That isn’t what “U-Haul” used to mean…
Ever met someone who could just box up their shit and walk away from it? Their relationships, their behavior, how they treated someone else? Who could say all kinds of amazing things, including admit to feeling amazing things… and then just *suddenly* be done?
Ever wonder… how the fuck do they do that?
Yeah. Me, too. I’ve never understood it, either.
I feel like I’m starting to move on. Like I’m starting to… act normal.
That doesn’t seem right. Sure, I had that one major meltdown where I was completely overwhelmed and wasn’t really sure how to proceed with my life (or even get off the couch). And, yeah, it made me a zombie the next day but…
Back to not really… feeling. And starting to act all… normal.
Here’s the thing. As I’ve mentioned, I’ve been through some heartbreak and some shit. Even a somewhat abusive relationship (what do I mean “somewhat”?). One of these things left me sobbing on a fairly routine basis, unable to cope or accomplish anything (like getting out of bed… or getting any sleep). The other made me feel like I’d never be normal ever again… and I may have developed a brief predilection for using the other person’s cocaine razors on, well, myself (so there are things I haven’t told you about yet…).
But you know? Neither of these things involved, oh I don’t know, my sister attempting to off herself, ending up in a coma, and completely and utterly altering not only my life, but my parent’s lives as well. And the horrible hospital staff stuff too.
Did I spend a week and a half in bed unable to stop crying? Or so desperate with the pain opening up my own skin felt somehow like relief?
Nope. Didn’t. Had a meltdown. Started seeing a therapist. Don’t really cry any more. On my merry little way.
I’ve become… a compartmentalizer.
Just boxed that shit right up. Even if it might be more than one box. Might be enough to fill the largest truck you can rent with a driver’s license …
I never thought I would understand those people who could compartmentalize their lives. Their emotions. Their relationships. Their affects on other people. And just la la la walk away.
I do now.
And here’s something I can hardly admit: I even understand the not-caring part of it all, too. Part of the oh feeling normal now! me is… let’s not care about all that life altering shiz-nit any more k? me, too.
I don’t expect anyone to understand it, I don’t myself (except that I do – but doesn’t make it sound any better). But. Right now? It’s easier… not to call. It’s easier… not to think about it. It’s easier… to pretend.
And all of that? Means… it’s easier to just not care.
Not on purpose… I don’t mean to. It’s just… that’s in a box on the truck somewhere and figuring out which one means interrupting what we’re in the middle of and maybe it’s waaaaay at the back anyway… And in order to be ok with not finding it, I can’t care about it. But of course… if I cared about it, I’d go find the box. Except I can’t find the keys. Or the truck, for that matter. So… maybe I don’t really care that much after all… it’s a vicious cycle, really.
You know what though? Saying I understand The Compartmentalizers isn’t really true. It’s more like I… get it. How they do what it is they do and move on. Because look mom! I can do it, too.
But. I don’t understand them. And not just because I still don’t understand the inability to give a shit about how you have treated some one else, or the ability to just say whateverthefuck you feel like, no matter how little you mean it or how much it means to someone else. I don’t get those characteristics that seem to be fairly typical of the Compartmentalizers I’ve come across. I don’t understand them for a couple other reasons too.
One? Oh, maybe the fact that I’m not actually ok with my brain packing my shit on a giant U-Haul truck instead of allowing me to process it first (and then hiding the keys…and the truck). Maybe I’m not alright with it being inaccessible to me at present. Maybe knowing that I reacted like that to pain and heartbreak in the past, while not reacting anywhere near like that to this Fucking Gigantic Shit doesn’t sit well with me.
Maybe I am not ok with packing my shit in boxes and being done with it.
The Compartmentalizers? No problem. Whew! Glad I don’t have to think about that anymore!
Two? Are you people (the Compartmentalizers) fucking kidding me? You treat someone like crap and you get to compartmentalize that shit right out the window? That’s all you did, and you get to just shut down?
See, the thing is, sounds like our brains compartmentalize for a reason. One thing I am holding on to for dear life so all this makes sense is something my therapist told me (I swear I am not going to turn into a “my therapist told me…” person): I can’t process this all at once. That compartmentalizing is allowing me to continue my life… because if I didn’t do that, I might not be so good at functioning at all.
Which, actually, sounds a lot like my lil meltdown so… I’ll buy it.
So yeah. This is Some Shit, man. This is the Shit that is ok to compartmentalize (for now anyway). Being a douche canoe? Is not. So as much as I can now comprehend how it is you do that? Stop it. You’re reasons for boxing it up? Aren’t valid. Unpack the damn truck and deal with your shit already.
One day I’ll be able to (after I find the truck and the keys). And if I can do it after all this? You sure as shit can too.