My Fortress
Better not to get too close.
I seem to have a talent for being "normal" or lovable enough most of the time. But sometimes I get quiet, I get introspective, I get nervous, I get very focused on myself. I get weird, I guess.
Apparently, it scares people. Either that, or I behave differently enough or say things differently enough that I do something offensive without even realizing it. People start acting standoffish and I know I've done it again. I've weirded people away.
In those moments, I usually do one of two things. I get anxious and try to figure out how to "fix" it. I can't lose another person. I must have done something wrong and I need to make it right or I'll be a terrible person forever. Not to mention alone. Of course, those are very selfish, codependent fears. But some part of me is even more terrified to consider how my actions have hurt someone else. I don't know if I could live with knowing what I've done. Even if it's something tiny. That seems unbearable to some part of my brain. Can't go there.
The other thing I do (also to avoid facing pain - either mine or someone else's) is to tell myself I don't care. They're just jerks anyway. They're immature or not understanding enough or whatever. I figure out what to dislike them for so I can detach. "Persecuting" them (even just in my mind) lessens my own pain and makes everything a little tidier for me. .
So, my response is usually to decide who is bad: either I'm bad or they're bad. That's shaming, codependent thinking right there. Why do I do that? Because acknowledging that one or both of us may just need to adjust something or resolve that particular situation leaves me vulnerable. It leaves me hoping. And I know what hope has done to me before. It's broken me. I leave myself hoping, only to get slapped in the face and even more hurt than when I first chose to hope.
Codependent black-and-white thinking is safer, in a way. It lets me disconnect, close up my heart, let go of hope, refuse to be vulnerable. If I'm bad, I'll try, half-heartedly, to fix things, and then just fade into the background when it doesn't work. Even if it does work, I pull a piece of my heart back from that person. I need to keep myself safe.
If they're bad, then I can write them off and have a clear (enough) conscience. I don't have to hurt because they weren't good for me anyway, right?
Either way, I numb myself. Either way, I isolate myself. Either way, I reinforce to myself, for the millionth time, that any kind of real intimacy is not in the cards for me. Either I'm incapable, or everyone else is.
Codependent Me convinces me, once again, that I am destined to be alone in my stupid fortress of numbness and shame.
It's safer there, after all.
I seem to have a talent for being "normal" or lovable enough most of the time. But sometimes I get quiet, I get introspective, I get nervous, I get very focused on myself. I get weird, I guess.
Apparently, it scares people. Either that, or I behave differently enough or say things differently enough that I do something offensive without even realizing it. People start acting standoffish and I know I've done it again. I've weirded people away.
In those moments, I usually do one of two things. I get anxious and try to figure out how to "fix" it. I can't lose another person. I must have done something wrong and I need to make it right or I'll be a terrible person forever. Not to mention alone. Of course, those are very selfish, codependent fears. But some part of me is even more terrified to consider how my actions have hurt someone else. I don't know if I could live with knowing what I've done. Even if it's something tiny. That seems unbearable to some part of my brain. Can't go there.
The other thing I do (also to avoid facing pain - either mine or someone else's) is to tell myself I don't care. They're just jerks anyway. They're immature or not understanding enough or whatever. I figure out what to dislike them for so I can detach. "Persecuting" them (even just in my mind) lessens my own pain and makes everything a little tidier for me. .
So, my response is usually to decide who is bad: either I'm bad or they're bad. That's shaming, codependent thinking right there. Why do I do that? Because acknowledging that one or both of us may just need to adjust something or resolve that particular situation leaves me vulnerable. It leaves me hoping. And I know what hope has done to me before. It's broken me. I leave myself hoping, only to get slapped in the face and even more hurt than when I first chose to hope.
Codependent black-and-white thinking is safer, in a way. It lets me disconnect, close up my heart, let go of hope, refuse to be vulnerable. If I'm bad, I'll try, half-heartedly, to fix things, and then just fade into the background when it doesn't work. Even if it does work, I pull a piece of my heart back from that person. I need to keep myself safe.
If they're bad, then I can write them off and have a clear (enough) conscience. I don't have to hurt because they weren't good for me anyway, right?
Either way, I numb myself. Either way, I isolate myself. Either way, I reinforce to myself, for the millionth time, that any kind of real intimacy is not in the cards for me. Either I'm incapable, or everyone else is.
Codependent Me convinces me, once again, that I am destined to be alone in my stupid fortress of numbness and shame.
It's safer there, after all.
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