If
you know me, if you’ve met me, or if you’ve read any of my blog posts over the
past several years, you would probably say that I’m able to easily express my
emotions, that I’m an emotional person, or that I’m clearly in touch with my
emotions. You’d be wrong. Very wrong. It
takes a hard, concerted effort, and one that I have to work on EVERY day to
express my emotions, or to even acknowledge them. I sometimes fail. I sometimes fall back into
my safety net, and cower behind my wall of steel, stone and ice, to protect
myself from feeling the full impact of the pain that’s in my life.
If
you’re shaking your head, because you don’t believe it – let me explain.
I
have PTSD, and a pretty bad case of it. For those of you who instantly just
filled your mind with the idea that those who battle with PTSD are weak, you’re
fucking wrong. Let me repeat: YOU ARE FUCKING WRONG! THOSE who FAIL to face their truth and battle
with their PTSD are the weak ones, not the other way around. The strongest of souls fight battles every
day most of us don’t even have an idea of their struggle, because they’re not
weak-ass pansies throwing their problems on everyone else, looking for that pat
on the back, or that bit of sympathy. They acknowledge their pain, face it, and
deal with it head on no matter how hard, how much it hurts, how much it’s going
turn their world upside down. They are
not quitters.
I
hate pity and sympathy. It irritates the shit out of me when people feel sorry
for me when they learn about some of the struggles I’ve been through. I hate
it. It’s one of the reasons I had kept my mouth shut for so long, because I
hated to see that look on their faces or hear that sound of pity in their
voices – and then watch as they begin to treat me like a victim - with kid
gloves, afraid to offend me, afraid to be themselves in order to not hurt me.
If I broke so easily, I wouldn’t be who I am today. I’m the strongest fucking person I know in
this world and I hate being treated like a victim or a fragile flower. But that’s
the kind of world in which we live, where people want sympathy and excuses for
their failures instead of someone refusing to carry their lazy asses and tell
them to pick themselves up off the floor and fight. I hate fucking excuses and I literally hear
them day in and day out.
I
don’t pity others. If you come to me
with your sad story – you WILL tug at my heart strings. I’m a fucking bleeding
heart – but then you’re going to stir the warrior inside and I’m not going to
come to you and put my arms around and you pat you on the back. I’m going to get in your face and ask you
what the fuck you’ve done to pull yourself out of the situation, to protect
yourself from it happening again, what you’ve learned, and what you’re doing to
fight to protect yourself. If I see you
fighting – I’m going to jump in the lion’s den with you and do whatever is
necessary to help you succeed. But, if
you’re cowering in the corner – and want me to do the fighting for you – THAT
SHIT AIN’T HAPPENING. I’ve nearly killed myself saving fucking victims. I can’t
do it. I won’t do it. If you’re a victim, if you are immobilized
because you can’t get over your shit – I can’t help you. I have no sympathy for
you.
I
don’t want to know what you WANT to do. I want to know what you’re DOING. I
respect someone flat on their ass because they’ve failed attempting to fulfill
their dreams, or attempting to overcome something that’s holding them back,
than some whiny-ass bitch with a bunch of dreams but doing NOTHING to make that
dream come true. I admire people that don’t give up. I admire people that
aren’t afraid to own their failures and mistakes. If your ass is broke because
you half-ass everything you do, take short cuts, or have a bitter attitude that
you’re struggle has ANYTHING to do with your culture, skin color,
opportunities, sex, or breeding – I can’t even talk to you. FUCK YOU. I hope
you lose everything you’ve got so that way maybe you’ll be forced to struggle
to fight for everything and learn to respect yourself and learn your worth and
stop making fucking excuses for your failure. YOU own your success or
failure. And we more than likely have a
different definition of failures – because some failures are victories if there
was something learned or gained.
THAT
is an example of my PTSD. I will help,
protect, fight with, and be open with honest, straight-forward people. But, I
don’t trust most people. I don’t even like people to touch me or get into my
personal space. If I hug you or allow
you to touch me, it wasn’t nothing – it took a huge effort and a whole lot of
trust. And being able to write my truth – that took a long, long, time to get
to this level of freedom. My breakthrough came when I started writing to
MYSELF. When I started to love the warrior inside, the woman that deserved to
be acknowledged and appreciated. It took
me until I was almost 30 years old before I could even cry. I never said the words “I Love You”. Ask my first husband. All we ever got to was,
“I like you a whole lot.”
So,
the point I’m getting at is this – when you meet someone who has a hard time
expressing their emotions – quit expecting them to respond to things and
situations in the way YOU would respond. They are not you. If you see them struggling to express, step
back – you don’t know what they’re carrying. Now, don’t give place to victims.
Don’t placate or enable victims’ excuses.
And don’t take disrespect from them either. No matter what they’re
struggling with – love yourself enough to expect to be treated with respect. If
you don’t get it, ask for it. If you still don’t get it – show them your back
because they’re nothing but fucking vampires and they’ll suck the life out of
you in an attempt to fill their own emptiness. Treat people with respect for
who THEY are – take the opportunity and time to find out HOW to relate to them.
That’s the ultimate expression of love and respect is actually observing and
giving someone the focus and time to get to know THEM for who they are
inside. If you’re too busy, or too
self-absorbed, you’re a shitty friend and just move on for their sake.
If
I care about someone, I’m Nancy-Fucking-Drew. I’m always asking questions,
observing how they respond to me, quick to apologize if I over step, and am
honest – brutally and openly honest. A
lot of people can’t handle truth because we live in such a disconnected world,
hidden behind our social media and self-help bullshit, quick to just ghost and
hide from responsibility and then whine and complain that shit don’t work.
We’re too quick to swipe left or right, and when things get hard (and ALL
fucking life is hard at some points) we run back to level one where it’s easy.
We get offended too easily. My best friend right now is someone I’m not afraid
to get in her face, and she’s not afraid to get in mine, because we know we may
get mad, but we will always be back the next day to work it out.
I
actually had a guy tell me the other day he doesn’t like drama. He doesn’t
respond to drama and only wants to hang out to have ‘fun’. I’m sorry – but that’s not a FRIEND. That’s a
fucking acquaintance, or what they call a ‘fair-weathered friend’. I don’t need those in my life. I love my
sunshine and I love to share my sunshine with my FRIENDS who’ve been through
the storms with me. They deserve my sunshine. Fucking fair-weathered friends
don’t deserve anything from me – especially my time. My time is valuable and
precious. When I’m with my friends, they have my full focus. I need them at
times, and I need to be there for them at times. Yes, we shouldn’t surround ourselves with
negative people. I will be the first to send someone stepping if all I hear out
of their mouth is negative bullshit. But, there’s a huge difference between a
negative person and someone going through something. I am deep, and I’ve got deep wounds and no
weak ass punk is going to be able to handle my truth. That’s probably why I love
badass Rangers, mean ass Marines, and those warring Navy SEALS. They make
street thugs look like fucking pussy cats. I’m the daughter of an International
Cartel Drug Dealer – and I’ve seen some shit – but I don’t have anything to
worry about when one of these guys have my six. NOT ONE FUCKING WORRY. They can
handle it. But, no matter how tough they
are – emotions may not be something they easily handle. But that in no way
makes them weak. Those who don’t take
the time to try and understand how to listen, how to relate – they are the weak
ones. A warrior is deep, and only deep can hear the deep. Leave all that shallow ass bullshit for those
fair-weathered friends. I’m not a frogman,
but I swim in deep waters.
Till
next time,
~T.L.
Gray
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