“Full or empty plate, we are bound to always catch up to ourselves.” Someone told me that today and it really made me think about the way I’m juggling, or failing to juggle, my life right now.
I cram my life full of as much as I can reasonably fit in it. Okay, so maybe the amount things I do can’t really be considered reasonable. But somehow I do them. I like to think I’m superhuman. I set the bar incredibly high in everything I do, and I push myself to achieve, achieve, achieve. I can’t handle it when I don’t. And I don’t, frequently. I don’t achieve. I don’t succeed. But I keep going. I expect that of myself, that I won’t be a quitter.
The funny thing about me is that I allow my expectations to carry over in every aspect of my life. I allow them to dictate my feelings. If I am happy one day, I expect it of myself every day. So when I have a bad day and I’m sad, or when I struggle with memories of the crap that’s happened, I get incredibly frustrated with myself. I forget the things I am doing well and stick in what I’m not. It doesn’t matter if I raised my hand in one class if I shut down in another. It doesn’t matter if I spoke up if another time I chose to be silent. I have a hard time understanding why I can’t just be one hundred percent okay all the time, every day. I was okay yesterday. So why not today?
Why am I this person? Why do I let what happened dictate my life? Why can’t I be free? Why can’t I escape? Remove myself for more than just a day or two? Lacan would say that I’m chasing a lack, that I’m trying to make up for what’s missing (and the fact that I don’t have a phallus).
Lacan would be right.
I lost five, almost six years of my life. More if you count the fallout of the years following. And even now I can’t talk about it. I won’t.
The hardest thing is lacking an outlet, a way to get rid of the things inside my head. I know that’s what writing is for me. But I’m more referring to a verbal acknowledgement that this happened; a nod that these things don’t have to just stay under cover. I don’t know how to get that. I don’t know how to incorporate some things as a part of myself when they still hurt. When they always will.
It’s okay to feel like garbage. It’s okay to be angry with yourself and it’s okay to feel things. Above all, it’s okay to just be. Sometimes, it’s the only thing you can do. I can read these things and I can say them, and I can believe they are true for someone else. But not for me.
Never for me.
I expect myself to be okay every single day, which isn’t right. And it’s certainly not fair. So for now I will keep flooding my life whenever I can, and I’ll keep floating on. Because that’s all I can do. Being full is always the better choice.