Hard Life Lessons

I've had to learn over the years that my triggers are my responsibility. Although I can do my best to communicate in my relationships when conflicts arise, I've come to realize most people didn't have a parent screaming at them when anything uncomfortable came up. Even though everyone has a different love language so to speak (i.e ways they feel most respected, honored, cared for) there's a common thread on what love looks like among all. Love is kind, patient, gentle...love is a mother caring for her child even when she felt like no one loved her. Love is sometimes forgiving, sometimes boundaries, sometimes no contact. Love is accepting all of who I am.

I am my mother's daughter; a mix of two worlds, two cultures, two races. I was the first granddaughter, the first black child in a historically German family. I am her mother's granddaughter, shoved off to the side and left to daydream soaking in Illinois heat. I took on the faces they desired- gentle, quiet, and submissive because mine was too loud, annoying, or simply too much. I copied from those I received love from so perhaps I could be just as loved. But every time I mimicked someone else, I felt the stabbing criticism, "Don't do that!" 

Who was I? Who am I? Am I not just all of them?

I catch myself being heated with impatience like my mother when the AC doesn't kick in fast enough. Years of therapy and healthy communities have taught me to breathe, focus on what I can control, and to be ok with the tension knowing it won't last forever. I catch myself breaking down in tears whenever a friend slams the door because Mom had always assumed I had an attitude when I did. This caused her to scream at me until I did develop an attitude. I need to remember my friends didn't have a snarling, intoxicated mother barking back, "Stop your crying now or I'll give you something to cry about." Instead, I know I deserve and give myself the love I need in those tender moments.

A hug, a gentle whisper, a warm caress was something I rarely remember receiving. Sometimes this led to my love being unreadable; I tucked away my great affections because I was afraid to scare my partners away.

It's my turn to be my own parent; yet, with me leaving my "Heavenly Father" (i.e Christian cult) I'm wanting to live my "rebellious teenage years." In so many ways I'm still a child, but this body has aged and the aches aren't ceasing. It's time to be my own caretaker, I have to make the money to buy the medication to be mentally well to maintain this misery. The Mother of the family I lived with after I was kicked out of my home was right, I do have to learn to not lean on people.

I'm so many people at different ages, perhaps that's the reason I just drift off and stair into space.

Disassociating most likely occured when the domestic violence at home began when I was in first grade. I had to walk on eggshells around my Mother so much so that I couldn't always see how this led to laying down the red carpet for everyone else. Like the eager gratitude I longed to give Christ for saving me, I'd fall into love bombing (something certainly not helped from the evangelical youth group culture). My attachments were more than either of us (me, my crush, and everyone I told about my crush) could handle. A parasitic kind of love, disguised like a puppy. 

I wanted someone to tell me who I was, tell me what to do, where to go, when and why. 

The worst relationships tended to be ones that shined upon the naturalistic human in me and not the religious fascade. I'm still just a mammal learning to do life, love, and logic along with every one else. Blunt individuals similar to my Mother let me know when I hurt them because they knew talking things out could lead to a healthier relationship. The difference now was I actually had the other party willing to listen and not say " I get the final word not you." My hurts and hangups slithered through my obsessive relationships like a poison. "Am I good enough? Am I smart enough? Am I pretty enough?" These were internal inquiries I had to establish before understanding that being told "you hurt me" does not equal "you need to die."

In addition this multifaceted being that I am, I've also learned more about what it means to be on the spectrum, which I feel myself and some family members are. This corresponds to how we've miss read each other and shamed each other's stimming. My Mom's combition of (possible) BPD, OCD, and being on the spectrum is a triple threat for the need to control everything. As I've become more intune with my body, I've learned a couple of my stims are repeating audio (i.e songs) and shaking my legs- both of which severely annoyed Mom. After years of therapy and reading more about BPD (Borderline Personality Disorder) I've learned to relinquish that need for control and impress. The only person I can control and impress is myself. Despite being a mosaic of those around me, I'm the sole perpetrator. I need to take accountability to continue relationships; yet, fear loves to have me hide from responsibility and shame smiles when I become stuck in the same toxic patterns. There is no magic prayer that can guide my path, no Lord or monsters to appease. I have to do this for me; I have to continue on for me.

Self reflection reminds me that this too-loving myself and others, is a balance. 

I don't have to do anything; I get to. It's not about winning, but the self-journey. The greatest gift to give oneself is confidence. I'm not in a race with anyone and timelines for healing are like looping rollercoasters. 

I know how awful life can be, this is why I look upon all living things with such awe. All I have is here and now; how will I live it? With no regrets.

Freeport, Illinois

Figuring myself out miles away, I'll never forget where I have been

Restructing these thought patterns engraved in my brain 

Everyone has shaped me in someway

Every move, a chapter to sell

Problems to conquer, no longer to carry

Opportunities to sail, no longer to fear

Relaying on this strength that's gotten me through the years

Turning the past into a bridge for the future

,

I remember your corn fields, hay bails, and gravel roads

Loving your rolling hills and fields, upon fields

Lementing through a cemetery with thick morning fog and sparling dew

I can still hear my grandmother's tree frogs, owls, and crickets

Nothing like seeing those big, puffy clouds from a child's perspective

Or eating freshly chucked corn from a hard days work

I still hear the glass shadder in another abandoned factory

Somethings I really do miss, those damn mosquitos obviously not being it

The Thing About Limerence

*Trigger Warner: self harm

For every person I loved (romantically), it was rarely found to be recipicated. 

From Tyler in elementary, to Cody in High School, my intense crushes were more than a compulsion-they were my reason to live. Whether it was getting through a school or work day, seeing that one person for just a minute revived me. Meticulously I'd recollect images of their divine presence; the way their hair framed their chiseled faces or toes interlocked sent immediate shockwaves of serotonin and oxytocin. I took note of it all. 

I humorously dubbed myself Helga from Hey, Arnold! knowing my compulsions revealed a darker side of me. I projected bitterness. Audibly showing disgust to disguise the immense damage inside. If I looked forward to seeing "my love" I didn't have to think about home...or how I wanted to end it all.  

It wasn't until my 30's that I learned about limerence. It was the perfect definition to my years of profound aches. Self harm became my solution when I'd see the "love of my life" with someone else- harm ranging from cutting, to fat phobia. It was never because I felt I belonged to my crush, despite my longing to be. I rarely felt good enough to. 

Home life had already given birth to animosity for life. Not knowing my biological father and a neglectful mother, exacerbated the belief that no one truly wanted me. Core beliefs of feeling inadequate to hold another's attention long enough to validate my self-worth. This translated to subconsciously falling for those "out of reach"- ranging from the popular drummer boy at youth group to animated characters like The Once-ler. My heart screamed the words my mind couldn't quite put a finger on. 

Who I was to grab their attention? To make them smile? To make them stay?

This past year I've emerged from another limerence chamber that had my soul in hibernation for years. 

It's not enough for me to compliment your frame, I want to breath you in. 

Limerence had me going from running to the window to watch the person drive away, to having full blown panic attack when they made new friends. I bawled for hours when a therapist said: "Remember when they leave, they're not leaving you."

It wasn't enough for me to be in your presence, I wanted to engulf you. 

Anxiety was nothing new. I remember nights feeling like a cinder block was heaped upon my chest due to the monstrous loneliness. Years of therapy, education, and different friend groups have helped me better understand myself... To take pride in my power and focus on moment right in front of me (i.e: grounding exercises).

It wasn't until after graduating seminary did I learn about the World Health Organization and about the world's first Sex Institute destroyed by the Nazis. The human sexual experience is fascinating, but our puritan culture has white-washed as well. Insights from Rob Bell, Brené Brown, and Emily Nagoski helped me during my transition out of black & white thinking encased by my evangelical theology. 

My limerence got worse because I was in the dark about many things...1) that I had BPD (Borderline Personality Disorder) 2) being on the autism spectrum can bring communication difficulties -(i.e being bold and direct challenged my weak demeanor) 3) obsessive compulsions can be overcome through different strategies such urg surfing and replacement therapy; it's a lie to believe I'll always be this way.

Religion taught me punishing myself was a sign that I truly loved Jesus. The evangelical culture harps upon God being so intensely in love with us that only an ungrateful, evil person would put anything higher than him. I constantly prayed for forgiveness my "lust."

Can you help who you're attracted to? You can't pray gay away. 

Homosexuality is as natural as a rainbow. Despite being indoctrinated, I had therapists outside of the church willing to help me learn that I was completely normal. Purity culture had me believing waiting to kiss until my wedding day would be the most romantic and honorable thing. Biology teaches us humans are no better or worse than other animals; who we are are our bodies- there's nothing to be ashamed of. Sexuality is a spectrum and there are different types of attractions.

The woman I last fell in love with taught me that- how nakedness doesn't equal sexuality. You'd think this would be easy enough to know, but I was the type of Christian who didn't even watch music videos because they were too revealing. 

I never thought I say fuck purity culture. I wore a ring to resemble my dedication to Jesus; I broke up with people who weren't godly marriage material, I taught virginity could be restored in the mind...

Limerence feasted upon the pile of religious garage inside of me to hatch further insecurities. Around my "favorite person" I was too scared to even look them in the eyes for long or to have them brush against me. Yet, all I dreamed about was being their oxygen. 

My Christian conditioning of self-sacrifice bit me in the ass, as night after night I'd give into what this person wanted and not what I did. (It's important to note here, I never dated this person and we've had many conversations about my experiences.) What they watched, I watched. What they believe, I believed. What they questioned, I questioned. I'm not sure if the saying: "you hate them cuz you either want to be them or fuck em." Is true or not, but I wanted both.

How could I go from studdering at even thinking about telling my crush how beautiful they were to wanting to hang myself from my ceiling fan or gushing when they spent hours ranting at me, to wanting a car to hit me? 

Limerence.

It's a scary deal. 

You're not alone.