Found the Lock. Now, Where's the Key?

Mark,

I'm probably flooding your e-mail ...
... sorry if I am. :-p

You know, many young people, or just people in general, have their addictions: to marijuana, to cocaine, to alcohol, to nicotine, to food, even to sex. You know, sex, drugs and rock 'n roll, right? Well, I have none of those, which, to many people, comes as a surprise.

"What? You've never smoked pot before? And you lived in Eugene for years?"

Oh so left out. :-D

Well, I have never done any of those things, let alone getting addicted, because I've never found them to be meaningful to me. And purpose and meaning propel me. (It's as if I've been wandering this life trying to find out what I'm here for. I know I'm here on a mission, but I just need to remember what it is ... you know that feeling?)

But before actually feeling comfortable with being "left out," I am starting to wonder if I have a addiction of my own: maybe I am addicted to emotional attachments.

Tonight, I find myself feeling sad and anxious not just for the impending change, but also for my roommate (and his dog!) leaving. Surprisingly, the impending departure brings back so many memories of parting. It's as if this resentment for parting has been imprinted in my mind ever since I was born. Maybe it has to do with watching my parents leave everyday when I was little. Maybe it has to do with parting with my nanny, who took care of me everyday from infancy to age 8 (and then her sister came and replaced her. I was so so so so sad when my nanny had to leave; she had just adopted a baby of her own. So, inevitably, as an 8-year-old who wasn't particularly close to her parents, she wonders why, how, and "what about me?") That was the first of my conscious memory of feeling deep sadness due to parting. Or maybe it has to do with my last (big) break up, where I was forced to move out of my ex boyfriend's house (and his cat), knowing that he just didn't want me there, knowing that, no matter how much I felt for him, there was nothing I could do, and that I would not see him again for a very long time.

All of these instances made me feel alone. Every time. And every time, I had to harden up and pretend to the best of my abilities that I was unaffected. All the pretense for what? Just to cope, I suppose. I believe that's how I've learned to cope with parting ever since I had to watch my mom go to work everyday -- my lack of tears and dismay made her think I didn't care, that I was cold. She was also surprised that I wasn't mopey on my first day of school like everyone else was (the same thing recurred as I started my first day of school in the US - I had to brave it through on my own). The fear, the sadness, the solitude, the occasional/too often question that maybe all of this is happening because there's something wrong with me (and maybe even dismay and anger, too) were hidden inside. But, see, the same thing happens over and over again, like a theme. Granted that people come and go, and maybe I shouldn't take it so seriously, still, I'm not sure how not to take it as seriously as I do.

Maybe that's what I have locked up inside my heart, hurting.

Maybe I was wrong about how strong I am because I have only been putting up a front. Maybe I should be more humble, so that I can listen and learn openly and intently, so that I can realize somehow that I don't have to force myself on a "pedestal" of being "strong" and "unaffected." Maybe I can (somehow ...) let go of whatever that is inside and believe that it's OK not to know what will happen next if I let go.

The trouble is ... I don't feel safe letting go.

Well, I wonder.

Love Always,
Lum Lum