OYM Day 4: What Drugs Are You On?
Day 4 and I’m already struggling with what to write about. I don’t want this to be a blog about my childhood, or an attempt at self-help, or a drop in the bucket opinion on current events (coro-nah, thanks). I keep reminding myself to write what needs to be written. Open your mouth and trust me, Cassie.
I love the way writing everyday is making me feel. I love to read your messages, texts, and responses (to respond to my stories, join Medium and double tap a passage…then you’ll see the option to respond). I appreciate the reads, the claps, and the follows. I really mean it…thank you.
For awhile I thought I was good at being vulnerable. Almost too good. That shit seemed to come naturally! Then I started to realize I was just over-sharing all the time. I would divulge that I take a daily cocktail of anti-depressants and anti-anxiety meds to anyone within earshot.
“Why, I thought you’d never ask me about my relationship with my dad!” — Me (answering a question that was certainly never asked).
I’m still a little foggy on what the difference is between vulnerability and over-sharing (yes, I’m sure Brené Brown knows) and why it may be off-putting to some when I call myself a Lexapro-fessional, but I found it to send me farther into isolation as opposed to making me more relatable. I had a friend tell me they lived their life with nothing to hide. I liked the way that sounded and adapted it for myself. I would be honest, open, and unabashedly me. I don’t know what I expected to happen by living my life this way, but I sure as hell went for it. And I was convinced this was the only way to be. Be yourself, take it or leave it, this is me, as real as it gets! Now, when I read this back to myself…I just…cringe.
“Who wants to hear a poem I wrote about suicide in 5th grade?” — Me (after 5 glasses of wine, to anyone, on a bad day).
Me, my sisters, my present-at-the-time father, and me holding a prop gun in a questionable (but telling) fashion.
Doing this just opened me up to receiving a lot of people’s opinions…opinions that I really didn’t need. And in return, I knew less about the person I was talking to and more about their thoughts on me, which made my insecurity fist-bump my anxiety whilst speed dialing my depression with the other hand.
People would tell me I was brave for being so vulnerable, but really they were just witnessing someone spill their guts with the hopes of hearing someone respond with “I’m the same way”. That rarely happened, though. In my pursuit of feeling understood, I found myself feeling anything but.
“Feeling down about your body image? Let me tell you about my life-long struggle with acne and on and off eating disorder!” — Me (you guessed it).
Opening up so much made me impressionable and it made me question just about everything about myself. It watered me down and it wore me out. I’m not saying to never put yourself out there or to open yourself up in ways that expose some of your most gentle pieces…I’ll never tell you what to do or how to live. But I am going to remind myself that when I want to be vulnerable, or share, or over-share myself with someone, that it’s not my job to make someone else feel comfortable. I need to save some of myself for someone that needs it more. Me.
Are you an over-sharer? Vulnerable?
Are you on drugs, too? Don’t answer that… I mean … unless you want.
Signing off,
The woman with the non-existent father (jokes! but also real!)
Cassie