My struggle to be heard and loved has been long, lonely, and gruesome. My recollection of having no voice goes as far back as when I was 5 years old. I had some physical problems for which I had to be hospitalized briefly, but for which I remember vividly. I don't know if that condition or procedure had anything to do with my losing my voice or if it was a symptom. Sometime when I have more time, I'll discuss the dynamics of my parents. But for now, suffice it to say that I'm not sure when, how or why I lost my voice. Kind of like the main character in the movie "The Piano." She just stopped talking. No one knows why. For the longest time that was my favorite movie. After much therapy, I finally realized why.
Anyway, what I do know for certain is that for the past 35 years, I've been struggling to regain my voice. At times, I didn't see the point in continuing my fruitless search and the neverending struggle to find my elusive "Self." But then I heard the wisdom of Buddha, who said, "Life is suffering." And I thought, okay. . . what if this is as good as it gets??? Depressing prospect, however, I didn't feel so alone in my suffering and confusion anymore. So I thought it best to keep up the good fight.
I've been meditating now for 10 years and the more layers I peel away, and the softer I become, the more suffering I seem to have to endure. It's like a hundred lifetimes of grief, anger, and despair are all starting to bubble to the surface. Maybe it's a hundred lifetimes of karma finally catching up with me.
I have had brief periods of joy in between the even longer periods of despair and that joy is what keeps me going. I hold to a belief, perhaps a false one, that one day, the periods of joy will last longer than those of despair. One of my most painful awarenesses has been that not only have I been a victim of countless neglectful and emotional vagabonds, but that I too have played that role and have left caring and compassionate men wounded and bleeding on the side of the road with not so much as a tissue or a compassionate word to help them through the ordeal. This, I am having a most difficult time with. The self forgiveness that is necessary for me to move on, has yet to be granted.
My history is that I go from being in a relationship with someone who is wounded and cut off from his emotions to someone who is loving and attentive. Staying in the "good" relationship until the other party needs more from me than I'm willing or able to give or until I'm jonesing for a fix for my addiction. My addiction to be with and be heard by someone incapable of hearing me. In my last relationship though, it seemed that the line between abused and abuser was, at times, skewed. For the most part, I was the one with no voice and no control but there were times that I look back on now and it's somewhat questionable as to who was being abused and who was doing the abusing. In the end, he's the one that apologized and i'm the one that exploded with rage from my despair but it almost seems like we were mirroring both the victim and aggressor aspects of each other. Maybe I'm just trying to take responsibility for an N's actions but I'd swear that I've been on both ends of the spectrum.
Anyone else have those feelings or that experience or am I all alone on this one??
muji
