Amaturity

A Lifetime of Therapy

“...So, I guess that’s why I have such a deep desire to be closer to people, yet am equally fearful of intimacy and uninhibited self-expression.” Crystal, attempting to mask her exasperation with her genuine empathy and morbid intrigue, sighed. “What?” I, oblivious to her reaction, just repeated myself with my usual unnecessary verbosity. I had gotten a lot of practice over the last two decades, with “professional help”. Never knew how I felt, but I knew how to repeat myself.

However, I wasn’t at a clinic. I just stumbled into my dear friend’s gas station gig. She took a break before I got ahead of myself.

Why Am I Like This?

This Journal is only so big, so I’ll save the details for another entry.

I’m, at this point, the youngest of three kids in this house. Dad’s addictions had dropped us from the suburbs to the ghetto, and Mom’s history primed her for everything he put her through. Though her life’s story, she was far from a pro at handling it. Eddie’s the oldest and most damaged, Eli’s in the middle and dramatic so he doesn’t disappear, and I’m at the bottom; far too young to even begin to understand any of these family dynamics.

One of Eddie’s mantras was “Shit rolls downhill, and you’re at the bottom.”

I didn’t understand yet, but I always knew it.

The Martyr, The Witch, and The Inferiority Complex

You see, I’m not like other girls… I’m worse. Or, at least, I think I am. You see, given that I’ve always been “odd”, I’ve never been particularly liked by most of my peers. In fact, while I really want people to like me, the ones that interact with me are always the weird ones. I’ve never minded, though “weird” can range from harmlessly geeky to downright predatory. And, unfortunately, I have a hard time telling the difference.

I was a pretty solitary kid, even before the ills of sentience had become an issue for me. Contented to minding my own business, people came to me for a variety of reasons. Sometimes, it was to explore my “unique” perspective on mundane issues, and other times, they knew they could get something from me.

Given my tricky childhood, it was difficult to distinguish between what was mine to give, and what actually belonged to me; My stuff, my skills, my thoughts, body, feelings… I just learned that, in order to make others happy, I had to give them everything that was mine. Maybe, just maybe, then I’d be worth something to them.

However, with my innate introversion, I knew I wanted control over something. Immutably regimented, yet an escapist imagination. In fact, I got into Witchcraft --- not as an act of rebellion, as my family’s unorthodox ways were favorable here --- to learn how to get what I wanted more than anything; purpose.

That’s where my Grimiore comes in. My little black book of spells and wishes were filled with all sorts of things, mostly fantasy. So, you can imagine my shock when a few actually worked this time.

The Check That Nearly Killed Me

Here we are, the catalyst for my doomed freedom. I’m 21, and that means I can finally do a bunch of new legal stuff. I didn’t care about drinking, I was too self-obsessed to vote, and I can’t drive. Where would I go without a job or a social life? But, my Dad’s indiscretions may have been more of a blessing than I thought.

“How the hell did you get $20,000, Scrump?” My eldest of bros didn’t know everything I guess. Shocker.

“$27,000.”

“That doesn’t answer my question!”

“Hey, if I knew, I wouldn’t have to ask. Besides, I think the more important question is ‘What the hell I’m going to do with… $27,452.36?’”

“Jesus… Yeah, that’s a better question. Luckily, I can answer that one. Or, at least, get you started with a few ideas.”

Eddie may not have known everything, but he did know more than I did, about a lot. Money was among those things.

So, he drags me to the bank to fill out a bunch of boring paperwork, helping me handle more coin than I was comfortable with. We did all the right things, and I lock up all but $7,000.

I get a ride home, and a heavy lecture on how to keep my ticket out of poverty viable. I have the attention span of a grapefruit, so I don’t remember most of it.

“If there’s one thing that you take from any of this, it’s that this is your money. Not Mom’s, not mine, and especially not Ricky’s. You got that?”

“Yeah, I got it.”

Somehow, he knew I was full of shit, even if I didn’t.

Inherited Mistakes

Of course, because I’m recklessly stubborn, I just found a creative way not to listen. Again.

So, I did the exactly the opposite of what he told me. Classy.

He, himself, had convinced me to pay him for the Brotherly Accounting Duties (by asking me to pay him for helping me, exactly once), I threw him a couple of hundred bucks for his efforts. After all, he had to deal with my crap, so I owed him. No big.

But, who the hell was Ricky? My first “real” relationship. We live together, so of course what was mine was his. Always.

Mom had always let Dad get what he wanted, so that’s what I’m supposed to do. She even did it again in her second marriage. And divorce. If you can’t give them your money, how can they have your heart?

Turns out, she didn’t let him have anything. At least, not happily. I thought I was happy at first, but people have a way of making you think they understand you. You can’t make things deeper by pouring more in, you’ll just waste it when it spills over.

He lived with me, though. He introduced me to things I didn’t even know I needed.

As the product of both loving parents, I got roped into vices because my heart told me to do it. FOR HIM. And… for me?

No. Nope, now I just had a drug problem. And money! But, a year is more than enough time to turn $27,000 into candy. Just pick your poison and delivery, and find a guy willing to dish it.

Our Lover’s Paradise had gotten hit with a massive shitstorm, though. We destroy our bodies for “fun”, but destroying each other was the default.

I Can Fix This....

I Can’t Fix This. Help.

“I guess now you know why I’m here by myself tonight.”

“You guys broke up?”

“No. That’s exactly why. I don’t know how to work my way out of this one. And he needs me more than ever right now. I love him, but… I owe him, too.”

“OWE HIM?”

“Well, yeah. Here I am, more than a year later, $27,000 lighter. I gave it all to my family, sure. But, this whole thing still feels… selfish? I dunno, Crys. I don’t think I’m doing this “life” thing right.”

“Christ in Hell, Maia. You talk so damn much, and yet you can’t say ‘Mercy’.”

She’s right, I do talk a lot. Still, I was confused.

“I thought that’s what I was doing?”

“No, no. Shut up. I mean for yourself, dumbass. I mean, fuck. How old are you, 22? And yet, you’ve spent your entire life worrying about other people, getting mixed messages about what “love” means from every relationship you’ve had --- that you’ve chosen --- and you still think it’s your fault that everything is all fricked up? No. None of this is your fault. It’s your responsibility, but that doesn’t mean taking the blame for everyone that’s ever hurt you. That just gives them the power to keep doing it. You’ll have another chance, many other chances. But, you have control here.”

“So…”

“So, what I’m saying is that you should look at this whole ‘life’ thing as your life. And, at this point in it, you have a lot of pain that shouldn’t have been yours to begin with. You gotta start by letting yourself grow, and you can’t do that by tending to everyone else’s shit garden.”

“Huh. Maybe I should write this down. Your metaphors are funnier.”

“Good. Maybe you could write a better Money Spell and get another shot. $20,000 can get you somewhere. Just… No more Love Spells, okay?”

With that, she went back to dealing with midnight drunks and stragglers. I stayed in the breakroom, writing in my Little Pocket Grimoire.

Crys reminded me of something I didn’t think I’d ever go back to. A close call that I clawed myself out of on one of my various trips. It’s a blur, but I remember the doorway I came to. I opened the door to find… myself. I was crying. I was in pain. I was… alone. I had nothing left, because I had spent my life giving it all away. And for what? If it was validation I was looking for, I don’t think the me I was looking at right now ever got it. I just looked so, so… gone. I had left myself behind, just as others had gone away, along with any promises made to me. Gone… like a fart in the wind. I had really screwed myself over. Not even a coat to cover my ass in this shitstorm I had created for myself.

I couldn’t let myself get to that point. That shell I saw was barely a person anymore, no way could it be me.

I couldn’t help but try one more Love Spell, because I’m hard headed. But, this time, I was smart enough to focus it on the cheesiest of them all. Self Love.

I still don’t know what I’m doing, but we’ll see where this entry takes me.

I’ll bring an umbrella for the shitstorm next time, though.