I've been following a blog recently about someone who discovered that his spouse no longer reciprocated his love; as I read through his entries, I found myself going through this myriad of emotions. A feeling of loss on his behalf, sorrow over his loneliness and the years spent with someone who starved him of affection, and something else that I couldn't quite identify until now. A feeling of familiarity. I left him a comment on his profile page, trying to convey to him how his story resonated with me, I mentioned that I'd never been in a relationship like that and it struck me right after I submitted my comment for approval that I have. And I am. I am in a relationship of sorts with someone that doesn't love me, someone that takes my time and my potential for granted, someone that takes every available opportunity to undermine, sabotage, and belittle me. I'm not sure when I fell out of love with myself, but it has been this way for a long, long time.
Was it when I dropped out of high school?
When I gained that extra 30 pounds?
When I decided my dreams weren't worth pursuing?
I used to pride myself for my fearlessness. I had a daredevil streak a mile wide growing up. This meant that growing up, I was able to handle horses that other people would avoid; I was the first one to jump off of the dam, shimmy to the swaying tops of the tallest trees, rock climb without harness or second thought, the list goes on. I was confident, unafraid, unflappable, invincible, drunk with the delirium of a life enjoyed. Until the Offender showed up and robbed me of my immortality.
I was fearless in a different way after that. Or maybe, careless. I think that's when I fell out of love with myself. And somehow, even after all this time, I still haven't found a way to punish myself enough for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Shifting my bravery from ways to push the limits of my athleticism became ways to push the limits of authority but didn't seem to help (oddly, enough.. insert dry laugh here). What it DID help with was screwing up the remainder of my childhood that the Offender couldn't reach far enough to touch (no pun intended). I guess he did, though. Although he was far enough away from me to not realize it or care, in all probability. It's not that I wasn't afraid that something worse would happen to me... it didn't matter anymore. Ever since then, I have had the ingrained notion that I am past salvaging. And along with it the fear of failure in just about every task I undertake.
My husband, J, and I have been talking about our 'next step' for the last several days. We are at an impasse -- not with each other, just with our circumstances. I will be 24 this year, and I have no college education, no real marketable skillset outside of very general customer service, and in the small mountain town we moved to, no opportunity past entry level for people like me. J, remembering me mentioning that I tried to enlist in the Army a few years back but was DQ'd because of the recent knee surgery I'd undergone, suggested that I look into going into the military. I tested in the top 5% on my ASVAB, and the recruiter that was trying to put me in was pushing hard for me to go into intelligence. The more I sit on the idea, the more I like it. The idea that I will have a chance to make something of myself appeals to me... but then there are the fears... When I think about calling the recruiter tomorrow, I'm gripped with this sense of dread -- what if the stupid crap I did as a teenager disqualifies me? What if I'm not good enough? What if they laugh in my face and send me on my way? What if I get in and I can't hack it?
Worse than the fear of failure, however, is the fear of success.
I am petrified that they will tell me that they'll take me. I have waffled between optimism and terror for the last two years, and to be honest, I don't want to call. The part of myself that believes I can't do it and shouldn't even try has had its way for as long as I can remember.
Which is the real reason I haven't gone to college yet.
Or lost those 30 pounds.
Or started running with reckless abandon towards the dreams I shelved.
There is a part of me that wants to try, fail or succeed... the part that battled for me to trust my husband with my heart and won.
Even if the military doesn't want me, I have to do this. I have to try. I have to take the first step towards freedom.
Towards the girl I used to be.
Towards loving myself again.
1 comments:
You are clearly very smart. If you go the military route, then good luck to you. (Check out the AF, too). The have a better standard of living in most cases.) But consider college, too. You can get great grants. :)
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