the wrong side of the bed

i have been told many times in reccent years that i am just too much to deal with emotionally. i won't go into details, but you can imagine that things like this get said at the ends of relationships (of any sort) rather than at the beginnings. today, i am trying, i swear i am, to keep my shit together. i am trying. i am trying.

i cried a lot when i was in elementary school. my mother once told a kindergarten aged dorotha that, if i didn't stop crying, she was going to send me to a psychiatrist. i guess i stopped crying at that particular moment, but i'm sure i started up again the next day or so. i had difficulties fitting in. i learned how to keep that to myself, though. i became withdrawn. by high school, i had a handful of emotions that i would display: sullen depression (most of the time), wild, manic enthusiasm (rarely), and explosive anger (only my family saw this). still, for the most part, my shit was under control. i would like that again. i don't mind the occassional outburst if i can just get that low level, comfortable depression again. i'm sure those around me would prefer it. i was a lot quieter back then, too. i know that people think i talk too much. i used to be silent. i really miss that. i imagine you would all welcome the change, too. a quieter, smaller, more easily managed dorotha. i could be shelved with books you want to keep, but won't ever read again. take me off the coffee table. put your stupid monet monograph back. people will be more impressed by that anyway. nothing like blurry waterlillies to sooth and caress a consciousness battered by our topsy-turvy lives. look! a haystack in autumn! in the morning light and then at dusk! i feel... fine.

cut back to dorotha harried, aged five. crying in my bed at night, plagued by insomnia. my mother comes in the room well past my bedtime. i am in my bed, softly calling for her. throughout my childhood, my mother made us sleep with our doors open. if we uttered the word "mom," she would tear herself from sleep and wander, bleary-eyed, down the hall to find us. i made my mother sleep in my bed many nights when i was young. she says i liked to listen to her heartbeat and feel her warm skin. i believe her; it still sounds good.

could i articulate well why i was crying when i was 5, 6, 7, 8? i don't know. i remember my mother saying to me, "dorotha, why do you feel so much in your heart of hearts? why are you so, so sad?" i don't know, mom. just stay in bed with me until i fall asleep.

Dorotha,

This is sad... but it's beautiful.

nobody wants you small and manageable, dorotha. i think there's an in-between: not wild but not crushed. (though i haven't found it myself... thus the whole rage problem...).

maybe you are an empath and you are feeling the whole world's emotions and that's why you have such strong sadness and anger. or maybe you're just a big ol' crybaby. nyah nyah.

i've got my money on empath.

thank you both. i don't know what kind of dorotha i wish i were, maybe that's why i vacillate between sadness and anger.

anyway, i know that i'm a crybaby. too bad i don't have johnny depp's looks. or just johnny depp.