Lord, I am wordy this weekend

Partly because I feel I have broken through this dam of a block that has plagued me for years. Finishing a creative endeavor can do that. Also, I am killing time before I go volunteer tonight. I promise to catch up on my blog reading tomorrow, friends, because I've been watching the weather channel all day and can't do it anymore.

Most of you know where I'm from, and while I may not have stated it explicitly, why I moved away. I was one of those lucky bastards who got out because I had the means to leave, a place to go, and no desire to hang around and chance it. And like the rest of America, I watched the terrible damage that weather and governmental incompetance combined can wreak on the soul of a place and its population. I, like you, was horrified by what I saw. But that horror had its own flavor because I was watching my home. And the whole time I stared, crying or in mute deadened pathos, I was still aware that I was lucky. That, even if my own house had been destroyed, I was alive, my family was safe, we were together, and still found reason to laugh at times - that's just how we are.

'That did not happen to me', is what I think whenever someone attempts to wax poetic about my being from New Orleans. I was lucky. I was blessed. And yet. It did. Because of my blasted sense of connection to all humanity, whether through my Zen studies, or my inherent Christian sensibilities, or through my own special empathetic superpowers (Sponge Girl!), it did happen to me and I still feel it every day.

Today I watched cameras pan around in special Disaster!Pornish ways, focusing on blown windows and destroyed highrises and knocked over street signs and I thought, 'That did not happen to me.' And I am grateful.

Here's the secret no one will tell you. Those images you are seeing of damage and destruction? Not the least of it. The true heartache sets in when people go home and see if anything is still standing. When the homeless population doubles due to subsidized housing being demolished and rents tripling. When businesses have to close because their insurance won't cover all the lost property, or because they depend on a tourist trade that just isn't there, or because they can't staff it because so many cannot come home. The true heartbreak will occur when families cannot find their loved ones, or realize they lost someone to the storm.

Trauma is loosely defined as a sudden unexpected event which causes a negative emotional reaction, such as fear. Its effects can be felt for years after said event. The emotional reaction one feels can be triggered at any time, by anything. I know people in the New Orleans area who are still reeling, even if their homes have been rebuilt, and their favorite stores have reopened, and they manage to exist in their protective bubble of everything's all right now. They are still waiting for that trigger. They are changed. We are changed. I am changed.

That did not happen to me. And yet it did.

Considering my last post...

This is what I know some of you are saying. It's okay. I say it to myself all the time.
From someecards.com.

In which Diana describes how beyond pathetic she is

You have no idea.

I have long accepted that external validation is more important to me than I would ever admit out loud. Partially because I see it as a completely understandable human condition, though also a regrettably personal albatross of my own. But, since I apparently have decided I'm some sort of ragged role model for humanity, and so therefore have learned to fake a certain laissez-faire attitude about other people's attitudes, I am very good at pretending I have no need for it. While all along, I'm hoping to put into play that fake it until you make it axiom. I fall short. So so many times. And while I know that it's OKAY that I need for people to tell me they like me, I'm beautiful, clever, funny, smart, I'm their fav-o-rite person on the goddamned universe, it still makes me feel full of FAIL. Not to mention the neediness that accompanies the wondering.

And no, I'm not posting this so all five you you (wonderful wonderful yous) will leave me comments repeating "But I LOVE you, D!!!" That's not what this is about. I know who loves me. I know I'm mildly entertaining at times. I know I'm intelligent and curious and passionate and thoughtful, and that - on a good day - I am able to project all those wonderful qualities outward into the world. What shakes me to the core is this rock-hard belief I have that I have to impress everyone all the time.

Take my current situation: I post a story. It is well received. I am pleased about that. Very, ridiculously, inordinately pleased about that. I love every single person who took the time to comment and tell me they enjoyed my story. I believe they enjoyed my story. I therefore calm down a bit from my previous post and accept that my initial observation of my story (that it's indeed pretty good) was correct. Done.

Except. There is this one person on lj. There is always one person. It doesn't matter where I am. Do you have that person? That one person who you do not even know and yet who somehow holds your self-esteem in the palms of invisible hands? That one person who writes beautiful stories, or funny blogs, or insightful book reviews, or whatever. Somehow you have, without even realizing it, put this person on a pedestal. I have been on someone's pedestal, and I hated it there. The view sucks, the seat is uncomfortable, and the fall is hard. So I don't make it a point to let this person know about my personal pedestal. This person has no need of my pedestal. This person has a life, and flaws, and foibles, and stuff, and doesn't even know me. But I look up and there this person is, waving down and I wave back, wagging my tail that I'm even noticed.

So how do I react when this person lets me know my story has been printed for reading (because it is a long story to read off a computer screen)? I'm sorry, I have my hand by my ear, but I can't quite hear all of you laughing at how I'm pissing myself with excitement. Yes, maybe that's how each and every one of you would react as well. Perhaps you won't want to admit it, but I like admitting my failings, not because I want everyone to look down at me, but because I believe I'm just expressing something we all feel sometimes. And by publicly admitting it, I am making it okay for all of you to admit it as well, even if it's just to yourselves. See? Fucking role model, me. Besides, that reaction, the wagging, pissing, squealy-noised joy? Nothing compared to the misery that is crashing down on me as we speak. Because it's been three days. And this person - my pedestal? Not one peep about my story. Which, of course, leads me to assume it was not well received.

There are so so many things I could say right now. Some of them would be placating. Some disturbing. Some full of invective. But none would fully describe the complexity that is my brain processing how it feels about not hearing what I so desperately wanted to hear, even though so many have already said the same thing. And I am ashamed. I do feel gratitude for what I have already been given: real friends - some of whom actually know me - reminding me I am supported, strangers taking the time to appreciate how much work I put into something I care about, family teaching me what unconditional love means. But right now that gratitude is a distant thing.

I will remember it in time. But first I will retreat, pretend it doesn't matter what other people think, hope one day I will believe that, and lick my self-indulgent wounds. Be back soon.