Paralyzed

Some people get paralyzed by their fears. Some get paralyzed by certain phobias like heights, bridges, dark rooms, water. And some get paralyzed by their own emotions. I'm not talking the kind of paralysis that cements your feet to the ground or has you gasping for breathe. I'm talking about the kind of paralysis where you psychologically cannot move...either forwards or backwards. I'm one of those people who gets paralyzed by my own emotions....feeling inferior being the biggest one.

All I've ever wanted was to fit in with everyone else. I didn't want to be different. I believe this all started shortly after my father moved us all from Connecticut to Lewiston, Maine. My family, at the age of 7, was my world. My best friend, Lisa (name changed), lived next door to me. I lived walking distance to my maternal grandparents, my mother's uncle, my dad's sister. If you've ever been to the foothills of Connecticut and you're familiar with the town Terryville, you'll understand that this was an extremely small community with little economic infastructure. And my father moved us to Lewiston, Maine...the second or third largest "city" in Maine??? I found myself lost in a sea of people. I entered 3rd grade and all of those cemented friendships had little room for me...and I had no confidence to build a plan to infiltrate.

Then my parents moved.....in 2 years we moved 3 times and finally ended up in New Auburn, Maine the summer before I began fifth grade. This feeling of not fitting in had started seeping in there...but it wasn't until middle school that I really felt it. Maybe it's because of what was happening with my family at the time. I felt I had to hide what happened at home...not out of shame, but out of survival. No one wants to be friends with the kid with the crazy mom, three colored house, junk cars in the yard and trouble maker brothers. It probably didn't help that I somehow earned the distinction of not being like by the most popular girl in our grade, Susan (named changed.) And Susan had it all....money, looks, talent, parents who were normal and successful. I avoided her on the playground everyday for the longest time because she threatened to punch me. I wonder now if I had stood up to her, how would things be different. Alas, this isn't a Hollywood movie is it? Nope, I tucked my tail between my legs and dealt with the lumps life gave me.

To this day, I still moan about not being good enough, not fitting in. And a good friend (you know who you are) helped me realize that I've built walls so massive and then added a cocoon around myself that the real me is crying to get out. Maybe she's gone from crying to screaming. It's probably not a good thing that I over-analyze everything and therefore read into every word, body movement to help instill this feeling of inferiority. It's literally strangled my ability to trust people, like people, let people in. In fact, in response our conversation, I told my friend "I have walls because if I let people in, they hurt me!" And my past experiences have only served to cement all of these feelings. I had good friends in middle school.....then one of them had a father who followed me in his truck, tried to bring me into the back of his house and then denied the whole thing....the guidance counselor pull Tina, and her sister Tanya (names changed), into her office and told them of my accusations...can you say "good bye friends"?

And it's still happening now....whether it's all in my head or part of some sick form of karma....it's really sad that in a group of four people, you sometimes feel like the fifth wheel. But, I have to ask myself....how much of my insecurity am I bringing into this? And how much is my ever growing depression from being unemployed (and in a sense, incapacitated) fueling this fire? So I talk to my good friend and he says....."They are going to hurt you anyway." And you know what, he's right. (Go ahead, write it down, you know you want to.)

I talk to my life partner, soulmate, husband....who perhaps knows me better than I know myself. And being part of the group of four, he's got first hand knowledge...and he is struggling with how to help me through this. How can he stop me from hurting from these things? It's never going to go away. But I've got really good people around me to help me through the process. And as my own personal defense mechanism, I'll continue to over-analyze everything...it's both a blessing and a curse. But I won't, can't, give it up. It's what keeps me from turning into my mother.