My need to hide my neediness
My sister took this picture of me when I was thirteen. Looking at it makes me wonder if I was already as wounded and messed up as I feel now that I am forty-five.
I am needy
Ever since Fluffs died I have been feeling more needy than usual. The feeling frustrates me and I become short tempered. Just writing this and reccognizing my neediness feels like a knott is building up in my chest and it’s forcing me to gulp for air. I can’t pin point where in my body the feeling itself resides though. It’s ellusive, and it’s deep.
What I hate most about it is that it makes me start to act in ways that makes others feel guilty or inadequate for not knowing what I’m feeling or how to help me. Sometimes I want to scream in anger at myself for not admiting that when I am lonely I hate feeling alone, that when I am hurt I want someone to heal me, and that when I am scared I want someone to protect me.
I don’t know what I am needy for
Why do I feel so scared to admit my neediness? Instead, I pretend that loneliness doesn’t hurt me, and that I can protect myself and lick my own wounds until they heal.
The truth is that most times I don’t know what I need nor what I am feeling. Right now though, I just want to curl up in bed with Fluffs and feel his purring on my chest. I miss him.
When I wrote this, I was listening to this:
This song was written by Tom Waits for a play called Woyzeck. The play is a bit dark and so is this song, but I really like it.