My social friendships are draining me. I can't help but ignore my needs to meet real (or imagined) ones of my friends. It's a reflex, I don't even realize I'm doing it.
I love people, I enjoy their company. But right now, this outer circle of intimacy is eating me alive.
My dream hangout right now is for someone to come over, hug me, and let me ugly cry.
I don't want to have superficial fun. I want friends I can safely grieve with. The ones who won't flinch in the face of grief -- mine or their own.
My soul is rotten from holding it all in. And that's why my nightmares and flashbacks have been getting worse. Any time I am out in public, around people, I feel my eyes well up and I suck it up. I suck it up. I say "Not here, not now." and pretend to be happy. But when I'm alone, I don't let myself feel it.
"Grief is cumulative." I once read in a tweet or tumblr screencap or something. And it's so true. There are SO many things to grieve in this lifetime. Too many. And it doesn't get easier, or lighter. Each new loss is amplified by the past. My stomach is in knots. It's corroding my being.
Do I shut out people who can't hold this part of me? Am I not allowed or capable of having relationships filled only with lightness? The older I get, the more tired I am of superficiality. At the same time, I understand the importance of all kinds of relationships -- different levels of intimacy. Different functions, different needs, versions of the self, building community.
But in life, one must prioritize things. Connections. And by extension, parts of the self to feed and nurture. I don't like that.
There is no lightness without heaviness -- no lightness worth truly appreciating.