a big thank you to my dear friend Tony, who just showed me an amazing amount of love and encouragement. i just came out to him as a multiple, and his first reaction wasn’t awkwardness or the icky face. and he didn’t do what another friend did to me recently, which was to say “let me process this and i’ll get back to you” and then i haven’t heard from them since.
i’ve told a number of people now, about my diagnosis, and the reactions are all different. but surprisingly, not many people have straight up shunned me. but Tony was i think the first to just jump into the deep end and start asking questions: when was i diagnosed, how many of me are there, do they all have names, or something like that. and all really good questions, which makes me wonder: why are you working with computers, when you have a really obvious knack for dealing with crazy people?
when dealing with old wounds and injuries, prying them open to expose to the public on a blog is cathartic, therapeutic, if not a little strange. but it’s freeing in it’s anononymity. opening up these issues to family and friends is more dangerous. there is a greater degree of rejection immediately at hand. will my family still love me? will my friends accept me? who can handle the truth, and who will run from this information?
well, Tony, whom i’ve known since i was maybe 10 or so, was supportive, loving, and interested in my story. and i can’t ask for more from a friend.
all in all, a good day
sometimes i struggle with myself. duh. i’m human. but i feel needy, and small, and like a little invisible person who isn’t sure of their place in the world. and i look to people that i care about, and hope that they see…something. something of value. something worth loving. something that makes them smile, and hold my hand, despite the times when i feel very unlovable.
what makes us feel this way? we are all the same, are we not? we all have issues. we all have hurts. we all have feelings that get their fur ruffled, and emotions that jump onto our sleeves when we’re trying very hard to keep them tightly in our chest pockets. what makes us feel insignificant, or dirty, or a blob of nothing that can be passed over by the world?
i know who i am… i’m brilliant, and beautiful colorful and vibrant. i’m ridiculous and obnoxious and childish. i’m funny and ornery and full of depth character and fire. but can you see that? can the world see that? i guess the best thing for me to do is pick up the hand mirror, and tell myself of my greatness.