something to talk about. | journal

I've been having mental breakdowns; nothing new, but they've made me learn a few things about myself. When I was around thirteen years old or so, I read IT by Stephen King. The book had both excellent and awful qualities, but there was one quote in particular that always resonated with me and I was never sure why. When introducing the character Ben Hanscom King wrote, "Ben Hanscom had no sense of being lonely because he had never been anything but.​​​" At the time, I thought I was simply an excellent empathizer and felt bad for the poor kid. I'd never been lonely, after all, I actually liked being on my own quite a bit. People came and went, I never minded much — I was still there, wasn't that what mattered? I always had myself.

Over the years, that mindset never changed. I became proud of my 'take it or leave it' attitude towards the company of others, but that quote would come back to me from time to time and I'd feel my solitary little heart start to ache.

Recently, I took the time to look back at my relationships with other people — there were plenty, so that was a good sign, right? But, as I continued to analyze them, I noticed a recurring theme; I was alone even when I wasn't. Helping people, giving them everything I had and then some had always been my modus operandi. I liked that about myself! Always have. And other people seemed to like it too; they lauded me for it even. But, over time, they stopped appreciating this selfless trait of mine and started expecting it. They didn't reciprocate the effort because, why would they? If I have so much to give them, then surely I had enough leftover for me and I'd be fine taking care of myself. I became a human vending machine powered by emotional labor and people wouldn't stop shaking me to dislodge the Snickers bars and get what they wanted for free. If I had an 'Out of Order' sign taped to me then oh, well! It was someone else's job to fix me. They'd come back later when they were hungry and I was functioning properly again.

For most of my life, my worth has been defined by what I could give others. I loved fiercely and had a knack for saying the right thing. Pleasing people and helping them solve their problems became a compulsion; one that I was obsessed with. I needed to make them happy, to proffer some good to an unkind word. My reasoning for this used to be that I didn't want people to go through their pain alone, that I didn't want sadness to take root in them the way it did me, but now I'm not so sure. I think I've realized my true motivation: I give love so freely because the only chance I have to experience it is when it's flowing out of me.

I guess, what I'm trying to say is — hey, Ben Hanscom, wanna start a club?