Journal

jaded

15.jaded

I had another long talk with my priest friend last night. I really do think that it’s ultimately better for friendships, or any relationships, to bring up things that had bothered you about the other, because whenever I manage to do that, they apologize and/or make sense of it. That thing that prompted me to stop talking to him about incidents with creeps turned out to not be the non-belief I thought it to be, more on the lines of that naïveté and giving people the benefit of the doubt, as I thought underneath the bitterness. He believed me. He insisted that he believed me.

And he actually cared very much about it, even though I couldn’t really bring myself to talk too much about it; no names or details. Some of the incidents I don’t remember very clearly, and some of it were strangers who I don’t think are there anymore; I guess, like with my memories of abuse, I don’t see the point of remembering details because “What’s the point? Nothing will be done.

About that…as we were talking, it came out that someone told him about my social media post. I didn’t mean to make people worried for me, and especially to the point that they’d come to him, and maybe the pastor, about it. He told me that he’s afraid for me, that because of all those bad things that happened, I’m now jaded. He used that term a lot last night, so I looked it up. It came up as, in essence, “disillusionment” after a steady flow of bad experiences. And it’s true. I don’t have any faith in humans, the law, police, the Church, or God. I don’t carry typical methods of self-defense on me, because “What’s the point? Never stopped them.

…I wonder if I hurt his feelings. He asked if it scared me that he’s so nice to me, and it does. He’s been one of the very few people to stay, and all I can think of is, “For now.” I’m still thinking that one day, I’ll finally push him away, he’ll want nothing more to do with me and my problems, and I’ll be alone. “What’s the point? He’ll leave one day.

Somewhere along the way, I think I became alone regardless. I’ve become very isolated. “What’s the point? They will never love me.

There was something else he said (really, a lot of things he said) that stayed with me, that I think myself a victim, like that’s all I am and all I’ll ever be. This isn’t like when mother would say, “You just want to be a victim! Stop looking like a victim!” And because of that, it frees me to step back and look at myself honestly.

I really do think that way. I really have given up. I could have a better life now, but as he pointed out, I can’t even picture a better life. This jadedness is keeping me from being who I’m meant to be, my true self. I’ve seen glimpses of who that is, but don’t often step towards it. Or I step back, or am pushed back by fear or something external. I’m too wrapped up in my abusive past and unkind, untrustworthy people who I put my trust in, and how nothing was done by way of justice.

I’d given up.

That last part, those people I trusted, he said something that made sense of something he’d been saying for years. He has told me for years how I should have surface-level friends. This always caused a sort of paradox in me; if they’re only surface-level, they don’t know the real me (that being the “abused me” in my mind), and so they aren’t actually my friends. Last night, he said, “They have no right to know those things.”

And they don’t.

Those people I talked to in the past who hurt me, they didn’t have a right to that. They had no right. And the moment they decided to hurt me with that knowledge, they forfeited any right to know me at all!

…I think that might be part of the reason why I think myself as the abuse victim/survivor… maybe not even the “survivor” bit. I opened my heart, revealed my pain to these people, and they decided that’s what I am: pain. And so wanted nothing to do with me, was even cruel to me, or some took advantage of me. This was all very revictimizing, as was the way the police and such treated me and my cases.

I just think myself as Trouble, a Temptation, and Unwelcome. Of course I wouldn’t feel welcome at church, or in humanity. I wasn’t treated like a human, so I lost my sense of humanity. I was treated badly for these things that happened to me, or my outward appearance, etc. Those people didn’t see me as human. They didn’t see Ana. They saw only a victim they didn’t want to deal with.

They denied my humanity. They denied my personhood.

I find it disgraceful. Here’s this young priest, young enough to be their son (or grandson), and he knows better than any of them. Some of them are older priests, men who’ve been a priest longer than he has; this naive young priest is a better priest than they are with all their age, experience, and “good behavior”. It really does go to show you that just because one is given “the silver crown of wisdom” with age and experience doesn’t necessarily make one wiser. In fact, I think it makes such people proud instead, which is the enemy of wisdom. Pride kills wisdom, prevents it from growing or even taking root in one’s heart and mind. It uproots it, and stomps on it, often while still a little seedling, or even just a seed.

In most Asian cultures, one respects one’s elders. Age order is very important. It establishes a pecking order with the eldest at the top, youngest at the bottom. The original wisdom behind it, I think, was lost to pride. While it isn’t quite as strictly observed here in America, there is some of that, isn’t there? My experiences with these older people, older creeps, proves it to be true. Of course, this isn’t to say that older people are all that way. I’ve know some who aren’t proud, and aren’t creeps. These older people have a lot of love and down-to-earth honesty about them; true wisdom. Getting older doesn’t have to instantly make you proud.

…I don’t really feel older. I feel like a child in a woman’s body, trying to make sense of grown-up things. All the same, I wonder if maybe that pride is in me, too?

I have it in my head that none of these people can teach me otherwise, show me that they actually can be good and kind. Isn’t that a kind of pride? I know; most of it is motivated by fear, and PTSD. I don’t have as much deliberation in this as they probably do. Still, I am keeping myself from learning how to have a better life, give that inner child teachers for these grown-up things.

I guess this acting on fear can be a kind of pride. The guy I like once described that jaded attitude as “egocentric”. I can now see better the wisdom behind his words (he really is so cool).

So, I contacted someone. She has ties with St. Jeanne, too, and I kept getting mentions of St. Jeanne yesterday. I think she wants me to reach out to one of the ladies I know who has ties with her.

I think that’s enough for now. I have to get ready. I’m glad I took time to think, though. I’m so lost in all this stuff.

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