Been feeling rather blue lately.
I know the time change has something to do with it, and the maudlin weather so typical of the end of winter. But there is more to it. I’ve had a string of things come along and rock the delusion that I’m happily becoming a better person, better man.
It also wakes me up to how much fear I live in…and if I tell you promise not to laugh.... well, go ahead. I know how silly it is.
I’m afraid of being hurt, and not physically.
Things have come along and revealed what a glass jaw I have mentally. I stand up for myself at work, get shoved back down, and even though it was done mildly it ruined my whole week.
Where I go work out I am so afraid of someone not returning my hello I now find myself slinking in and out of the place, hoping not to get noticed. I am so afraid of being hurt, even by someone I don’t even know.
I find myself over and over fearing confrontation with people, or even any kind of contact, all in the fear I will get hurt. These are just feelings, after all; what is the matter with me?
I tried to articulate this at my last men’s meeting. One man responded looking me right in the eye;
“Carl, you are the most guileless, open person I’ve ever met. You present you and only you at all times; there is no mask or pretense you hide behind. So, when someone rejects you the pain is all the more real because it really is you that they are rejecting.”
I left the meeting thinking about that; so that’s what I didn’t learn as a kid? I need to wear armor before I go into the battle that is life?
At this point I may consider it, because I see this state is holding me back. I want to be tougher.
I want to be able to argue with someone and walk away angry, not hurt, at them. I want to be able to take that snub on the chin, and smile inside and out. Maybe even feel a little smug at that ability.
I don’t want to feel pain anymore, I am deathly tired of it. I want to be able to drive around in an armored tank of a personality, with gunfire and blasts glancing off me as I wreak terror on those that stand in the way of my progress, or even in the way of my happiness. Watch out world; SuperCarl is here.
Well, I can dream anyway. I imagine some are born with the suit on already; some have it forged throughout childhood. Some get it in trials of early manhood, and woe to those who stand in their way.
I am a middle-aged man, tending shoots of self-esteem in a glass greenhouse.
I pick up the shards and move on.