I wasn’t made for small talk.
I’ve been told the normal route of conversations is that people talk about the weather, politics and even TV.
Of course I know this. I’ve done this. I can actually get passionate talking about some of this. I love debate and diverging views points that grow my world. And I laugh. A lot. And like it. What’s not to like? The rush of energy, serotonin and the occasional snorted or spat out drink. They are genuinely laughing matters!
But there’s this other thing. A thing I think I’ve always know was there, but only now do I realise it’s uniqueness. I build intrusively emotional connection.
I don’t mean to, honestly I don’t. But I often find myself in a labyrinth of untouched emotion around areas of such personal depth that I’m often left wondering, how did I just do that?
Within ten minutes of meeting a new person, I’m likely to know some pretty personal ins and outs. And likewise with people I love, I give them my all because I care. I ask questions and want to know they’re ok. I’ve tried to play it down or side step it but I often end up at the same place eventually – being emotionally intrusive.
I guess that sounds like the people don’t want to be there, but they do. I just happen to have built the path to that destination. Trust me, they willingly get on that road and walk it.
I’ve know the horrors and happiness of this double edged trait. That awkward moment when I realise I’ve gone too deep and can’t get out. The moment when I realise this person needs more than me to get of what they’re facing. That “how the fuck did that conversation just happen?!” moment.
And then there’s the joys and breakthroughs. The moments of happy tears, held back emotions released to roam and people just knowing that it will be ok.
I love and hate this deep part of me. I have forever wished I was the happy go lucky, keep it light type of person.
The truth is, my real connection comes in small clouds, crowds and bubbles. There’s an intimacy and hilarity that usually binds it. A connection that feels raw, delicate and vulnerable while being sturdy, hopeful and helpful.
Tonight I met my cousin – a friend as well as blood – she bluntly told me that’s why she loves me, needs me in her life and misses me.
I apparently punch her in the stomach with questions that cut right to the heart of the shit that matters.
Apparently that’s good, even though it sounds painful to me quite frankly.
I’ve heard and felt this a lot in my life – or at least the essence of it.
The long phone calls and chats, the reflective moments, the support, tears, laughter, hugs, smiles, stares and hidden wounds. I’ve felt emotions on so many scales and through so many people that I’ve often used them as distractions from what I was feeling. I’ve inadvertently created scary co-dependencies that I’ve had to ween myself away from.
I can’t tell you how hard that part is. Telling someone you can’t be there when otherwise you always have. Saying “no, I can’t” just so I can selfishly protect myself, my sanity, my energy or emotion.
And at these times I have hated myself more. Why have I done this to myself? Why have I created a place where others are safe at the sacrifice of me? Why am I me?
And then, I speak to my cousin, my friends and inner circle on the days I’m feeling strong and hear what they say.
We love you for all you are and all you share. We don’t want another version.
Apparently I’m just fine as I am. Even when I’m punch-in-the-stomach moving.