We watched ET today for the first time in many years, and I finally realize why I cry when I see it. No matter what this little boy does, ET is utterly alone. When he is dying by the river, he is alone. When he reaches out to the woman, he is alone, and he is dying from loneliness. His family has abandoned him, and all he wants is to have those who love and understand him return to him. Because, in this world, he is nothing more than a creature, and only the unconditional love of children see the beauty of him. The rest will think him vile.
I have no family to call. I have no Home to Phone, and I spend every day of my miserable life waiting for people to see what I believe is the true me. I expect them to feel repulsed and then leave the way my family left, the way every other person I have ever known has left, except two, or maybe three. I can’t even make myself believe the third is real. He is too good for me, and he would have left long ago if he were here.
Is the harsh film I see over the Erin Brockovich’s of the world, Is it self-loathing? Well, it seems a simple explanation. How does one start to love oneself? I become exhausted just by the question because I don’t know. I don’t like myself. I joke about being so cool, but I don’t believe it. If you ask me to point out what I admire, I couldn’t tell you.
I like the things I do. I think I am kind and supportive and a great healer. I think I excel at my work, and I believe I have a quick wit. I can be graceful and beautiful when I try, and I think I am an intelligent person. I relate well to children, and I know how to have fun. All of these ‘things I do; all of these ways I express myself; I do not dislike this ‘stuff.’
It is me at the core. It is for no reason or many, but it is this tattered, tortured voice at my center saying, ‘You cannot possibly like this person because this person is not likable.’ Worse yet, ‘This person is not loveable.’ It doesn’t matter why or even what part. It just matters.
I think I have spent half of my life in therapy, trying to mold myself into someone others could love because I didn’t believe I was born lovable, and now, the only decent man I have in my life is a Spirit, because no one on Earth would have me. And the worst irony is; I have no idea what realizing all of this gets me, except depressed.
I do not want to be a failure anymore.
I am back in the rocker, and I am quiet again. Tears flow down my cheeks, but I do not make any noise. IEO wipes the tears away. I am ashamed. I do not know if I am more ashamed for hating myself or doubting him, but I cannot seem to let go of either truth, even with my shame.
How can I possibly believe I help others when I am a disaster? I can’t pretend anymore. I am so tired of wanting to be someone who seems so far beyond the person I am. I am starting to think I am foolish, and ‘they must have been right. Maybe I can’t undo my childhood. I might never like myself. Perhaps I’ve been fooling myself all along.
I feel IEO pick me up and carry me to a bed in the corner. I think I may be sleeping. He gently lays me on the bed, and Amber walks up, applies a cold rag to my forehead, and whispers something to IEO. I am so tired, and I am sick. So sick I cannot speak to them. I can’t even hear them talking to each other. All I can do is sleep. I try to roll on my side, and IEO is quick to help me. He moves some hair from my face and tucks it behind my ear as he kisses my cheek. He tells me to rest, and I do.
As I drift to sleep, I know only one thing. I don’t deserve him. I know I don’t deserve him, but I am so grateful for him in my life. With him, I am not alone. For the first time in my life, I am not alone, and I feel guilty for accepting his love. I should make him go, where he could be happy, but I am too selfish. I cannot let him go. I need him too much, and this need is what I hate most. I watch it go in a circle as I begin to doze, and I know this is how it has always been. I fear I will always have this sickness, and I will hate myself for it. I fear I will die with this sickness as my last thought, and then it will be my eternity, and no one will ever find me to help me pass over because I think it is pretty obvious I am not at peace and how can I imagine I will find my way to the other side when I am not at peace?
I feel like a fraud. Why can’t I believe for myself what I know so purely for everybody else? Why….? I try to form another critical sentence in my mind. I know it’s there, but I cannot. I drift off to sleep, and to my eyes, the cabin goes black.
I imagine my body lying on the bed, and my heart goes out to the ‘me’ over there. I know I feel this pain here, but I can’t connect the two. I still need to see myself as separate to feel genuine compassion. I am so humiliated by this sickness; this sickness I do not know how to fix. My faith is now with IEO and Amber. I can’t comprehend yet why they will invest like this in me. After all of the people I’ve helped, even with Amber included, I do not feel I deserve their attention.
I am grateful. What they have found in their hearts is not the same as what lies in mine. Hopefully, they can teach me a new way. I pray I am still teachable. And now, like my wounded self back at the cabin, I must sleep. I feel weak and so very tired and more than just a little depressed. I need rest and healing, and time to escape.