…and it’s time that I write some of my own.
This month I’ve finished a few stories. Since buying GTA V in 2014, I’ve actually made it through the storyline and finished the game.
As of last night, I binge-watched several hours of Westworld and finished the series. It has to be, hands-down the best series I’ve ever watched, if not really heavy. I think that it’s time that I write some of my own narratives, and endings to come to peace.
Some time ago I wrote how that there is always a deeper story, some lack of perception when viewing our realities, especially other’s realities. Things are never as they seem and I really have to question if resentment is a useful emotion to carry.
I’ll never understand why our species’ default mode is apprehension. Maybe it has to do with survival, that our lizard mind hasn’t caught up with modern life.
Instead, I’ll attempt to write new narratives and finally put these stories to rest.
This is the story of someone whom I was with last year.
I once dated someone whom I didn’t spend much time with. This person never really seemed to let go and let themselves fall. I jumped into this relationship head first and I never really assessed if we spoke each other’s love languages. By the time I realized that we weren’t a good fit, too much was invested and I wasn’t strong enough to leave.
This person suffered from depression and often found it difficult to get up in the morning. They spent so much time in their bedroom and I never really noticed that the vast majority of the time they spent outside of their prison was with me.
This person turned around
Like me, they likely didn’t come from a loving and stable family. Real self-care and acceptance were never learned as a child, and such bled into their adult life. I was never able to heal them, or convince themselves of their own self-worth – nor was it ever my place to do so as there’s nothing I could have done.
I never really appreciated the things that they did manage doing, that they fought their depression for in efforts to express love, but I wasn’t the right person to feel loved by their efforts because of who I am as a person.
This story ends in tragedy as I wasn’t taking care of myself, by setting boundaries for myself. There is never such a thing as a “right person, wrong time”, I tried forcing something that wasn’t there — because I was scared of being alone.
I am grateful for this experience as it led to me discovering genuine self-love and acceptance, that I’m okay being alone, and how to set boundaries for myself. These were the true keys to resolving my long-time afflictions of anxiety and agoraphobia.
This is the story of someone whom I was with for five years.
This person and their family were kind, often so kind that it was alien. Of course, they had their own issues, but at the end of the day, they maintained their family connection and support.
Our relationship began around the time of two major tragedies in my life, one was the murder of a family member – while in town for another family member’s funeral. This person, whom I barely known, expressed love and care not only to me
Our relationship was intense, but enjoyable for both of us more often than not, for the first three years, we became best friends, had inside jokes, and always seemed to make each other laugh.
The last two years were riddled with conflict, growth, and misunderstanding. Much of this was fueled by my inner-child surfacing and working on myself in therapy. Since the age of 16, to about a year ago, I had intense anxiety and agoraphobia.
The treatment of such was very painful. I had to relive and come to peace with my childhood. I was erratic, projected upon my partner, and their own issues with depression compounded the
There came a point in which to continue the relationship, a move would be in order, far away from my child and family for them to seek employment after their Graduate program. This terrified me.
This, in addition to our relationship turning toxic for the both of us, led me to end the relationship.
I’m grateful for this experience as I grown much as an adult, as a parent, and was pushed to the beginnings of treatment for my childhood codependency and
This is the story of the person in which I moved across the state for at a younger age.
Someone whom was still in college and was sheltered, never really experienced life as an adult and had much growing to do. Their family took me in and tried showing me that there was more out there than my small-town, dead-end job
I never really realized that I was the “college boyfriend”, someone to spend time with during a growth period of their life. I, of course, was very lost and young myself and didn’t know what I wanted out of life.
I’m grateful for this experience as it was the first time I lived alone and started to discover who I am. I discovered that there is much more out there than small, dead-end towns, with dead-end jobs and was the first experience I had with healing from anxiety and agoraphobia.
I hope that I never write about these experiences again and that I can finally put them to rest to live in the present, for what short time we have left to learn and love on this planet.