You just don’t get it.

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I talk to my dearest friends, they don’t get it.

I talk to a distant stranger, they don’t get it.

How do you find words to explain what’s been going on? What you’ve been feeling. What physicality’s run riot through your days. How you drift from anxiety so severe you feel like you’ll pop any moment. Flashbacks that haunt and traumatise. Exhaustion through to your bones. A feeling of illness and run-down-ness that riddles your being.

I know we all have our story. I know we all have stuff going on in our lives, but I just wish that some of my friends GOT IT. Knew what it was like to be me for a day. I’m not meaning that in a ‘pity’ way, or a ‘my life’s so hard, poor me’ way, but right now IT IS hard. It’s fucking hard. And it has been always. Especially the last six months. The last six months has been indescribable.

But maybe it really is all in relation, and what’s on the cards now is what I can deal with in my spectrum of capabilities, and that spectrum I have had to create to keep it all in tact. To keep me coping. So maybe my dear friends have their spectrums, that may be ‘smaller’ because their life load has been just that, but when they reach their spectrum edges, they feel just how I do.

When you hear friends talk about a problem in their lives, with that tired struggling voice, and that problem can’t help but feel so small to you compared to what is for dinner on your life’s plate, is it a crime to feel the words in your mind: “get a grip”; “if only you knew”; “you have no idea how lucky you are”….

I am forgiving. I know I have a heart the size of the moon. I hold so much compassion and understanding for anyone and everyone, it often pisses people off. I feel bad for sharing this, but it’s all true. I can’t help but think these thoughts at the moment.

It screws me over. It means those that are there for me, are drifting away in the knowledge and connection sense, because I just don’t know where to start sharing, so I don’t even begin to try. With some things I do, with some people I really do. But I only ever feel as though I touch the edges. I never get to the depths of what is really going on here. Partly because even the edges feels like a tonne. I really believe in sharing what’s hurting with friends, because nothing should be hidden in a heart felt friendship. And so I do this, I do really try but I feel like I just haven’t found the right friends to do this with yet. The ones that actually know a bit of what it feels like.

How can you explain what it is like to live in a world of trauma and feelings surfacing that you could never find words to describe? How to explain the physical crapness you feel on a daily basis. The financial complexities of daily living, of claiming benefits which I never thought I would claim. Realising you’ve missed a crucial appointment because you didn’t open your envelope. The consequence of which could leave you completely skint and with no governmental support financially. Keeping on top of all your dental flippin work, of which you have a fear of but cannot find time to feel this fear because your teeth won’t let you. Keeping on top of your health and the impacts of the drugs you’re on. Worrying about the side effect as they take their toll on your bod. The endless worries of what therapy route to go down, and the deep fear you hold of what will happen and what is happening.

I talk with friends and they never need to share as much as I need to. They have their mother, their father, their boyfriend or their sister. Every one of my friends have someone. I’m not just saying that. It’s true. And it makes it fucking hard. And fucking lonely. I am so glad for them but it leaves me feeling not quite full. I can’t dwell on it – I don’t. But it sure does hit me like a ten tonne brick of tears and heaviness and loneliness sometimes.

I have one friend that I speak to most days, and we share it all. She is a saint. And I really need her. And she knows that. And she’s said she wouldn’t have it any other way. I have another too I speak to most days. We are so close, but again I only ever feel as though even her – the one i call my bt friend, only really catches the edges. And the rest? I have always had so many really beautiful people around me in my life – it is something I have seemed to always held a real skill for. And yet right now I feel a real lacking of this. Not of those beautiful people I mention, because they will always be there in the distance. They are special. But they are not close. In the past six months I have felt the connection drift – I just cannot even begin to explain where I am at. And so they cannot even begin to understand. Maybe this is normal. Maybe this is how we all feel. I know this to be partly true. That we all feel that deep isolation and loneliness at times, no matter how many people we have close by us.

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Right now, I’m worried. About so many things. I wish I could lend my rucksack to friends for a day. I want it back, sure I do, but I just want to share it a little. Is that too much to ask? I guess it is. So instead of the pack, I want to share WORDS. I want to share the pain. The sorrow. The worries. The fears. The angsts. The dilemmas. The loneliness. The isolation from any family. The gaps in my life that I feel cut deep.

That cut of no parent, no sister, no best friend by my side, no boyfriend, is a cut that bowls over. It always has been, but never quite this much. Because I have literally cut them off completely. Until six months ago, I felt this isolation, desperation and loss, but I still had the sporadic contact with what was hurting me the most. Now that hurt and pain is just mine. Mine to keep. And it feels the deepest and most painful it has ever felt. That’s because I’m feeling it. I’m safe to feel it. No more stuffing and hiding from fear of the pain. The pain is right here, in my face, in my limbs, in my lungs, in my mind and in my heart.

I long for friends to understand and to know this. But what i remind myself is that I have you. I have this. I have you beautiful souls who get it all. And that means the world. No words can describe the reassurance it brings. To it all. And perhaps this is why I have been feeling the drift and distance happening with friends, because for the first time in my life I have somewhere and people who I can share it all – the pain, the joy, the sorrow, and the turmoil, and they understand. Maybe it is this that has now given me the space to see that now I have raised my ability to share all my stuff, which before I have always held back from, due to fear of burdening or annoying them,so I have also raised my ability to see whether friends really are listening, really do understand, or are just there as heartfelt friends but it ends there. The details they don’t understand. Until now, those details they don’t understand, were never really part of the conversations, because I held them back and stuffed them down, and didn’t really realise how bad things were. At. All. I tried my hardest just to shine, not to bring sorrow too. And yet these both live in our lives, as strong as the other. And so these both need to live in our friendships too. Equally and joyously, and tearfully.

Right now, I just want a cosy day on the sofa, I want cuddles. I want surfs in the winter sun. I want road trips to the hills. I want evenings of knitting and pot- lucks. I want what I have always managed to have in my life, no matter what chaos and abuse was happening: it’s what life is about. Instead I’m gently crying in the corner of a cafe, hiding my tears in my bundle of scarf. Wondering how I got here, and whether or when it’ll pass.

I’ll send some emails. I’ll think of friends. I’ll send them my love and light and I’ll smile at memories this brings. But it just doesn’t quite cut it. Literal company, with those you love, is after all, one of the best medicines life can offer.

Thank you to you all on here. I need you. And I love you. Thank you for being your beautiful and open and supportive souls. You mean the world to me. And I am always here too.

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Photo: Venice Beach, L.A., California. Nov. 2011.

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10 thoughts on “You just don’t get it.

  1. Sweet pea, I know exactly what you mean. It’s pretty rare to find ANYONE around me who understands this fuck up I’m in.
    My answer for now is, well, me. The thing with other people is, they may want to get it, but they can’t. They don’t. And we can’t expect them to, and that’s okay. You know, they have different issues, different problems… I guess we can never compare our insides to their outsides. But I know what it’s like to have astronomical difficulties, to the point where you really can’t connect to others about anything else. That’s where I’m at now. And I’m kind of like, you know what? That’s okay. They don’t need to get it. I get it. I know what I am going through. So I am becoming my own best friend, having conversations with myself, writing letters to myself from my higher self… it all helps. And although they mean so well and people can be wonderful, right now, being around them makes me feel worse. I can’t connect and it makes me feel horrible to keep trying. So the other day I decided to just lie low. I know we have to be careful to not go low when we do this, but if we revel in our own company, I think it’s okay. In our company, in music, in words and sounds and images, in documentaries and films, in books and magazines. Just to protect ourselves, you know? And to develop a relationship with ourselves.
    I’m going through it too. We are going through it together. Let’s love ourselves for having to.
    xx

    • Thank you so much sweetpea, sorry it has taken me this long to get back to you. Your words touch, and I know too that even if people don’t always get it (which we can never really fully ‘get’ other people’s stuff anyway, because our experiences are all so different), it doesn’t mean they can’t be filled with compassion and care and love. So thank you dear, your words, thoughts and hugs mean a lot. Sending tonnes of love and hugs your way. Hope that aussie sun is shining X

  2. A: So, how was your day?
    B: Man, I cut my thumb off.
    A: That’s nice, hey, did you see the touchdown at the game last night?
    B: It really hurts..
    A. cool, I did some fancy running till I hit the goal line.
    B:

  3. Wow. summerteifi, I just read your post, and hey it seems that your ‘shine’ that covers the depths of what is hidden beneath, is similar to the love I feel which seems to amp up in relation to the hurt I feel. I don’t know your whole story, and I found that writing mine up a bit like a novel, in sequential order seemed to help a lot with the ‘need’ to share it. I don’t feel the need to share it when I meet people in person any more. It’s different to writing it privately on paper at home where no-one will ever read it. It seems to be the sharing, with this special online community, that has made a big difference to me. It is a hard road to travel, this journey of healing from abuse. It is definitely a road that feels less long when walked with company. By the way, love the photos!
    Jessie.

    • You are so beautiful, dear girl. Thank you for this reply. Really connected with the words you say about the love you have and how it amps up in relation to the hurt – I think, as much as this is really painful, what comes with the pain is so much joy and beauty and LOVE. It’s hard but I’m seeing it’s much better to FEEL it all, the beautiful bits and the sodding hard bits. It’s better than living on a bit of a plateau. It just leaves you a bit knackered sometimes!
      Love love loving your new blog space – will reply to some posts on there soon.
      Keep shining XX

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