What I Realized About "What I Really Meant to Say on Facebook"

I realized something the other night, the night of the Super Moon actually. I was thinking about the blog entry I'd recently posted about being sick of assholes and also about how much it sometimes bugs me when people are unresponsive. Please note, these two things don't necessarily go together. I think some people who read my blog thought I might be saying that they do. But they don't. My brother, for example, sometimes takes a week to get back to me, but he is one of the last people on earth I would ever think of as an asshole. I don't even think it's possible for him! I just kind of lumped it all together the other day, so forgive me if that wasn't clear. But back to my realization:

I was thinking about assholes and unresponsiveness. I was thinking about people's bullshit beliefs and excuses, including my own. I was thinking about a lack of being acknowledged. I was thinking about a lack of my words being acknowledged. I was thinking about inconsideration. Ugh, I know this is really about me! And my ego. So why does this stuff bother me so much!?

And suddenly it hit me. Kyle. It all goes back to him. Not just back to me (although ultimately, yes, it does, but let's ignore that for now). It all goes back to that night in the car when he wouldn't listen to me yelling at him to slow down or stop the car. It all goes back to my sense of safety, to my life being threatened and messed with. His lack of hearing me, of acknowledging me, of considering me, of listening to me, of responding to me led directly to that fateful accident that resulted in so much damage. I don't care that there was something wrong with the car too, that the car was, as he put it "unresponsive;" the fact is that he was unresponsive. Plain and simple.

Now, I do recognize that it's not all about that night; it's not really all about Kyle. Surely I've got some childhood issues there around attention (or lack thereof) and/or social rejection. BUT, this thing about Kyle and the car accident felt HUGE! And with it came a sense of lightness, relief, and a curiosity if now I won't get so triggered, if now this unresponsiveness thing won't be a pet peeve. Because it's not like I'm in danger if someone ignores a text message or doesn't reply to an email, right? Right. It's not going to lead to my body being assaulted and violated, right? Right. It's over. I'm safe now.

It's become quite fascinating to me how that night in the car, the experience of the ride itself, of my screams and pleas being ignored, along with the impact itself, the injuries, and all the stuff that was done to me in the hospital has permeated all of these various aspects of my life. I didn't get it before; I didn't understand that this all could be affecting my relationships with people, including with myself. To some extent, I got it. For sure. I even thought I'd worked through most of it. Thought I could just let it go and that I had let most of it go. I thought it was as simple as a choice, an attitude, deprogramming and reprogramming on my own without the help of a professional, but no. Not so plain and simple.

I also didn't want to ask for help. I wanted to believe I didn't need any. But with all of my own self-study and self-inquiry and self-help and bodywork and embodiment practices and this and that and the other thing, I certainly understood and learned and healed a lot, but there were these deeper levels remaining. I was in denial for so many years about the depth and extent of damage; I didn't want to identify as damaged. But I was. Absolutely. Undeniably. I was damaged.  And then I healed, and am still healing.

Shortly after moving to Austin, I realized this pattern of denial and vowed to face the truth even more than ever before. I was sick of the ways in which I'd been an asshole to myself, and I was tired of my own bullshit.

The timing was divine, realizing it was time to go deeper, to uncover some hidden truths, to grieve deeply, to ask for help, and then meeting someone whose opinion I respected and trusted and who suggested EMDR. It's never too late to process unprocessed trauma. And the insights, as well as physiological changes taking place, it's a trip. One I am happy to be on.

And that leads me back to Kyle. I kind of hope he doesn't see this; I cringe at the thought of it actually. But I do tend to think of him as an asshole in general, even though we talked it out years ago and I know he didn't intentionally hurt me, and something like forgiveness was expressed. I can't help it; I still think of him as an asshole; perhaps the EMDR will change that, but perhaps the EMDR is actually what helps me admit to it and be ok with it, to not feel the need to not think of him that way, and to not feel the need to apologize to him or anyone else for what I've written and am still planning to write.

The other side of this coin though is that I also often feel so incredibly grateful to Kyle. Like I'm sitting here glowing, smiling, as I type that, as I think of him. Sometimes I want to call him up and thank him for not listening to me. Sometimes I just wanna hug the guy and laugh over how crazy life is. But sometimes I still wanna give him a little shove and verbally beat him to a pulp. It's a strange gratitude/hate type of thing, something I'm still wrapping my head around. And so perhaps it's premature to express it here. It certainly is an incomplete expression. But one day, in the near future, it will be more completely expressed in one of those books-in-progress of mine.

And that's all I have to say about all of that for now.

© 2013 Rebecca Clio Gould. All rights reserved.