Because she asked…
“I want you to tell me about every person you’ve ever been in love with. Tell me why you loved them, then tell me why they loved you. Tell me about a day in your life you didn’t think you’d live through. I want to know the first time you felt the weight of hate and if that day still trembles beneath your bones. I want to know more than what you do for a living. I want to know how much of your life you spend just giving. And if you love yourself enough to also receive sometimes. I want to know if you bleed sometimes through other people’s wounds.” –DJ Brody Ramone
I’ve always made the mistake of falling for people: 1) who pay (welcome) attention to me and 2) out of the fear of being alone. I fall in love with people who own different facets of what I want to draw into my life, what I want to become and what inspires me. The problem with that is I end up putting those people on a slight pedestal because I see them as better, something to aspire to. So of course, I distrust their love when it’s actually reciprocated. How could someone I admire see anything in me? At the same time, I understand that love isn’t necessarily admiration. The heart works in weird and wonky ways.
Those I have “loved” in the past have given variations of the following when asked:
“You’re gorgeous.”
“You’re a good distraction.”
“You make me happy.”
“I don’t know.”
Physical compliments are the hardest for me to take. On good days, I try to believe them and return the compliment with gratitude. Most days, I duck my head, secretly pleased but outwardly embarrassed. On bad days, they feel like an outright threat. Because there have been days when being attractive to someone led to bad things. Of all the reasons given, the one I want to be true is the third. But then, I want to be that for everyone, not just the person I love.
There have been two days I wasn’t sure I’d live through. One was the time I willed my lungs to give out after a massive fight with my ex. I was curled up on the bathroom floor hugging the source of my allergies to my chest (the cat) while he ranted and raved outside. Actually, that was a day I hoped I wouldn’t live through. In reality, I probably realized I would and was afraid of it. That leaves the day of my first surgery. The last thing I remember saying to my anesthesiologist was “Please just make sure I wake up.” I really wasn’t sure I would live through it but that time, desperately hoped I would.
The time I’ve felt hate and actually feared it was detailed in this post. I am generally of the opinion that animosity or hate is caused by some misunderstanding and that if we could only come to terms, there would be no reason to hate. That’s the eternal optimist in me. The times when I’m confronted with absolute, unyielding hate shakes me to the core. There was also the time when a particularly religious cult was invited onto a TV show taping I was at. They scared me to pieces. My tiny happy mind cannot fathom, never mind process, that level of hate.
I’m happy to say what I do for a living is closer to what I want to be doing in general- which is to help people, specifically artists and musicians. Music has saved my life more times than I can count. I always feel indebted to those who create it, so I will always want to do what I can. To make sure it stays out there. To make sure they don’t give up. Because I’m not the only one who needs that lifeline.
The same goes for those I believe in, to those I love as well. To them, I will give until there’s nothing left. Self-preservation is a concept I’m still learning. If you ask why I am doing a thing, chances are the bottom line is because it will make someone else happy. Because that is what makes me happy. Making someone smile. Making someone’s day. Making something easier for someone. At the core of my actions, it will always boil down to me wanting to please someone. In a way, that is the most selfish justification of all. Because it’s never about me when it should be. And it is.
I have this terrible need to reciprocate, meaning it’s hard for me to receive without feeling the need to immediately turn it around. I prefer to be on the giving end. That’s in all things. Yes, even that. I’m a horrible receiver. Unless it’s hugs. I’m a hug-addict. I will happily be hugged. And cuddled. I suppose that’s where I could be considered fickle. As long as I’m comfortable with someone, I have no problem jumping into a lap to be snuggled. It’s gotten me in trouble in the past but I’ve also learned it’s something I cannot and honestly do not want to change. Because most of the time it makes the person on the receiving end happy too. It’s a win-win.
The last is really what prompted me to expand what could’ve been a flippant answer on Facebook to this entire post. “I want to know if you bleed sometimes through other people’s wounds.” The answer is no, at least as I understand the question. I have, however, allowed someone to bleed through mine. I absorbed their pain, their anger, their sadness, confusion and rage, until I was the one breaking skin with the weight of it. I used to pride myself on being able to survive anything. Until my entire existence became about survival. I allowed myself to become the martyr, welcomed it. Because I thought at least at the end of it, they would be happy. But they never were. It took everything I had to break out of it. To learn that I couldn’t save them. To realize I had become the one who needed saving. And that no one could do that but me.
I’m not really sure if Brody actually expected a dissected answer to this but it made me think, then overthink and eventually want to post one anyway. Sometimes it’s good to examine yourself, to be honest about where you are and why you do things. To be reminded how you got this far and how you want to walk the road from now on. So thanks for making me think about it, even if it took two weeks to answer.
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xx
regenroxx 