#003

 

Over the weekend I acted as a sous chef as my son made lasagne. I was teaching him how to make it, but I wanted him to actually do it all. It was great fun, and he took to the task. I explained the processes, that he was making a sauce and then a pie, and how he could change the ingredients to his taste; that this was a guide, and from here he can do his own take on it. Why did I want him to make a lasagne? Because I wanted him to be self-sufficient when it comes to life.

I had friends in a past life who did not, or could not, cook. Some of them had this strange and outdated notion that a woman does all the home stuff and a man goes to work. My parents never subscribed to this mantra thankfully, so it was never on my radar to see it as weird that a man can load a washing machine. I can load a washing machine, and if my son can’t he soon will be able to. He is only fifteen, so there’s plenty of time. The big goal for me is independence, because life throws all sorts of curveballs at you and it is very important, I believe, to be self-sufficient.

I was given the tools by my parents to be independent. I cooked from an early age and was shown various household chores that enabled me to perfect this to my standard when I eventually moved out and into the big world of rent. Then I was on my own, but I did not feel lonely. That emotion would rear its head when the girl I had moved in with broke up with me, and then came back, and then went on holiday for a week and I was alone, deeply alone in the flat. That was a breaking point inside me, a moment when the dark emotions inside me wrapped their tentacles around my mind and started to gain more power.

Which means that while I revel in independence...

Being alone in company is different to being alone. Being alone can be rewarding, liberating and exciting. Feeling alone is something completely different. I have developed an idea in my head that I am scared to feel alone. When I am alone, it exacerbates.

I remember years ago watching the days end. I would dread the sun going down and losing the daylight. Night would mean the end of another day, another part of life gone. I was alone, and the loneliness would envelop me, wrap me up into a dark blanket and I would yearn for what happened two hours ago, three hours ago, or earlier in the morning. I would be alone all day while my partner would be at work, and after a few hours alone I would start to think that she was part of my imagination.

I was in a desperately bad place at the time emotionally. This was a time of suicidal thoughts and self-harm; a time of uncontrollable emotional outbursts and wild thinking. But once my mind had grabbed the notion that I had made people up, I struggled to let it go.

Seeing myself as a highly sensitive person has opened my eyes to my behaviours over the years. While it is easy to blame others, such as the girlfriend for playing emotional games, or for my depression for playing with my mind, it actually all comes back to me. Because of my sensitive emotions there are, and were, situations that I find overwhelming. Over the years, and because I had not acknowledged them, events have amassed an idea that I cannot be alone. I can, but I struggle, but then I now have evidence that I have survived on my own. It still hurts though. My partner has recently been on a training course leaving me alone for two nights. My imagination took control and I was dreading being alone. However, I took it one moment at a time and filled my days with work stuff and fun stuff. It made the time go quicker, and it made me feel much better. I was alone but not lonely, because I had quite a good time in my own company.

I did talk to myself a lot, which I think is a trait for many HSP’s.

That was being alone and being really alone. But feeling alone in company is another thing entirely. In this scenario there is no escaping the thought that you do not fit in to the world that is around you.

Now, to feel alone in company truly hurts. There is only one way out of this, and it is life changing. This means that the place you are in, and the people you are with, are not your people. You are the alien, the outcast, the oddity. It’s a horrible feeling when you see that, and when you look around the room at others deep in conversation about something that you find shallow, or boring. 

I was always drawn to people of eccentricity. Artists who did it alone, and then continued alone. Because I felt alone. I felt a kinship with artists like Van Gogh; with performers like Andy Kaufman, and with singers like Prince. All of whom may have had people around them, but their minds were on their own. I knew this when I would attempt to join in some conversation and kill it dead or deliver a curveball that would cause confusion. I was the eccentric, which is why I felt a draw to others who were the same.

As you get older this sort of behaviour becomes endearing to others. When you are a twenty-something it’s not so, and you are seen as a bit weird. I have always felt like I was sitting on the edge of society watching others be cool and popular and wondering why I can’t be like that. The simple answer is, because I am not that person.

I removed myself from those social circles where I felt alone and created new models for my world. It is not an easy process, and it takes time and pain. But through understanding what it is that makes me the person I am I have reached a place where I accept, even if I don’t sometimes understand, why I do what I do and behave the way I behave. It comes with age, and it comes with experience. But it also comes from learning to love who you are in the first place, and to stop comparing yourself to others.

I taught my son a recipe for lasagne, you never know, he could wow some dinner guests with it sometime in the future. It was a recipe I learned in Milan, so it can’t be all bad. 

Zac Thraves is a writer and performer, who speaks out on the stigma of mental health. Check out my brand new PODCAST, on Spotify - right here The Outsiders Podcast