018: Cleaning Out My Closet.

"I got some skeletons in my closet. And I don't know if no one knows it. So before they throw me inside my coffin and close it. Imma expose it; I'll take you back to '73. Before I ever had a multi-platinum selling CD". -Eminem. 

There goes those song quotes again. It's something about music's ability to convey a feeling when you can't put your own words correctly together to fully explain how you feel. The music has the capacity to channel the emotions you're attempting to describe better than you can. Eminem's lyrics capture the essence of why I started this blog. I didn't really know how, but I knew I needed to start unpacking all my invisible baggage.

 I endeavored to own my truths. To really start being honest with myself. To really start sorting through the war going on in my head. I needed something to help me better understand me. The ironic part is, I made a public blog, I post about it on Instagram and Facebook; but I never actually thought anyone would read it. In doing so I never really acknowledged how people I know would feel about me talking about them publicly. How reading words on a screen that reference situations that they themselves have found themselves in with me, or know whom specifically I may be talking about would be perceived. 

I never intended for these blogs to be subliminal messages. But maybe I did, maybe I had hoped that seeing my thought process on paper would help articulate what I was unable to admit in person. Maybe by reading about my internal turmoil, it would better explain me where my interpersonal communication skills failed. Maybe I'm simultaneously being brave, and a coward. I'm introducing you all to the skeletons in my closet without having to have the gumption to admit them face-to-face. I'm naming my demons and facing my fears. But in doing so, I'm hiding behind a computer screen admitting things online that I have yet too or may never admit to any person. 

I start thinking about things, I start typing, and it all just flows like a spring well. I start owning shit I didn't even know I felt. Coming to grips with hurts I didn't know hurt. Accepting anger and frustration where I didn't know they existed. Acknowledging the fears that have impeded my personal growth. Realizing the depths of my rage and bitterness. The skeletons in my closet are dark. I finally admitted this out loud to a dear friend of mine for the first time today. I literally broke down while talking to her. Pandora's box finally opened. 

I realized I'm one of the "hurt people, hurt people" people. I push away people I know for a fact love and care about me on the most sacred level. I realized that I was projecting my pains and frustrations. I realized I was a bad friend to great friends. I take people for granted. I over-looked and under-appreciated the sacrifice and burden it is to be my friend. The scary part is, I didn't even see what I was doing until the straw broke the camel's back. Someonee called me on my bullshit. In her perfect imperfection, she loved me enough to respectfully tell me I was wrong. 

Listening to her lists of grievances, I heard the pain and destruction I caused. For the first time in a long time I intentionally practiced one of my most revered virtues, "listening to understand rather than listening to reply". Listening to her I heard how I was not strong, I was not brave, I was a wolf in sheep's clothing. My invisible baggage wasn't unpacked, it was merely repacked in different luggage. I hadn't expressed my gratitude. I hadn't acknowledged her devotion to me, my wellbeing, and my happiness. I never minded my manners. I didn't even know how to begin to say thank you to her or anyone else. I could not thank them for their kindnesses when I was not thankful for my situation. I am not saying it is right, I am saying it is where I am at, because all I could do was cry. 

Tears of  frustration rolled down my face as I admitted out loud for the first time, I fucking loathe being sick. All my deep unprocessed emotions had been surfacing all along. I'd remained quiet when I should have spoken up. I didn't trust the depth of our bond to be open, to be vulnerable, to admit to her that I didn't know how to love her back. I don't know how to reciprocate what she so gave to me. I couldn't love her because I didn't first love myself. I knew better, I know better, but for whatever reason I chose the path of the meek. I have been taking my pain, my anger, and my resentment out on everyone else. The bitterness I felt for having my life saved, but stolen. 

I've been walking around like everything was good. Like my behavior normal, acceptable, or even tolerable. The fact that I didn't readily see what I've been doing is deplorable. I've said this before but "sorry really isn't good enough and words do hurt". My acknowledgement of my transgressions and words don't exonerate me. Just because everyday I'm fighting a war within myself doesn't make it ok. In burying my truth, I've left a trail of destruction. Deeds can never be undone and words can never be eaten.

The most honorable thing I can do for her, myself, and everyone else; is to recognize it, express my sincerest apologies, and change it. While that doesn't mean that we will ever be what we once were or what we ever hoped to be, hopefully it's a step towards healing. Hopefully it's affirmation of the Proverbs 31 woman she is, it's a testament to her grace, a tipping of my hat to her fortitude. Maybe it's the very reason we were sent to cross paths. The fateful lesson we were meant to teach one another. 

While I am sincerely sorry. No words can really change all that has transpired and truthfully "there's no way I can pay you back. But my plan is show you that I understand. You are (were) appreciated". -Tupac. 

Maybe she helped me start the process of really cleaning out my closest. Of really owning my truth. Admitting, Accepting, and Acknowledging that everyday my life is a new rollercoaster ride. Maybe it forced me to take a long hard look in the mirror. To accept I'm superficially positive, shallowly optimistic, and put on a humbly grateful facade. I've been lying my ass off, trying to pass off all my smiles as real ones. Maybe finally saying out loud that the happy person in front of you everyday is a farce, was the point. Maybe owning I'm ungrateful as fuck was the point. Maybe admitting to her everyday I wish to go back to the "healthy" person I was before was what we both needed to hear.

Finally being fully transparent with her about my demons liberated me. Finally admitting that everyday I struggle with accepting that this is my reality. Everyday I grow more tired of the pills, the infusions, and the fatigue. Honestly, I hate the new me. I despise who I've become and have the slightest idea on how I'm going to be ok with this. My heart has grown cold and my zest for life evaporated. I've become my own worst nightmare. My illnesses have become my identity. I don't really see the majesty in life. There are glimmers of gratefulness followed by long episodes of depression and resentment. I want to get off the rollercoaster but I know that I can't. Take the pills, get the infusions, "enjoy" the 10-20 food choices OR die.  

I push people away. As much as I say I don't want any pity parties, I've been attending my own ever since I left the hospital. At first I was grateful. Or at least I thought I was. I was elated to have survived. Then somewhere along the way I slowly became bitter. I've become a person I no longer recognize. I've lost my way. In the span of a year I've gradually being to hate my circumstances. I feel cheated. I don't understand the divine design. My words have become empty. My apologies hallow. My invisible baggage has only gotten heavier. 

And in an ironic way the resending of friendships, hers in particular, is exactly what I needed. Because it forced me to acknowledge somehow I need to find a way to actually take purposeful steps towards cleaning out my closet. Just typing words on an iPhone screen is just rhetorical pontification without corrective action...

Ox.