Today though I feel driven to name some of it. Maybe it's a way to feel more in control; if I can define it, it can't rule me perhaps? Or is it because I feel more able to examine this particular dynamic with a more compassionate head than I have been capable of in the past? Whatever the reason there's strong push to get it down on paper. I hope it's okay to share here.
I am experiencing a strong yearning to be taken care of right alongside a deep, deep core feeling that that's the last thing I want, that I shouldn't be pursuing care as a goal, that I should scoop up my hurting, miserable baggage, carry it off somewhere quiet and solitary and cope with it on my own. That tension is perfectly balanced; neither feeling wins out. They are so intrinsically related that I rarely experience one feeling more powerfully than the other. At times I'm not convinced that the two really are separate, or they have been intertwined for so long that I cannot look at them individually no matter how hard I try. I think I'm trying with limited success to describe what the ambivalence that runs through every cell I possess looks and feels like.
Tied up in the yearning is a sense of closeness and intimacy and a feeling that I am actually cared for but it is intangible and hard to see clearly. I think it's real...at least I'd like to believe it is but I worry it might vanish. This is newer than the feelings I have just described and not something I've ever experienced with any reliability, at least not at a core level. I feel awed in a way that I am feeling it at all, muted as it is. I feel like I want to stretch out and bask in it but I know from experience that doing so is like trying to sunbathe on a British beach; I'll feel the sun on my skin but it won't really warm me. It's not enough. How can it ever be enough? I'll never be able to shift the chill from my bones this way. I'm torn between rejecting the sense of closeness completely and trying to chase after it and take in what I can, disappointment and all; after all it's not as if I'm ever going to experience the kind of perfect care I crave. It's a reality I alternately rail against or sit in sad acceptance of. I know that repair does not come from getting what I didn't have. I'm not sure if I'm ready to set down the grief that accompanies that realisation though. I live in fear that my need is so great that accepting even the smallest amount will just make the gaping hole in my soul larger, not smaller. That the only way to keep it from swallowing me and everything around it whole is to starve it, not feed it.
There's a queasy wrongness associated with feeling cared for. It distracts from what should be a pure, positive feeling. There are two strands to this; the first is a sense that I'm chasing after something I shouldn't. The care I wish for is not for me; it never was. It's faintly blasphemous to even consider that I might reach out and accept what is being offered. I wouldn't know how to anyway. The second is very quiet at the moment but I know it's likely to increase in volume as the week progresses. At some point I'll be assailed with the notion that I'm too vulnerable and that the only way to protect myself is to pull away from this disconcerting sense of semi-connection. I cannot afford to contemplate allowing it in. It can't co-exist alongside the defences I've built without weakening them.
Part of the problem I have with pinning down my experience is language; I want to describe how I feel but any attempt can only ever be approximate. I've said before that what makes dealing with unmet need so difficult is that it defies description and that makes communicating with it and about it really, really hard. I don't think words actually exist in any language that really encapsulate what it means to have missed out on a key developmental experience, which makes sense since what this links into is in all likelihood pre-verbal. I'm not sure I've really done it justice but it will have to do for now.