I have been struggling with myself since I was a toddler, before my brother was born. While my internal vocabulary lacked the ability to express themselves, I was still able to feel what I see and wanted to speak out. Thunder and lightning struck across the curtains of our basement suite’s bedroom, as I laid between my parents on their corner bed. I stared out towards the flashing windows with what seemed like the silhouette of tree branches bleached onto the glass pane. It was then, through whatever limited capacity for self awareness I had, that I knew life would be difficult for me.
Despite what the adults thought, I was never jealous of my brother Edmond. I was ignorant and indifferent towards him. That didn’t mean I lacked compassion. It meant I didn’t have any particular connection with him, except he was my little brother, as defined by the labels of society and that somehow, my parents made him, despite what religious people might say otherwise. When the adults rewarded him for good behaviour, or gifted him due to his outgoing attitude, or gave him presents to punish me for being lonely, I didn’t take it out on Edmond. I didn’t take it out on anyone per se. If my mom felt I was being difficult, it wasn’t because I was trying to be difficult with her. I was difficult because I didn’t know how to express myself in the way the adults would understand me, but even less than that, in the way adults could understand and learn to communicate with me. I was a kid. They were adults. So why did I have to be the one who had to learn to express myself properly and learn to communicate better with the adults?
I grew up dignified, cold, distant, and alone, but through all of that, I was actually lonely. That loneliness eventually became who I was and still am. So whenever I managed to connect with a woman intimately, it was passionate at first, but I would do something to screw it up soon after. Michelle called it self-sabotage to get a feel for what is truly real and what I already cursed myself to believe even before the relationship began. Of course, this didn’t happen with every single one of my intimate relationships. Fortunately, some of them were short term relationships because that’s just how our amazing dynamics, as well as the timing of it went. In those relationships, I cherish the maturity in which we broke up as is.
Anyway, I was lonely and while I no longer particularly feel lonely the same way I used to as a child, in the months that went by in my current age of 41, I noticed a few articles of my thought processes popping up more frequently than before. Images of my childhood before my brother was born, then living at Hollycroft Drive, swapping places with Patrick in 1986/1987 (my memory is a bit of a blur exactly when he moved), going through my life at Knightsbridge… They were… I don’t have the words to describe that loneliness, now that I allow myself to delve deeper into that part of my psyche during that time.
So as an adult in my 20’s, 30’s and 40’s, this loneliness has become who I am as a person. My low self esteem was specific. Even as a child, I walked with my head held up. I was polite, mostly well mannered, and I always said my please and thank yous. My low self esteem wasn’t how I felt about myself, but rather, how I could not bring myself to rely on other people because other people will never be able to understand and accept me, or rather, understand and learn to communicate with me. No one wants to learn how to communicate with me, because everyone wants everyone else to learn how to communicate with them. So it’s a Catch 22. That’s why in the uncommonly rare instances that people do connect dynamically with each other, those relationships should be cherished. However, even then, those awesome relationships tend to be held by just a few extra pieces of string. My broken friendship with Albert comes to mind. He was once my brother. Now, he is an echo.
Everyone else always expect me to learn to communicate with them. I tire of that. The question that is at the back of my mind, is why don’t they learn to communicate with me?
The answer is because they are the same adults who saw me as some loner, some kid who was weird because he played by himself, he didn’t make friends easily, he kept to himself, he didn’t want other people to steal his buckets of water. I was difficult because I was born that way, as they perceived it. No mom. I wasn’t born being difficult. I was born feeling like a first born experiment gone wrong. I too could have been outgoing. I too could have smiled at everyone. I too could have been joyous and lovable with all of the adults. I wasn’t not because I was born being difficult, nor distant, nor cold, nor snobbish as many of my high school classmates thought I was. No, I was born a blank slate. I had opportunities to be joyful, lovable, outgoing, courageous, so on and so forth.
I’m 41 today, soon to be 42 with all of these setbacks because of how I felt with all of the adults around me when I was 2 years old and throughout my toddler years. I was especially frustrated with my mom in my teens and in my 30’s, Amber took the brunt of my temper tantrums, because she was always here, for a long time, did not know how to communicate with me.
There were a few rare times in the past, a couple of women I adored who cherished those 15 minute breaks with me. Often times, those 15 minute breaks turned into 4 hour love making sessions, but more than that, sometimes, those 15 minute breaks allowed us to connect emotionally in silence. It wasn’t always silence. Sometimes, we spoke. Sometimes, they folded origami. Sometimes, they took the time to take in the little things around them. They were learning how to communicate with me, even though they weren’t aware of it.
Erica was extra special to me, because she was one of these women. She just automatically knew how to talk with me. She just knew what I needed and when. Often times, she sent me pictures and words that meant so much to me, even when it was something short and simple. Erica was remarked that she imagined us sitting somewhere in the wilderness, enjoying the quiet of the wilds, as she lean against me, with her hands in mine. Our ’15 minute breaks’.
When Amber recently remarked, paraphrased, “You’ve probably never made love to anyone before.” I didn’t say anything, because it’s sad that of all of the intimate encounters I’ve had, there had only been two experiences where this happened and only in these two experiences, were they were with women who actually enjoyed having 15 minute breaks with me.
I struggle with the expression of love, adoration, and to cherish someone, because I am lonely. I struggle to fork off into the proper route, because people translate my loneliness as being snobbish, arrogant, and a weirdo. People don’t know and don’t care to communicate with me properly. They only care that their method is the absolute one. Most people think of all of my weirdness the same was the adults of my childhood thinks of me. “I am the weird kid who kept to himself, because I was jealous of my little brother who got all of the love.” <– This is wrong. I am the weird kid who kept to himself, because no one actually listened to me. No one actually observed and cracked the Leeman code, but I digress. There was never a code to crack. All one had to do was speak, listen, ask, and comprehend.
I was never jealous of my little brother. I gradually admired him. While I did not cherish my relation with him, nor did I do much in terms of adoring him, I did recognize him and gave credit where it was due. I did so silently. I thought despite how the adults behaved and reacted, that Edmond deserved what he got. As for what I got, well, I didn’t get much. I grew up self loving, but even then, it wasn’t self loving. It was more like self acceptance. I learned to communicate with myself and these blogs, as well as older ones are a testament to that.
Do not get me wrong that I am cold as ice and indifferent to my wife. I do cherish Amber, love her, appreciate all that she has done. I am not black and white. I am a dynamic individual. I will recognize a hundred things of a person, bad, good, everything in between and beyond. I am here expressing myself, because it’s the context of this post: Self Love and Loneliness.
I am lonely because I am in the same disposition I was when I was 2 years old. No adult is interested in learning to communicate with me. That is another reason why I am extremely against psychologists trying to ‘help me’, because they aren’t trying to help me. They are trying to impress themselves by injecting their learned sense of picking-up signals to get me to do as they please. I would not hold it against other people for doing what will help them, but psychologists, therapists, and psychiatrists aren’t for me and they will never be. They are worst than the adults. At least with the adults, they are oblivious to their actions and reactions. With the therapists, most of them are aware of their actions and reactions, and they do what they do because it pays them monetarily and egotistically.
This was originally the first post at Leemanism.com, but ended up being the latest to date. It ends on a quieted saddened tone, I am aware, but it’s 7:01am and it’s way passed my bedtime. I have been sleepy for hours. I just want people to get a peek of why I am the way I am. While I hope people who care about me will learn to communicate with me, I know for an absolute certainty, the majority will refuse to because some of them have unwarranted pride. The minority wouldn’t even know where to begin, even though I already told them how to in this blog post. The problem isn’t whether there is a plausible solution or not, but rather, most people are ‘adults’. They are the same people who didn’t bother to learn to communicate with me, when I was a toddler. To some of them, they think of this as a joke. To me, all I can say is, “Go fuck yourself.”
UPDATE 2020/Dec/05: Amber read this blog post. Afterward, she turned to me empathetically and said, paraphrased, “From now on, I will learn to communicate with you better.”