people that know me that I had a difficult childhood, which forced me to grow up rather quickly and as a result my heart had hardened. I have come to call this hardening ‘the sippy cup theory’.
Picture your trust as a fragile crystal vase, and every time you hand it over to someone and they drop it and smash it to a million little pieces. It gets harder and harder to hand it over to the next person.
For some reason I have the exact opposite problem; I give away my heart and my trust more and more freely the more times it is broken, because I know if they drop it that I will be okay. It is like handing over a plastic sippy cup that I half expect them to drop anyway.
Last night was a turning point in terms of my grief and coming to terms with everything that has happened in the last few weeks. I was increasingly uncomfortable being alone with my thoughts and I realized the full extend that I had been going to in order to distract myself, with alcohol and drugs, and with people. I find it incredibly difficult to talk about myself, preferring to focus instead on what is going on with everyone else. I was so focused on being grateful and happy that I had forgotten how to sit with my shadows. So I found a quiet place, and like an old friend, I welcomed them in to see what they had to say. Instantly the waves of anxiety rolled over me, I was doubled over in pain and my guts contorted. My breaths were ragged and it felt like my lungs were on fire. For hours I sat like this, my forehead pressed into the cool sand. I finally accepted the fact that she wasn’t coming back, but I still couldn’t cry.
I know I was looking for a distraction when I first met my new love. Kitten had just left me and I was having trouble being alone. He was kind, caring, funny, creative and he had no expectations of me, which was perfect. The last thing that I was expecting was to connect with him so quickly and so completely, to find within that connection exactly what I had been missing. A kindred soul, he sets my very bones on fire, inspires the neurotic, not just understands but encourages my hedonic self. I can open my mind to him without my usual filter and not feel judged, which is a wonderful feeling.
Despite all of this I still find myself holding back; out of guilt, out of fear, I don’t know. I need to play to completely surrender. I have held myself together for so long that I have become heavy. I need to feel naked, violently vulnerable, something that has nothing to do with skin. I want him to see me at my most tender, flesh laid bare and split open. I need to bleed and cry and fuck and shake, and then be held as I pull myself back together.
I haven’t been able to cry. I used to love so openly and honestly, and now I’m left holding the damn sippy cup.