My tongue is in my hand…

Posted on: November 12, 2008

I wrote a blog last week regarding the attitudes of people following the election. I felt good about it, but as soon as I posted it, I had a million other things to say, ways to wrap it up how I wanted.  I also remembered why I don’t talk about things like that with people, or why I don’t even really think about things like that.  Even in the nicest ways, it divides and I am desperate to be joined.  That permeates.  I don’t want to think about how I’m different from my friends.  I just want to think about how we’re the same.  I have an ache for connectivity that never ceases.

And sometimes, I’m invisible.  People look right through me.  I don’t understand.  How can you not see me look at you, acknowledge you?  Even that is something.  How can you not return genuine efforts, out of the way comments or letters?  I compartmentalize in a fashion that’s typically male, so I get it sometimes, I guess, how you can just not allow it to mean anything, but why?  Why can’t I mean something?  And why do I need to?  And if I do, why don’t you tell me?  I can read a lot of things, but silence I never read well.  And why isn’t it enough the people that do tell me, that do acknowledge me?  Why isn’t that enough?  And do I do this to people?  I hope not.  I really really hope not.

Sometimes, when I write and I let others read it, I actually feel the chasm between us.  Something I did with those words.  I retreat, I retreat.  I think of when I was in middle school, high school, and I would sit in my bedroom with the door locked and I would go over my poetry again and again, memorizing, organizing.  I imagined what it would be like to have someone else read the poems and I would jump at the opportunity in classes to use poetry, or to give it as gifts. So often, as soon as I let it go, I felt embarassed, foolish. Even praise sometimes feels uncomfortable.  I don’t so much want to be heard, I want to be validated, I want it to connect me to someone.  And I know it does sometimes, I know.  But it’s like it’s never enough.  It’s time’s like this it just seems like there’s something wrong with me.

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1 Response to ""

For what it’s worth, I needed to read this.
For what it’s worth, in some ways, I can relate.

If you have the ability to focus on the similarities and ignore the differences, it’d be great if you can show me how. In my case, nothing shows me the chasm. It’s there from the start.

In the mean time, I guess that we can wave to each other from our own, tiny emotional islands.

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