Have you ever been locked in a cycle of thought or emotion where you truly believe you've been taken for granted? Have you ever hoped that people would see you, sense you, hear you, engage you? Especially the people that say they love you? The ones that are meant to know you?
Have you arrived at some point where perhaps you're almost finished trying to get someone's attention? Do you feel that perhaps they should know by now?
Of course, all of this might be accentuated where strangers are concerned. Especially that gorgeous man with that French accent, smart dark suit, perfect fluevogs and distractingly, piercing blue eyes. The guy with the smile where white teeth peek through perfect lips above a slightly stubbled chiselled jaw. Yeah...that guy.
He's too perfect. Too dreamy and dare I say leg wetting? But if HE noticed!
No...I mean do you long to be recognized by any typical person, not a fantasy girl? To not feel as though you've been taken for granted again and again?
I'm not talking about an eye-level plaque set in granite or a parade marking THE day you actually did something shattering or even a street named after you in a Capital City...
I'm simply talking about KNOWING deep in your soul, communicated to you in your own "language"...that someone out there actually gives a shit about you, thinks of you and has taken the time to show and tell you regularly.
Not critiquing you or setting your deeds on a golden scale of righteousness. Clean slate stuff, not earned or begged for. Just beautiful, real, gut level community HEY MAN I NOTICE YOU stuff.
I used to hang around a few guys that were involved with a larger Group of guys that I should probably not mention by name, but they had a saying: THE GOOD WE DO, NO ONE REMEMBERS, THE BAD WE DO, NO ONE FORGETS.
I think that these thugs get the point.
We all need hugs dude.
Tonight is a low night for me. Today spiraled out of my cognitive control by about 6:15am and here I sit 14 hours later still feeling battered and alone as if I were on some isolated island alone that is shrouded in a heavy, cold fog.
I was alone the last time I felt like this, and tried to watch a doco on Jim Crow. It showed in detail the horrific way Blacks were so very ill treated in America, but I had to quit watching.
In addition to the sickening feeling in the depths of my stomach about this history, the images of lynchings and hangings found my mind scanning our home thinking about areas that would support my weight...
I had to switch it off and went quickly to the sanctuary of outdoors looking for racoons. Racoons are safer than my thoughts at most times.
Kind of sounds like I'm playing the Victim Card here, but you need to know...I work more than full time, do other activities besides paid labour, help people, check in on people physically and electronically and call my ol' mum regularly. I'm healthily distracted.
But my brain seems to be my greatest enemy at the moment and between it and the Devil...sniper attacks are damned accurate, cruel and timely!
I've had valuable conversations with a few close friends lately. I hear their struggles, recognize their anguish. Together we scream for relief in an empty make believe corridor in some psychiatric hospital. The more you plead, the crazier you appear...
So therein lies the rub.
Do you stay on course with your meds and therapy, suck it up and shut up until that dangerous point where it almost gets unbearable and then go chase after raccoons and Ocean breezes?
Today, under the shadow of 10,000 crows, in spite of my skull crushing into my eye sockets, I cried in the pissing rain at the Ocean.
I was on my own...but not alone...or so I thought.