I’m insecure. I have been since I was ridiculed and bullied as a kid. Taunted for being Queer before I even knew what that was and way before I knew I WAS actually gay, I was best-dressed and class clown but second choice for every team, every class, even in the stupid Soapbox Derby.
For a long time I hid that insecurity by drinking and using drugs to boost me into high-gear (all puns intended) thereby seeming to conquer that insecurity. In recovery I have a program and new tools to help me with feelings like insecurity and resentments and self-pity, but if you have read this blog you may think “Really? I missed that recovery posts.” See, even there I was serving up self-depreciation with a side of self-pity. “Feelings aren’t facts” (I’m told) but they sure feel like it.
My mind is a dangerous place to leave me alone in. Little seemingly unrelated experiences begin to form a chain that becomes a puzzle and end up a conspiracy that feeds my fears. And then I have these feelings and if I am not careful, I react…I act out. I strike back, lash out before anything even happens. The proverbial “Nuclear First Strike” option seems like I have no other option at all.
And so to my current condition of the heart. I don’t feel (there’s that fucking word again) like I am Number One when it comes to you. I feel like you put HIM and THEM and everything else first and I am second best, second rate, second hand and a second thought.
You have to work late and are all alone? Why can’t I come sit in your office and just be near you? I’ll be very quiet and out of the way.
You feel sick and have to leave the office early? Why can’t you come over to my house and crawl in my bed and let me bring you soup and make you tea? I’ll be very quiet and let you sleep. I won’t even spoon with you if you’re sweaty and chilled.
You fall as sleep early and forget to call. Why can’t you shoot me a text in the morning when you wake up, knowing it makes my day and calms my head?
I feel (grrrrrrrrr) like I am asking for so little, and giving you so much space and time to be and do and honor HIM and THEM and when I read the above paragraphs I wanna vomit they are so whiny and needy…but that’s the fucking truth.
I just want for you to want to be with me like I want to be with you. That is, every spare minute we have, which given our busy lives and LIFE in general, is already so few. And the reality is you say, say, say you love me and I hear you and I look at you and feel it in your eyes but in the end when I look at how many nights and days I am alone, the time spent waiting on your call, text or email it simply doesn’t add up. Not in my head full of crazy.
Like right now. I just want to talk to you. In person, together because you are hurting and I am hurting and once again we are apart and I’ve been to a meeting and I’ve eaten ice cream an and pizza and it isn’t enough and my head is screaming at me that you are never coming back and that I should have known that in the end you went home to HIM every night what did I really expect? Expectations are hardly great, they are poison and I have a bottle spilling over with the cute tag that reads “drink me.”
Because here I lie, listening to the wind outside, waiting for the call that will never come, wrestling with my head and my head is whispering “All grown up but second place in the Soapbox Derby life once again.”