I really am done. Enough human contact has been had. I need a detox.

Blog comments are off. Messenger is off. Facebook is logged out of not to be logged back into for as long as I can possibly stand it. The only way to get hold of me now is email, text, Twitter and Instagram. I can deal with that. No more though.

No more humans and all their humanness.

I guess writing this in a blog aimed at human could be construed as kind of offensive, given that the only people reading this will be humans (!)

But this isn’t an open letter to every human. My feelings about humanity are not applied to ALL humanity. The trouble is, once you’ve told the specific ones that they’ve really caused considerable upset to you, and you still feel sad and miserable about it…the only thing left is to express your general feelings into cyber-space and tap…it’s out there.

Externalised.

I post as much as I do on this blog and beyond because externalisation is my favourite coping strategy.

Externalisation is getting that thing that is bugging you, unlocking your chest (where your heart is located), and getting the thing that used to be inside you, fully outside.

Inside……Outside.

Internal…..External.

Some people favour the opposite way of emotional coping. Some people are not externalisers. Some people are STUFFERS….that thing that is really bugging and upsetting you?….don’t express it….no, stuff it the hell down…..repress…..ignore…..divert…..distract……pretend it isn’t there….pretend it isn’t an issue…whatever it is, stuff it into a tight ball of emotion, and compact that ball tighter and tighter and tighter so it barely takes up any storage space within your skeletal structure.

Repressed anger (so they say) causes cancer.

Repressed sadness (so they say) causes cancer.

I’m not getting into a scientific debate into how true that is…but there is a definite school of thought that states the repression of emotions is far more poisonous to the body physiologically, than open expression of anything that comes up for you emotionally speaking as you’re going along.

I’m no scientist, but what I do know is that I used to be a stuffer….and stuffing made me privately ill. I didn’t appear psychologically unwell. The pearly white smile made sure of that.

Happy girl happy girl, always smiling. Look at that beautiful girl, what a beautiful smile.

Excuse me while I wretch over a bucket.

That was bollocks….that smiling act I used to put on for years and years….all unadulterated public relations impression managing bollocks.

If I’m mad now, I fucking own it. I say “I’m mad”. I say “I am hurting”. I say “that has upset me”. I say “I am worried”. I say “I am regretful”. I say “I’m ashamed.” Whatever unpleasant thing I might be experiencing I am able to label it and openly wear my heart on my sleeve and say, this thing….this shitty thing….this is what I am feeling.

I also do this with the positive array of emotions I experience too. I say “I’m buzzing”. I say “I’m excited”. I say “I can’t smile wide enough”. I say “I’m well happy”. I say “I can’t stop grinning”. I say air punch in a blog post if I feel like punching the air at any point. I woop, then woop some more because there is never enough wooping to be done in situations when I’m feeling good things.

My emotionality is what people like. It is the attraction. There is no hiding and second guessing. It is also my downfall…what people struggle with about me.

Here is my sleeve….look at my beautiful heart on it.

This is the heart that was hurt when I was little. This is the heart that raced when the bad shit happened. This is the heart that loved my close family, in spite of how awful they made me feel. This is the heart that cares when people are sad and tries her best to uplift people when they’re hurting. This is the heart that wants other people to be infected in a positive way when she shares positive feelings and constructive helpful ideas. This is the heart that is happy when a blogger leaves a comment saying a post of hers made her smile. This is the heart that smiles and glows inside her rib cage when someone tells her she wrote something that touched you, or explained something in a new way that made perfect sense.

This is the also the heart of someone who was bullied, who was raped, who was watxhed while they did it, who was threatened on her life, who saw death and the remains of body carcasses dangle inches from her face. This is the heart that sank as she obeyed instructions made by frightening people who said they’d kill HER if she didn’t obey. This is the heart of the girl who walked alone at school, lost in her dream world, wishing someone would just ask her to join in their game.

People like my emotionality…but don’t like all of me.

People can’t tolerate the package deal.

They can only tolerate the bits that are positive and easily tolerable.

People think if they point out the lesser bits that maybe that’ll frighten me into eradicating those bits. Reinforce the good. Eradicate her bad.

I’m not bad.

I’m just unusually direct, and unusually expressive.

That makes me stand out from the crowd.

I am a rainbow unicorn with a glittery mane. But because of the mental illness part…because I have sensitivity….because I lack that thick skin we are told is essential for every human to have….because I sometimes react and express frustration, annoyance, hurt, sadness and pain alongside the rainbows, the rainbow-ness of me fades into people’s minds as though it were never there.

I have become shitty and brown and murky….I am not allowed to be all colours of the rainbow, as well as black and white. This rainbow once expressed something negative, the rainbow memory vanishes. I’m just the rainbow equivalent of 50 shades of shit then.

All that is seen is brown….

Pardon me for not achieving social perfection. Pardon me for not being the perfect friend 24/7. Pardon me for what I said or did when I felt a bit low that time.

I’ll walk the playground alone.

I’ll swing on my mood swing.

I’ll wait till you’ve all had your playtime with each other and I’ll tentatively rock up at the park when you’re all off having your tea with your families.

Mood swings are designed to be swung on alone I guess. Slides are maybe more for sharing….unless they are mood slides downwards.

You might catch the contagious depressiveness of the mood swinger.

Keep well away.

Vacate the premises.

Leave the loner. She’ll sort herself out. She’ll manage. She knows time alone will replenish and heal her better.

She knows not to rely on people.

She knows the only person that can probably stop this slide right now is her psychologist.

She doesn’t want anyone else in her mood playground. She doesn’t want an audience. She doesn’t want pity of judgement. She just wants acceptance for herself….but she knows that is too much to ask.

Maybe friendships with people who also have wounded pasts are too difficult. Maybe it is too much of a see saw. Maybe alone is her thing. Maybe explaining herself is too much effort. Maybe she’s sick of people saying they accept you then getting pissed off with you regardless when you put any foot forward other than TOTAL social and friendship-oriented perfection.

Maybe he needs to care for the wounds in her own heart, instead of trying to assist her other friends healing theres.

If me trying to fix you (collective you, no-one specific) leads to my heart’s holes getting bigger, can I really do this?

Even me writing this post may upset people. Blogger’s are on tricky territory. We publish our innermost thoughts and feelings…usually people keep this stuff hidden….they are the stuffers. I am no stuffer.

I externalise so I don’t get emotional cancer.

How you cope is up to you…but please respect me for how I cope, and understand why openness, transparency and directness of emotional expression are my only way to keep my emotional cancer from spreading.

I am not trying to give you cancer. I am not trying to upset you. I am just trying to avoid my own cancer.

I am responsible for me, for my children and no-one else.

I over-invest in trying to be a supportive friend to lots of people and am sick of those bites on the bum I get.

There shouldn’t be a backlash…but there is. I have enough going on inside as it is, without firefighting other people’s fires as well as my own.

If I sit on my mood swing quietly, in the evening light of dusk, I cannot hurt anyone, nor be hurt. So it seems the best way.

I will mend myself, for me. I will gather my strength back up again, for me. And I will quit feeling responsible for other people’s wellbeing at the expense of my own.

I’m disillusioned. I’m miserable. I’m sad. I’m resentful.

Those are my feelings, and only my feelings. They are no concern of yours. Just like your shit is not my shit.

If I piss off every person who has ever spoken to me by publishing this, and tarnish my reputation permanently, undoing all the positive intentions I’ve had since I started putting myself out there in the summerSHINES blog, so be it.

Allow me to throw my toys out of this pram, and toss my protective blanket away too. I will lie vulnerable, but alone. Alone is safe. Alone is my way of minimising emotional harm. No harm can come to me alone, but humans can (and do) harm me. Humans cause wounds. That is why I need this space around me.

I have dealt with a whole load of crap these last few weeks…. most of it unknown to my readers. I don’t have to explain everything, particularly when I was threatened not to by someone I used to call a friend. His threat succeeded in getting under my skin.

If you’re reading this, well done…congratulations-you hurt me just as you intended to hurt me.

Slow claps. Applause. Nothing hidden about what I’m saying here. You know exactly what and who I’m writing about here. You cannot police my blog. You cannot intimidate me. I am safe. Just don’t come looking for me at the playground. Quite simply, I never want to see your face again.

summerSHINES ©

This is unedited and raw. If there are errors, excuse me. I don’t want to hear from anyone. I just want to be left alone.

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