Nine

THE PEACEMAKER: Easygoing and Self-Effacing. Receptive, reassuring - agreeable and complacent

I just want to be you, but I have to be me. There are so many things, piling things, that I am unwilling to admit. Not to you, not even to myself at times. I’m scared of what you don’t want to hear, but sometimes I feel like it needs to be said. There are so many things, accumulating things, that I desperately want to admit. I want to yell. I’m boiling with rage just under the surface and I’m simply waiting for it to ignite. But I don’t know how to form the first thought. My words won’t come out right. It’s so much easier to just close my eyes. It’s so much easier to just tuck my head under the covers and let the bitter conflict melt away in the shadows of late nights. It’s harmless that way.

Isn’t it?

God, I’m so scared. I’m so scared of what I’m not. The distance between me and what I want to be is you. But that’s not quite right. Even I know that. Everyone has their flaws. Everyone has their weakness so intricately personalized and that’s okay. That’s something I understand better than most. Only mine aren’t quite as forgivable.

Please, I just want to be me. I have to be me. I need to be me. But I just don’t know what you would think. At this point, I don’t even know how to assertively be me. The thought sounds so…barbaric. Indefinitely being who I am somehow feels like an invasion of everyone else. Where is the give? Where is the balance? Someone has to give to ease the conflict between us. I would much rather quietly melt into you than unjustly crusade my way into everyone else. But somewhere in between the blurry balance of appeasing you and forgetting me, I broke myself entirely. I never forgot what I wanted. I just forgot how to fight for it.

As that realization settles in, a conflicting question gnaws at me: The me of yesterday, today, and tomorrow, who will that be? At this point, I don’t even know who I am, but I’ve always known what I am not…and I’ve already lost so much time.

Please, I just want to understand you. I want to know you. If I learn how to see myself in everything you do, if I wear your shoes every single step of the way, if I unwaveringly look at me through your eyes long enough, then maybe, just maybe I’ll understand who I am. I’ll understand who it is that I want to be. I’ll put the fragile pieces between you and I together and finally make the picture come into focus. If I could just stack everything of you onto impartial scales, then maybe I’ll understand. Maybe I’ll understand you, and by proxy somehow understand myself.

But I watched in terror as you inevitably placed me on your own scale. I felt so unbelievably uncomfortable watching the brass plates tilt and wane under your idealistic views. It was disgustingly painful. No, no, I wasn’t meant to be picked apart like that. I’m so weak to it. The faults you find in me, the weaknesses you notice, they make so mad. I hate it. I want to yell, but I’m somehow so choked up that I can’t. I desperately wanted to remain impartial. I relied on it even. Please, don’t talk about it. Don’t look at it. Don’t make me acknowledge it. Please don’t call my dependency empathy. Turn away. Run away. Close your eyes and imagine a different dream. Don’t admit them. I’m so unwilling to admit the things I know need to be said.

But I’ll say it. Not for you. I’ll say it for me: I’m not really who I want to be. I know that. But in the end, you aren’t who I want to be either. You are you. You will always be you and I just want to be me. I want to be a genuine me. No, I just want to be a better me.

But my lack of ability is so very daunting. So instead of calculating distance and mile markers, I’d rather just pack it away in a tightly taped box. If given time, I can convince myself that simple solutions are synonymous with best solutions. Out of sight out of mind. Out of mind out of reality. It’s the best solution I have. I’ll believe it. The only answer to life’s great conflicts that I’ve managed to scrounge together from the messy current of everyone else’s problems: forgive and forget. So, let me run away. Please, let me hide. Don’t acknowledge my hazy past and how I’ve abandoned everything again and again. Don’t realize that I always break down at the slightest hint of resistance. Don’t recognize all the things I’ve long since given up the fight for because I audaciously claimed that avoiding myself would be harmless. Don’t force me to admit it.

Fighting… was never something I was good at.