The Difference Between Flying High and Barely Hanging On

Some days I struggle.  It's easy for me to blame the PTSD, PMS, or any number of outside stresses that cause me to struggle, but in the end it isn't any of those things.  It's me.  Sometimes I just don't have it together.  It's not that I don't want it; I just don't have it.  The cloud of darkness just washes over me and there I am; alone in the dark again.

I knew I was struggling this week.  I saw the signs as my temper shortened and my need for space increased.  As much as I want to be close to Bucko, sometimes my instincts tell me to get in the car and just drive.  Drive far, far away and build myself a little tent.  In my tent out in the woods it's cold and dark, but nothing can get in, because I'm zipped up tight.  Sometimes though I think my tent looks more like this:

The truth is most of the time I feel like this:

What I noticed about my little friend here is the smile is painted on.  The sadness is behind the eyes.  She is the image of porcelain perfection.  Happy enough to just leave her alone, unless you look closely.  Most of the time, people don't look.  Then again, I'm not sure my friend wants them to.  If they look closely they might see what she does.  The truth is the sad clown doesn't like herself very much.  She is a good friend, there for others, and always one to make a joke to cover the pain.  If you ask the sad clown what she likes about herself, there isn't much to say.  That's because she doesn't like herself very much.  All she sees is the soul consuming pain.  She knows that if others saw what she did they'd run for the hills.  Hell, she'd run for the hills herself if she could figure out away to get the pain to stop chasing her.  I relate to my little friend here.  I put on a show.  I pretend to be happy when I'm not.  Someone once told me that keeping my problems to myself was best.  Others shouldn't have to worry about me.  I should be concerned about their feelings.  So when someone asks how I am, I say fine.  I don't burden others with my issues.  Except here.  But the thing about here is, I don't have to see the looks of pain on other people's faces when I say I'm not fine.  There is nothing worse than that look.

Actually yes there is.  It's the moment where you have that friend.  We all have that friend.  The one that says, "What do you have to be sad about?  I wish I had your life."  The one that makes you say, "If you only knew."  So to avoid that moment I do what the little clown does, I put on a show.  The show often looks like this:

Again what I noticed about my friend here is that she is alone.  Struggling to keep her balance on the wire, and afraid of falling.  The thing is there is net.  The great thing about the safety net is she doesn't have to rely on someone else to catch her.  That's what the net is.  Her protection.

Intro Bucko.  He wants to take my little act from that to something more like this: 

There doesn't seem to be a net here, and worse yet in order to get here I have to do two things.  They are two things Bucko can't do for me.  I have to let go of my own bar and trust him to catch me when I reach for his hand.  That's the thing.  I'm not sure I can.  I know I should, and my head knows that Bucko will catch me.  I want to do this, but it's just so hard.  There are days when I think it's too hard.  So instead I hold on to my bar.  

The thing about holding on to my bar is that it's great when you first start swinging.  Everything is fine and I'm queen of the world.  Master of my own destiny.  The the momentum slows down, and eventually stops.  I am left stranded in mid-air holding on to my bar for dear life.  When I look down I see that my net has been taken away.  I hear the crowd screaming and Bucko telling me to jump, but I can't.  So I sit frozen until I lose my grip and crash to the ground.  Bucko looks hurt that I'm hurt and wonders why I couldn't just trust him to catch me.  I wish I knew.

But then again, I do.  That's the worst thing about situations like this.  You claim not to know what is wrong, but you know exactly what's wrong with you.  At least I do.  I was hurt very badly as a child, by a man that told me I deserved to be.  I wasn't good for anything and I deserved to be hurt.  I believed him.  I still do.  It makes me question TTWD sometimes.  Now I know that getting a spanking from Bucko is not the same kind of pain I experienced as a child, but the thought is still there.  If I wasn't bad, and didn't deserve it, Bucko wouldn't have to do this.  I wonder what's wrong with me, that as a grown woman I need Bucko to guide me.  I wonder if that man wasn't right all along, and that maybe there really is something wrong with me.  Those feelings make me feel scared and trapped.  While I know I should let go and let Bucko be the ringmaster that guides the circus that is my crazy existence in a positive direction,

        

 the thing is when I feel trapped it seems to be more like this: 

Would you want to deal with that?  The answer is probably not.  I don't really have a point to this post.  I'm not even sure I'll leave it posted.  For now if the feelings are on my blog they aren't inside my head, and that's enough.  Thanks for listening.