Dealing...or not, as the case may be.
Over the past few days, I've been given good cause to realize that I don't deal well with things emotionally. In retrospect, that's probably part of why marriage failed. I've spent so much of my life intentionally closed off from people that I never really learned all those wonderful coping skills that folks rave about.
I have pretty much two modes with people: avoid and overload. I either avoid any and all meaningful discussion of anything that has serious emotional connections or I open up completely and pour out everything. I don't have any middle ground...not really.
I figure this is why I have exactly one true friend now. One person that I can really, honestly confide in that isn't tied to me by blood. Everyone else stays on the outside. I don't let them in. From time to time, I even go so far as to weave deliberate falsehoods about my past and my life to keep help me keep them at arm's length.
It's weak and its childish. I'll be the first to admit that...here. My problems run deep. I don't trust people and deep down inside, I know the reasons why. I know where it started and I can recall every instance during my childhood and adolesence that made me into what I am. On some level, I know how every brick got put into this wall, I know the events that forged every bar in the cage I built for myself.
I don't relate to the world in the same ways that normal people do, that's one thing that I know for certain. I feel like there's a big part of me missing. The part that lets me be okay with just being me. I hoped for a long time after my son was born, that I'd found it. That he was going to be the thing that made it possible for me to see the world the way other people see it.
It didn't change anything though. I still ended up slowly pushing my ex-wife away. I still don't know how to open myself up to other people without just opening the floodgates. I'm still broken inside.
And I'm beginning to think that there's nothing that can fix me.