Some Days...

Some days, you just don’t feel it.

Some days you are just too drained, too tired, too spent, too fragile, too lost in your own primal scream of pain to believe you have anything left for anyone else.

I was as deeply depressed as I can ever remember, certainly deeper than I’d been in several years. My mate and I had weathered our first real misunderstanding, and I was still reeling. Nothing felt solid anymore. Beliefs I’d held about our relationship, beliefs I’d held about myself had been shattered, and I was still trying to re-gather the pieces. I was convinced I had failed everyone – my mate, everyone we were collectively involved with, and most of all myself. Sure, my Beloved and I had talked things through and come to an understanding, but the repercussions went beyond the two of us, and I could feel the loose threads of misunderstanding and confusion threatening to unravel everywhere. My pain set off a chain reaction, and was affecting other people. I had to do something to fix it.

Of course, I know better than to try and fix other people’s emotions. Or, at least I should know better. As an empath and a caregiver, sometimes surfing the boundaries of what people really need versus what I think they need can be tricky. I know that if I could find a way to take the pain for everyone else in the universe and somehow make everyone happy, I wouldn’t even hesitate. Hurt me – I can take it. Anything to spare the people I love. Happily the gods haven’t shared that particular secret with me yet, which is likely a good thing. People need the bad with the good, the pain with the pleasure, the struggle with the accomplishment. Otherwise no one would appreciate the good things when they happen, or grow into the people they are meant to be. Some days I’m pretty good at keeping perspective and not trying to interfere with the parts that aren’t mine to fix. Other days, not so much.

On this day, I had to try, if for no other reason than the fact I sensed others trying to take on a misplaced responsibility for my feelings. And if I’m nothing else, I’m adamant about owning my own stuff and not placing blame or responsibility on anyone but myself. So, I decided to speak my own truth, and take ownership of my feelings, publicly. Loudly. So that no one could possibly misunderstand. I chose to use Livejournal since everyone involved had a blog on that site, and therefore would likely see anything I posted.

My treatise came in two parts – first a general statement regarding my philosophy of relationships, and then a more personal revelation of what had happened between my mate and me. My hope was that in explaining the way I look at things, and my personal theories on the "geometry of Polyamory" I’d diffuse some of the confusion I was picking up on. Then, in being transparent, I could address any specific concerns those who were involved might be harboring. Having spoken my truth, if there were any lingering questions they could ask, and I could leave them to work through their own stuff, armed with information and hopefully understanding. My purpose was fairly specific, aimed at a relatively narrow audience. I hoped they’d understand.

Later in the day, I started reading comments left on the journal entries. I was floored. There was a tearful "Thank you, that’s exactly what I needed to hear!" from a woman I barely knew. Another friend who’d gone through a break up recently spoke up, writing, "I wish more people understood what you are saying here." Another asked if she could share a link to my journal so others could read what I’d written, because she felt it needed to be shared.

The comment that really struck me, however, was in response to the more personal of the entries. "I REALLY admire you for being so 'out there' about this issue. One of the things I find difficult is so many people don't want to talk about their issues...because they perceive it as airing their dirty laundry. I think we rob ourselves of good advice and rob others of learning from us when we are afraid to share." Wow. I’ve always tended to live my life as an open book, but it had never occurred to me that anyone was really paying attention. Suddenly, my pain took on a whole new meaning. Until then, I’d just been writing my pain to get it out. It hadn’t occurred to me that the gods might use that to help others deal with their pain. The moment I’d felt I didn’t have anything left for anyone else, in offering that pain up for the world to see…the gods used it to help heal in ways I’d never expected.

Some days, even if you feel you’ve got nothing left to give anyone else, the gods can use you in spite of yourself. For me, that takes a lot of the "Am I worthy?" out of the equation. And that's a huge comfort on those days you just aren't feeling it.