Sunday, January 22, 2012
Lightning Bugs and Dahlias: Savior Complex
Lightning Bugs and Dahlias: Savior Complex: You can't save someone that doesn't want to be saved. I've lost count how many times I've heard this phrase and even uttered it myself over ...
Savior Complex
You can't save someone that doesn't want to be saved. I've lost count how many times I've heard this phrase and even uttered it myself over the years. The past few days this particular phrase has been my mantra. I have a dear friend going through a particularly rough time. Unfortunately for me, her situation is eerily similar to one I found myself in and therefore I understand better than most. You see, I too have a savior complex.
For reasons unbeknownst to me, I have a tendency to want to fix things: toys that are broken, essays that are poorly written and people that are broken. Most of the things I try to fix are easy: a toy can be sewn back together and an essay can be edited / trashed and started over, but a person, that is a different matter entirely. It has been my experience with the particular person I tried to save that it was easier for them to take me down than it was for me to bring them up. They had demons larger than both of us combined. Of course, while I was in the middle of it, the more I found out, the more I wanted to fix them.
I knew them, at least I thought I did; nothing was too big for me to handle. You have a drug problem? Okay, well you've agreed to cut back on my behalf and that's a start right? You drink every day? That's okay too, because you text me when you get home from the bar so I know you made it in one piece. That doesn't mean I'm not uttering prayers the entire time and hoping they didn't take anyone else out with them should they not make it home safely. I made up every excuse in the book for them. They had a horrible relationship with their ex. They are looking to fill a void in their life that no person can possibly fill. They want to escape the pain and disappointment they feel. Their belief that they were worthless, unloved and that no-one would care if something did happen to them. We had numerous fights, as I tried to prove that I cared. I cared if they made it home at night. I cared if they took someone else out with them. They weren't worthless, nor were they incapable of being loved. I fought and fought to hold on to them and ultimately I failed.
There were days I felt like I got through to them. Moments in time when they decided not to go out that night and talk to me instead. Instances where they left the bar before they were completely hammered because they knew I'd worry. They dropped back from taking what I consider hardcore drugs to smoking pot. I took these baby steps as signs that I was slowly but surely making a difference. It wasn't until months later, driving in a car with them while they are drunk and I'm intoxicated, going almost 100 mph that somewhere in the fog I realized I hadn't made any progress at all; it was easier to go along with it. I had numerous reasons for going along with it: scared they'd leave and what would I do without them in my life, worried that if I gave up on them completely they were truly lost; hell, I even tried to reason for a moment I was the one that needed to relax just a little -- they were having more fun than me anyways.
Yeah, not really. What I came to realize after years and years of friendship and more months than I care to recall of trying to save them -- they didn't want to be saved. They were actually happy with the way their life was. They were able to do what they wanted, when they wanted and screw what the rest of us thought. They didn't need anyone and didn't want anyone either. They were a loner, a solitary being, their happiness and well-being didn't depend on someone being there. They had no problem abandoning those that claimed to love them or care even, as Captain Morgan, Vodka, Jameson, Jägermeister, coke, pot, acid etc would never fail them. They had everything they needed and it could be bought and didn't require any feelings or emotional attachment in return.
Being there now for my dear friend who has a similar person in their life breaks my heart. I listen to their pain as they ask if the problem is actually them? No, my dear, but that's what those types of individuals want you to believe. They need you to think that every argument is your fault. You want too much, you expect too much, you are pushing them for more than they are willing to give; the expectations you have are impossible to meet. All the lies, all the pain and in the end they leave anyways and crawl back in their bottle or their high. I thought being on the other side now would be easier; I'm the one that survived right? I walked away somewhat intact. Maybe I'm forever altered and my heart will never be the same. Maybe I'm a lot more guarded than I used to be and I can count on 7-8 fingers the number of people I now trust in this world. I say never again would I put myself so completely on the line, as all I did was lose myself entirely. I became a person I didn't know. In trying to save them, I nearly took myself out.
There were days I felt like I got through to them. Moments in time when they decided not to go out that night and talk to me instead. Instances where they left the bar before they were completely hammered because they knew I'd worry. They dropped back from taking what I consider hardcore drugs to smoking pot. I took these baby steps as signs that I was slowly but surely making a difference. It wasn't until months later, driving in a car with them while they are drunk and I'm intoxicated, going almost 100 mph that somewhere in the fog I realized I hadn't made any progress at all; it was easier to go along with it. I had numerous reasons for going along with it: scared they'd leave and what would I do without them in my life, worried that if I gave up on them completely they were truly lost; hell, I even tried to reason for a moment I was the one that needed to relax just a little -- they were having more fun than me anyways.
Yeah, not really. What I came to realize after years and years of friendship and more months than I care to recall of trying to save them -- they didn't want to be saved. They were actually happy with the way their life was. They were able to do what they wanted, when they wanted and screw what the rest of us thought. They didn't need anyone and didn't want anyone either. They were a loner, a solitary being, their happiness and well-being didn't depend on someone being there. They had no problem abandoning those that claimed to love them or care even, as Captain Morgan, Vodka, Jameson, Jägermeister, coke, pot, acid etc would never fail them. They had everything they needed and it could be bought and didn't require any feelings or emotional attachment in return.
Being there now for my dear friend who has a similar person in their life breaks my heart. I listen to their pain as they ask if the problem is actually them? No, my dear, but that's what those types of individuals want you to believe. They need you to think that every argument is your fault. You want too much, you expect too much, you are pushing them for more than they are willing to give; the expectations you have are impossible to meet. All the lies, all the pain and in the end they leave anyways and crawl back in their bottle or their high. I thought being on the other side now would be easier; I'm the one that survived right? I walked away somewhat intact. Maybe I'm forever altered and my heart will never be the same. Maybe I'm a lot more guarded than I used to be and I can count on 7-8 fingers the number of people I now trust in this world. I say never again would I put myself so completely on the line, as all I did was lose myself entirely. I became a person I didn't know. In trying to save them, I nearly took myself out.
"I feel broken. I feel lost" my friend said. Yes, dear, and you will until you let them go. As long as excuses continue to be made for their behavior or you allow yourself to hope that one day they will change or want you the same way you want them; your heart will continue to break. I became the queen of excuses during my emotional, high-strung run with the person in my life; I've heard them all. It took walking away and acknowledging the painful truth that at some point, they will probably take themselves out through mischief of their own and I can't stop that from happening. The closer I am, just means they will probably take me with them -- especially if I'm riding in their car while they're drunk, staying in a hostile environment knowing they could snap or anything else that I know puts my safety in jeopardy at the time. Thankfully I have other people in my life that also have the savior complex, and they saved me. The difference is that I hated who I had become. I didn't like the world as I saw it through their lenses; it went against my core being and therefore, I allowed myself to be pulled up by those good people around me. You cannot save someone who does not want to be saved.
I'm on the other side. I survived. As I talk to my friend now going through her own heartbreak, I want to take her in my arms and not let her go. I want to blow fairy dust in her face so that she can sleep and see the world clearly, through refreshed and rejuvenated eyes. I want her to see that she matters and she isn't worthless; no matter what he says. She has a heart of gold and a pure soul that only seeks to better those around her. I want to save her from him, as I know the pain she's going through and the pain that lurks around the bend. Funny thing though, she's not on the other side of the pain yet and she doesn't want to be saved. She is still making excuses for him. The other shoe hasn't dropped. He hasn't completely broke her yet and until he does, she won't see that her world really is better off when he doesn't exist in it. She wants to save him, and I want to save her. I realize now the way people got to me was by loving me anyways. Being a friend when I felt like I didn't deserve one. They loved me and eventually I found my way back. So that's what I will do with her as she goes through hell -- I will love her . . . and I'm sure I'll still try to save her.
I'm on the other side. I survived. As I talk to my friend now going through her own heartbreak, I want to take her in my arms and not let her go. I want to blow fairy dust in her face so that she can sleep and see the world clearly, through refreshed and rejuvenated eyes. I want her to see that she matters and she isn't worthless; no matter what he says. She has a heart of gold and a pure soul that only seeks to better those around her. I want to save her from him, as I know the pain she's going through and the pain that lurks around the bend. Funny thing though, she's not on the other side of the pain yet and she doesn't want to be saved. She is still making excuses for him. The other shoe hasn't dropped. He hasn't completely broke her yet and until he does, she won't see that her world really is better off when he doesn't exist in it. She wants to save him, and I want to save her. I realize now the way people got to me was by loving me anyways. Being a friend when I felt like I didn't deserve one. They loved me and eventually I found my way back. So that's what I will do with her as she goes through hell -- I will love her . . . and I'm sure I'll still try to save her.
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
A New Kind of Normal
Over the past few days as I've thought about writing on my blog, I've considered that I should change the name to something reflecting my new status as a stay-at-home mom and all the adventures that ensue. However, that status is not permanent and seeing a canvas photo of some brilliantly colored dahlias the other day reminded me that this title does in fact fit. I wish I had dahlias in every room of my house on a constant basis.
Anyways, back to the subject of my blog, I feel so out of practice. There are constantly words running through my head, but putting them down is a lot harder than it used to be. I was pretty excited when I sat down the other night and wrote the opening pages of a new book. I've had this book in the back of my mind for over a year and half. The main character was actually supposed to be the lead in a book I finished a while back. However, circumstances changed and as I was writing the story it didn't wind up going where I thought it would. Last year I attended a writer's workshop at a festival and the author speaking made the comment that inevitably a story is never what you set out thinking it will be. She also commented that generally the first 20k words you write will be thrown out, as you are literally just warming up. Well, the storyline changed in my previous book and this character didn't work anymore, but I just couldn't shake him. He's become the kind of character that keeps me up at night telling me his story and is waiting for me to start writing it. I thought sitting down the other night and beginning to type would get him to shut-up for a bit, but instead the words came quicker and I had to stop typing when the baby began to cry. He will have to wait for a bit longer, as his story will come in pages at a time instead of chapters, but it will eventually get told. Re-reading this paragraph, as I keep getting distracted by music on YouTube; I sound nuts. Not just nuts, but like the certifiable kind. At least I do if you aren't a writer.
Life for me is a work in progress. I'm beginning to find a balance to being a stay-at-home mom while incorporating parts of myself back into the equation. Trying to write is always a positive step, as I haven't written anything but blogs in over a year and even then it has only been like one a month. The other day I realized the baby had been quiet for over an hour and I was able to finish several excerpts from an anthology called Tablet & Pen. The anthology was a gift from one of my professors in lieu of a baby gift; she knew I needed my sanity more than burp cloths. Reading, underlining small things in pencil as I went and considering it afterwards almost made me feel like normal. I found that by the time my daughter cried out looking for me to hold her I was ready to transition back to mommy mode. If this is how my life is meant to go for now -- well, it could definitely be worse.
Anyways, back to the subject of my blog, I feel so out of practice. There are constantly words running through my head, but putting them down is a lot harder than it used to be. I was pretty excited when I sat down the other night and wrote the opening pages of a new book. I've had this book in the back of my mind for over a year and half. The main character was actually supposed to be the lead in a book I finished a while back. However, circumstances changed and as I was writing the story it didn't wind up going where I thought it would. Last year I attended a writer's workshop at a festival and the author speaking made the comment that inevitably a story is never what you set out thinking it will be. She also commented that generally the first 20k words you write will be thrown out, as you are literally just warming up. Well, the storyline changed in my previous book and this character didn't work anymore, but I just couldn't shake him. He's become the kind of character that keeps me up at night telling me his story and is waiting for me to start writing it. I thought sitting down the other night and beginning to type would get him to shut-up for a bit, but instead the words came quicker and I had to stop typing when the baby began to cry. He will have to wait for a bit longer, as his story will come in pages at a time instead of chapters, but it will eventually get told. Re-reading this paragraph, as I keep getting distracted by music on YouTube; I sound nuts. Not just nuts, but like the certifiable kind. At least I do if you aren't a writer.
Life for me is a work in progress. I'm beginning to find a balance to being a stay-at-home mom while incorporating parts of myself back into the equation. Trying to write is always a positive step, as I haven't written anything but blogs in over a year and even then it has only been like one a month. The other day I realized the baby had been quiet for over an hour and I was able to finish several excerpts from an anthology called Tablet & Pen. The anthology was a gift from one of my professors in lieu of a baby gift; she knew I needed my sanity more than burp cloths. Reading, underlining small things in pencil as I went and considering it afterwards almost made me feel like normal. I found that by the time my daughter cried out looking for me to hold her I was ready to transition back to mommy mode. If this is how my life is meant to go for now -- well, it could definitely be worse.
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