The Babadook (from the archives)

Originally posted September 11, 2020

There is a tight pain in my chest and it’s not because of the smoke in the air. If you’ve never seen the movie the Babadook, I suggest you do. It is essentially an allegory for mental disorder. He is that dark place your mind wanders to when you’ve lost your grounding. The rabbit hole of self-doubt and insecurities. I have struggled with my anxiety and depression for many years. Right now, the Babadook is behind the wheel…

I am not good at managing my emotions. Feelings scare me. It’s your classic tale of growing up a lonely scared gay kid who was rejected by many when coming out of the closet. Even beat up a few times. I was a young teen told by people I trusted and respected that I was disgusting, I was a pervert, I would end up being a pedophile, and not worthy of love. I lost friends, I lost family. When I got older I even lost my job to homophobia; I was told the women in the office felt uncomfortable around me. Female friends accused me of “checking them out” and female relatives did not want anything to do with me. Apparently, being a lesbian meant that you were going to be predatory and sexually assault all women in sight. This has haunted and damaged most of my relationships with people – especially women.

The truth is, I’m scared of people. I’m scared of getting close to them and being accused of inappropriate intentions. Which is ironic because I am so scared of people that I am scared of even thinking about them in an inappropriate way. As you can imagine, my love life is non-existent. I’m scared of trusting or loving people because, to me, my love is associated with fear, disgust, and rejection. When I love someone, I love deep and unconditionally; I’m ride or die. And when I’m scared of being abandoned, I run away; because I’ve been blind-sided far too many times with being abandoned. So many people have left because it was “too hard” to be my friend; “too much work.” Whatever that means. And because of this, when I do have people I am close to, I never assume they care about me as much as I care about them.

And yes, I am well aware of self-fulfilling prophecies, and I agree that I probably self sabotaged multiple times. But I try my hardest to remain cognizant of these facts and maintain them in the forefront of my conscious so that I can actively avoid them. And I work with a therapist to find coping mechanisms and unravel the mess.

Being self-aware empowers me to work towards bettering myself, but it does not mean that I don’t I still fuck up. I do. I’m human. And I hear all the things in my head that people have said to me in the past. And it paralyzes me in fear and anxiety; making it hard for anything else to get through. It’s like static noise that gets louder and louder. Compounded with smoke in the air from the California fires around us, covid all around us, trying to do my job, and putting on a brave and happy face for my daughter (This is why I post to you all that I choose to stay positive and get tired of the negativity – I do not have the capacity or luxury to let life get me down for too long because I am always walking on the tight rope of keeping it together).

Combine all of this with my worry for my Peanut, myself, and my loved ones. I worry so much about their mental, emotional, physical health in all of this madness in the world right now. I worry they are struggling, and I get overwhelmed with emotion; frustrated that I cannot do anything to help them or make things better for them. I never want the people that I love to suffer in any way. And I’m a fixer; I want to help, I want to fix things.

Sometimes I think I am too complicated, scared, distrusting, and broken to love and be loved. Sometimes I think it’s very simple: “I’m just a hopelessly hopeful wounded child seeking wonderful.”

Leave a Reply