Those Who Leave

Ghosting is a heavy blow to those who are highly sensitive. Years of therapy helped me to understand why I am so reactive when people that I care about suddenly stop speaking to me. It has only happened a handful of times in my life. I get that people need space, and sometimes "the trash takes itself out" but there were several instances when I just wanted to know why the distance was needed so that I can show up better, be a more compassionate person and so that I can understand their needs.

I probably painted this after my mother called me a fucking bitch, or open palm slapped me across the face, or the time she tried to choke me because she thought I used her mascara.

When my mother was upset with me, she would ignore me, give me short, irritated answers or disappear. I guess being a mother has its breaking points. She would secretly pack and leave, without notice, no note, no phone calls and not tell us where she was going. We would panic, cry and wonder what happened to her. Then she would come back, days later, floating on cloud nine, saying "you all were driving me insane, I needed a break." Can you imagine the devastation as a child? Thinking you were not worthy of her presence. Your mother. Your caretaker. She did it on purpose, she knew what she was doing. Did it give her a sick satisfaction knowing we were worried about her? Most likely. That's a classic narc for ya.

When you grow up with a narcissistic parent, you are hyper vigilant to every emotion, listening to the slightest change in vocal patterns, the way they look at you with cold eyes, you're watching the way they move their body, trying to determine how to act, how to compose your face so that you don't get hurt again. This shows up in your adulthood, in your relationships and interactions. I know now that I am responsible for how I react, and responsible for my emotions. Sometimes, though... those feelings catch fire and I faulter. I panic and I find myself heartbroken all over again.

My first friend, Jacob Marley. He came into my life when I was 6, a constant comfort and ally.

From my Instagram Post:

I once rescued a bird trapped in a shoe store, it was stuck in a cloth and the two girls running the store were waving a broom near it to coax it outside. I politely asked them to stop, I gingerly approached the distressed bird and gently grasped its frail body, then detached each talon from the fabric. The bird calmed in my hands as I approached the door. I slowly opened my hands, it stayed for a few moments before it took off.

“You’re like, a real life Snow White.” One of the girls said. I responded with “you have no idea how many times I’ve been told that.”

I feel emotions more intensely, which helps with my writing.

Children smile at me, they easily approach or chat with me. I have had several lost children in stores come to me crying, I helped them look for their parents. It’s an honor, really.

It isn’t all sunshine and rainbows being this way. I had spent years in painful silence. Being “too sensitive” for family. Sometimes friends.

My digestive system is incredibly sensitive. Touch is difficult for me. My skin, nose and eyes are also highly sensitive. I can’t wear or be around perfumes or use any artificial fragrance.

The only existence I know is a hyper awareness of all things. It’s EXHAUSTING. I’m learning, though. Learning I can’t numb the feelings with alcohol anymore. I have to be okay with who I am.

So many years spent silencing my sensitive spirit so that others could be comfortable around me.

No more of that. I won’t waste anymore time.

There’s a sense that the good times are behind, and what’s left are the crucial years. Decisions that are made today will be felt much sooner. Not unlike having just one too many drinks and forgetting you’re middle aged.

I won’t risk not telling people how I feel. I won’t stay silent if it is that important. I will understand the consequences and handle them with care. I will act compassionately, I will be sensitive to their needs too.

Honoring my instincts without anxiety, trusting in my sensibilities and fully getting to know myself has been a decades long challenge. I’m getting better and better at it. The more I practice, the easier it gets.

Poppies in Ireland. I miss my DSLR. I had to sell it for drug money. (That's another story for later.)

About five years ago, a very close family member, whom my husband and I spent a lot of time with, decided to not respond to our messages after a family drama situation, one we thought this person was mature enough to handle. I so desperately wanted to have a "family," one where we really enjoyed each others company, conversations, shared dinners, holidays, birthdays and outings. We had that for a good while.

I hadn't felt this kind of heartbreak before. My skin was on fire, my heart was so wrecked I thought I would have a heart attack. I wore no makeup for months because of the constant wetness in my eyes. I couldn't eat for days. I was so angry, and so broken- it took me several years before I started to feel normal again. Therapy, EMDR and talking it through with the people I know who love me dearly helped. I still miss them, so much, but I respect myself more.

I recently experienced a form of "ghosting." I wish it didn't effect me so much. I am fighting my old instincts to fawn, to ask for redemption, to plead for some kind of answer. I need to just let them go. We can't help but remember when we were hurt, even if it was a small kind of relationship, it still hits you the same. Old traumas show up when we least expect and you have to relive them over and over until you learn.

Fuck it hurts. But at least I tried.

This fresh haunting caused a resurgence of the last one.

I dreamed of them the other night, and it caused the wound to open, the heartbreak to fill my veins, the memories pounding into my brain. How do I cope?

I write.

Does it give you satisfaction that you hurt me?

Or do you hate yourself?

Leaving a wake of pathological destruction with your avoidance.

Then you begged, and begged and begged to have me back in your life.

The path of violence with your silence left ripples of searing pain.

It destroyed a family.

Ours.

It was the last time you battered my sweet and loving heart.

I loved you more than I wanted to.

More than I should have.