Rejection

“Life is a succession of lessons, which must be lived to be understood.” – Ralph Waldo Emerson

I’ve been crying myself to sleep for weeks now and have only just begun to question why. In fact, I was only able to admit yesterday that I’m sad. Now that I’ve been reflecting on it, it’s not surprising because I’ve invested so little in my own emotional well-being; and I’m not the only one that knows that, my closest friends recognize my tendency to always put others first. I had to ask myself a multitude of questions yesterday, each one almost always leading to another before I found the root of the issue: rejection.

One of the definitions for rejection is ‘to discard as useless or unsatisfactory’. That has always been my personal view of self when I experience rejection. Reflecting over this last year, I’ve experienced a good deal of rejection; and now it makes sense to me that I could only sum up this past year as difficult and am happy to see it go.

I have an on and off again rejective relationship with my adoptive mother – one who is constantly pushing and pulling. I’m fine with the pushing, not so much the pulling; because I know that her current state of kindness towards me is flippant and fleeting and I know it’s only a matter of time before she tries to wound me again. Also the rejection I feel over her blatant favoritism.

I felt consistently rejected during my stint with online dating and generally frustrated when I continually met awful people. Of the handful of dates that did go well (or at least I thought they did), I either never heard from them again, or there would be several more dates followed by him distancing himself from me.  The rejection hurt and the frustration of someone unwilling to tell me they’re no longer interested rather than forcing me to ask instead of wondering what went wrong made me want to hurl things at times. For the record, I never threw anything – but it probably would have been very cathartic . . . .  Perhaps I should start throwing things.

Pillows in my apartment and rocks in nature beware! Your days are numbered.

I felt rejected recently when the position I was gunning for went to the other candidate. Once again I felt useless and unsatisfactory. A person in another division suggested I apply and I put so much effort into doing my research on the higher ups in the division and mentally preparing myself for interviews. The processed involved several and I nailed every single one. What it boiled down to in the end is that the other person had more experience than me.

There is a consistent feeling of rejection when the manager plays favorites in the office. The latter form of rejection just angers me, so I’m struggling to ignore it entirely. My guess is that I’m only struggling with ignoring it because it’s consistently shoved in my face. Every. Single. Workday.

This seems oddly fitting: Turn away green fish with your different social background, ideals and outlook!

My most recent rejection hurt the most. I’m still processing the emotions, and there are many. I spent too much time with a friend and had far too many communicative interactions when he wasn’t physically with me. I began to love him and knew it just wouldn’t be. Unfortunately, there’s just no ‘off’ button for these sorts of things, at least as far as I know. I knew he was emotionally vulnerable and dealing with his own form of pain and I never took advantage of his trust or that situation. I never made a move and didn’t reveal my feelings until he badgered me into speaking the words that had been on my heart. I didn't expect him to love me back and I knew he wouldn't. Of course I was rejected and I knew I would be which is why I never wanted him to know. I felt both cornered and vulnerable during our discussion; I loathe those feelings.

Now I don’t want anything to do with him. I don’t know if that’s the hurt of rejection speaking right now or that deep down I know any connection with him will only lead to major damage to my own emotional well-being. It could even be that I don't want him to see because I may very well burst into tears the moment I see his face or that it's highly likely things will never just go back to the way they were. All I know now is that I feel hurt in a very visceral way. It’s been pulsing through my veins ever since we had that conversation. It is very unpleasant and I do not like it. Granted, I was hurting long before that, but was in major denial and this experience has amplified the painful feelings.

I kept my feelings to myself because I didn't want to lose the friendship. That now seems like a pointless endeavor.

“I know love is a fading thing just as fickle as a feather in a stream. See, honey, I saw love. You see it came to me. It put its face up to my face so I could see. Yeah then I saw love disfigure me into something I am not recognizing.” – Phosphorescent, Song for Zula

It is a rare person in this world that can get me to open up to them entirely and it is even rarer for me to genuinely love another romantically. I didn’t know what hit me when I felt it for the first time at the age of 28. Everything up until then was suddenly child’s play. Reflecting on those two encounters with a deep form of love in my life, it’s fairly obvious to me that I’m attracted to the broken. I don’t know if it starts out by my desire to help someone through a tough time in life due to my compassionate nature or if there’s something psychologically deeper than what I see on the surface of which I need to find the root cause and work through it.

My mantra for the new year: I will not love broken things. Unless it's the hound; he deserves all the love in the world.

For me, experiencing any emotion on a deep level is usually comparable to stirring a pot of stew where the ingredients surface that were previously hidden below. My past experiences come to surface and the emotions attached to those experiences come to surface as well. I feel the rejection of abandonment by a caregiver’s words and deeds, or those taken by death. I feel the emotional rejection that I experienced by many caregivers growing up. I know deep down there’s a little girl in there somewhere who wants nothing more than to be loved and accepted. For a period of time in my life I was so desperate for those things that I didn’t care what my source was – even if the person was abusive, even if I only used some form of self-medicating just so I didn’t have to feel the emptiness.

There is no quick fix. In the words of Rumi (paraphrased): Experience the pain to find the remedy

Once again I’m crossing the face of the mountain I’m climbing in my attempt to work through these issues. For the last few days, I’ve been letting myself feel, regardless of how unpleasant those feelings are. Consequently, I’m crying much more when I’m alone.  I have become so accustomed to shoving my emotions down and showing the world at least a calm face if not a smile that I just don’t know how to stop. I keep trying, yet I keep finding myself pushing those feelings as far down as I can because I don’t want anyone to know how badly they’ve wounded me, how disappointed I am, or how much I’m hurting in general.

I’ve never been one for New Year’s resolutions. This year will be different. I’m making a few commitments to myself this time around. 2015 will begin with rejection. I am rejecting the entire year of 2014 and probably finding some ceremonious way to say goodbye to it and all of the events that took place within the course of this year. I’ll be giving myself some emotional space to allow myself to process the things that I keep shoving back in the recesses of my psyche. That will probably entail more crying and possibly hurling objects about. So be it. Here's to better days ahead.  

This will be another mantra.

Rebirth of the Heart's Desire

“The world has tilted far from the sun, from colour and juice . . .  I am waiting for a birth that will change everything.” – Hilary Llewellyn-Williams, The Tree Calendar

I welcomed the coming of the Solstice because it brought with it the rebirth of light.

How many times since childhood have we pondered our heart’s desire? I barely grasped the notion of giving and granting when I was a young girl, listening to the tales of folk and fairies that were told to me by a mother figure (one of a few). My early experiences caused me to deny, struggle against, and doubt the desires of my own heart. As a woman, I rarely reflect upon it. The heart’s desire is whimsical or desperate ambition if we can suspend our adult disbelief. The true heart’s desire is an essential potentiality, a destiny sewn in our name, waiting to bloom and grow. What prevents us from achieving it? Our lives may be littered with unresolved and undeveloped hopes, all blocking the way to our true heart’s desire. If we are to achieve the core of our wish, we must first dismantle and rescind our immature wishes. We cancel those immature wants by calling them back and revoking them, along with any other idle wishes we may have uttered and since forgotten. Then the way stands clear. If we commune deeply with your true heart’s desire, rather than upon our fantasies, if we can envision it with every cell of our body and call to it, then we send a true song to make the pathway between ourselves and our heart’s desire.

I don't even recognize the sound of her voice anymore. The Wild Woman exists in there somewhere. I just need to hear her sound.

During the darkest time of the year, we are waiting for a rebirth. The rebirth of light – the blessed solstice; it all gets brighter from here.  What is it that waits to be born in us this time of year? It is a glorious, heroic light that blazes forth with the fierce directness of an innocence that we need now. It is a deep renewal in our lives that we crave; it is the rebirth of innate qualities that will not fail or become slothful or deterred by obstacles, that will be responsible and true, honest and enduring, bright and shining.

I feel as though I’ve been fighting to get back to my core, to the essence of who I am. I've been fighting my way towards the light not realizing that the light is actually meeting me where I am. It’s time to stop struggling. It’s time to stop giving and to spend time reflection on what exactly it is that I want and need out of life. I’ve lost sight of it entirely, particularly over this last year. It’s not necessarily that too much happened, just too much at once for me to entirely process at any given time; and the instances of ‘too manies’ were frequent with little breathing room in between. My biggest hope for the coming new year is a long stretch of a boring, mundane life. That would be lovely.

Perhaps my biggest pet peeve in question form is this: What are you looking for?  For the record, this is one of the many reasons I’m banned from online dating because that question makes me want to throw punches as a fly into a rage and shout, “No! What are you looking for, asshole?!” I think the root of my anger is this: I don’t like feeling exposed or vulnerable and I’d wager that no one does if every single person were being blatantly honest. The question of what I’m looking for is vexing because it demands a form of transparency that is rarely reciprocated. I don’t want to feel picked apart anymore, as if I’m under the lens of someone else’s microscope. They can take that 1000X objective lens and shove it up their arse.

I don’t like being read, I don’t like someone constantly reading every single micro expression on my face and trying to interpret those expressions to form some agenda that meets the needs of the other whether it be an attempt to get me in bed or use me as the physical embodiment of every person that’s ever harmed you in some personal way.

If I’m not misinterpreting my interactions with another person in my life, this happened to me recently – both the constant reading of facial expressions and the projection of ‘Her’ and her deeds that had wronged him were my fault. At least that’s how it felt. He badgered me into admitting something I would have never told him. When I expressed my need for space and being upset over feeling so vulnerable, I was met with anger. I think most of that was misdirected. Of course I understand the desire for transparency in others – yet I think boundaries can still stand and not every single thing must be laid bare and forced open. I am transparent about most things, but I often draw a line in the sand when it pertains to my emotions. When I’m ready to share those feelings I’ll gladly do so, but not before I’m ready. Provoking me only causes me to feel hurt and cracked open.

Some things are mine and mine alone - particularly when it comes to my emotions.

While I’d hoped that nothing would change after that encounter, I can’t say that it hasn’t. I have changed. If nothing else, the conversation was one that expedited the process to my own realization that I need space and I need to spend more time fostering the healthier relationships in life rather than the ones that have potential to be the ruin of all parties involved.  While we certainly have similar characteristics and goals, the potential for ruin outweighs all of the former.

Maybe I'm only speaking from my own vulnerability when I say it feels like there's only ashes now.

I find myself facing a recurring theme that’s practically turned into my mantra this year: spend time with myself. Retreat, rejuvenate, and restore the balance so I can feel whole again. When I spend most of my days constantly reassuring others, constantly pouring positivity into them, I eventually feel as though I’m in autopilot and I have no idea who’s at the helm anymore. I can only say with certainty that it’s not me. I want to tap back into what I’ve lost – not just the feeling of happiness, but also the barely-scraping-the-surface kind of knowledge of the collective consciousness. I’ve been empty for so long. It would be lovely if someone would come along right about now and do what I’ve been doing for others for so long. In the end, I acknowledge that I can only rely on myself and I have to learn to achieve it on my own.

It all comes down to this: Know thyself. 

“Pick it up, pick it all up and start again. You’ve got a second chance, you could go home; escape it all. It’s just irrelevant. You could still be what you want to be, what you said you were when I met you. You’ve got a warm heart. You’ve got a beautiful brain. But it’s disintegrating from all the medicine . . . . You could still be what you want to be, what you said you were when you met me.” Daughter, Medicine

The Haunting

“Lately I’ve been thinking

Lately I’ve been dreaming of you

I’m so resistant to this type of thinking

Oh, now it’s shining through

I was alone for the last time

Before my night’s vacation with you

Alive from the first

Now I’m denied by the ghost of you” – Howie Day

I told myself forgetting him would be easy. It’s not. We both tried to patch things up despite my attempt to sever what we had; it just didn’t happen. For the sake of my sanity, I had to let go. I realized this situation had been stretched out for far too long. There’s no turning back from that and this was something that seemed to have no end in sight. He’d be back in two weeks, his schedule would be jam packed, I’d be finishing the term and it would drag out for another 3 weeks. It’s madness and the constant grief and anguish that I was experiencing was just too much.

Since doing everything I can possibly think of to get over him, I’m haunted by his memory instead. I see things that remind me of him everywhere. Everywhere. I went to dinner with my mother. She took me to the same place I met him one afternoon and I remembered the feeling I had that I may burst and die from happiness. I wasn’t bursting with happiness that night with my mother.

I took a walk last week during a study break. I’d passed that place a million times before and hadn’t noticed it until then. I’m assuming the construction to the building is what drew my eyes towards it – that’s where our reunion took place. I remember my heart danced at the sight of him and when he held me. I didn’t want him to let go. I had mixed feelings looking at the corner coffee shop; part of me wanted to hurl rocks at it and another wanted to collapse on the nearest bench and cry.

Sometimes there aren't enough rocks. 

I passed the building where I first met him several years ago. He was a vision; he still is.

I walked past the church where we sang together for a few months only for the joy of loving music.

There was a brief moment when I laughed at the irony of it all. While talking to my therapist about this experience with him, trying to make sense of where I went wrong, she mentioned Asperger’s. I heard that word in connection to him several times after that, and not just from her. The photo I attached to the blog where I first admitted I loved him – its source gave the image a caption that questioned the stereotype of whether or not someone with Asperger’s could love.  

THIS. This is the infamous photo.

I’ve been doing a lot of dancing lately – because it’s something that makes me happy. Bellydancing is still something to which I am deeply connected, but I’ve been enjoying tango because it’s an experience I can share with others. Guess who piqued my interest in the dance? Being a country bumpkin for a large portion of my life, I still think Portland is a big city. I’m a fool.

 I’ve been taking a non-credit tango course at PSU. The instructor gives some pretty spiffy discounts to students and I’m still at the stage where I suck ass and really need all the help I can get. So, I get to go to these group classes, meet new people and dance as a crappy tango dancer afterwards with whomever is up for a challenge. I always warn those who ask me – I am guaranteed to frustrate you. Truth.

This is what it looks like when I dance tango. Truth.

 Last night I attended one of these dance soirees. From my conversations with my former flame and my petty understanding of the inner workings of his mind, I assumed this sort of event would be too easy for him . . .  yet I underestimated the sense of community that is part of tango. I was chatting with whomever decided to sit next to me or *gasp* dance with a really crappy tango novice. At one point I struck up a conversation with a lovely gal while I watched in amazement at the grace and beauty of the more experienced dancers prancing about on the floor. She asked me if I knew him. I felt my muscles tense for an instant and then I said his last name. Yes, she replied. He was telling me how awesome you are. All I could muster was that we had a falling out and excused myself because I felt another crying fit coming on.

Poor gal. She apologized a couple of times because she realized she had hit a tender nerve. How could she have possibly known? I silently cursed myself for being neurotic and then decided that it was probably about time for me to go. I had reason – a large group of very fun friends and karaoke. I am so thankful for that reason – because I am a terrible liar.

Note: Not just a terrible liar, but not a very creative one, either. 

The greeting I received when I made it to karaoke will go down in history as one of my favorite moments in life. I was glad to be in the presence of a very dear friend, my radiant light, who has been so encouraging and comforting while I’ve been navigating the waters of falling in love and feelings of a broken heart all within one semester.

This little light of mine decided to flirt with every man in the room on my behalf because she wants to see me 'married off and happy'. Also, she was a bit drunk. Having never seen her in this state, I was amused.

She tells the KJ that I should be serenaded with a song. I request Coldplay. I love Coldplay. The song he chose to sing to me was The Scientist. The Scientist. The lyrics are beautiful and deep. It’s all about a breakup and wishing you could start over but knowing you can’t. F*ck me. So, while the KJ with an angelic voice to match his angelic face sang with a passion to make any gal swoon, I was using every amount of energy I possessed to not run out crying. I managed. This time I managed to shed only a few tears and compose myself quickly enough that no one knew anything was wrong. 

Yeah . . . that about sums up the karaoke experience

After barely making it out alive with a night of tango, karaoke and mass quantities of alcohol I went to a meditation workshop this morning. I couldn’t quite remember the address. I used the navigation on my phone to get there once before and thought I could look it up in the phone app. The very first address listed was in Beaverton. The name of the establishment connected to this address wasn't listed on my phone. It didn’t need to be; I don’t know why I remember it, but I did. That was the last place I met him in person. I remembered experiencing joy and sorrow at the same time. I stared at my phone in disbelief for a few moments while my mind grappled with many questions. Mainly, ‘Why’? and ‘Really'?

I was out with my dogs this afternoon at the dog park. Someone asked me at random if I believed in signs. I used to have an answer for that; now I have no freaking idea. If the Universe chooses to speak to me, it’s usually in the form of dream or meditation. By the way, guess who haunted my visions during meditation? I feel like his memory is being thrown at me from every direction. Is this the Universe or some part of my psyche that I refuse to acknowledge that still misses him? Am I randomly making connections where they don’t belong and seeing only what I want to see?

I don’t know what to make of any of this, really. I have never loved another human being as I loved him and I can only guess this is part of the process that goes hand in hand with these type of things.

Beloved, I thank you for the memories. They are something I will hold with me forever just as a part of me will always love you. Everything I ever knew is lingered by one touch from you – and everywhere I go I see your face in my mind.

He is everywhere . . . the air I breathe. 

To the Universe, Psyche, Beloved – the haunting can stop now.

“What have we given?

My friend, blood shaking my heart

The awful daring of a moment’s surrender

Which in age of prudence can never retract

By this, and this only, we have existed.” – T.S. Eliot