Literally all of my baggage seemed to unpack itself all at once. I felt burdened and overwhelmed, like virtually nothing could get worse. And then it did. It got so much worse. No amount of liquor or therapy seemed enough to undo the irrevocable damage that had been done to my poor, weary soul.
I have a confession to make. A big one.
I have a really bad habit of letting things consume me. A few days ago, in a very loving email from a girlfriend, I was told that I absorb people. I take on their life, their story, and their problems. Sometimes that's a good thing. Sometimes it makes me all the more tightly wrapped.
I allow people to have the power to ruin my day and make me feel bad about myself. It's a trait that I was given long ago; something that has followed me throughout my life making the seemingly simple things really, really difficult. Some days, I just really struggle. Some days I just have a hard time.
I have a lot of baggage, friends. Baggage of all sorts. Things like family obligations, ancient history that seems to haunt me when I least expect it, a house that's literally torn apart because of a sometimes exciting new kitchen renovation, a genetic predisposition to alcoholism and the inevitable and unfortunate trait of being romantically challenged.
The truth is that some of the baggage, some of it which wasn't particularly mentioned, is seemingly so undeserving of my attention. This week, for example, something has been bothering me to the point of losing sleep. To the point of getting just drunk enough to forget. I have let this something weigh me down for an entire seven days and it's baggage that I should have just let go. I should have just walked away from it instead of getting hoarse with rage and frustration.
We humans have millions of years of evolutionary baggage that makes us regard competition in a deadly light. -Vernor Vinge
But this isn't entirely about me.
I've often heard people say, "Don't get involved with people who have more baggage than you." While that may seem like relatively sound advice that probably merits a listen, I have a bit of a problem with it.
To be honest, I know a handful of people who don't come with some brand of baggage: Multiple children with someone they've come to despise. Abusive ex boyfriends. Housemates who steal. The burden of heartbreak or sick family members. Legal trouble or finance problems. The truth is that we all have our cross to bear.
With that being said, how in the world are you supposed to find someone with less baggage than you? I mean, unless that person has lived under a rock and never had any sort of life just happen, how is that even possible? Everyone, at some stage of their life, has experienced some sort of heartache. Those cold, lonesome moments that can be earth shattering and life altering. They exist, those moments, in all of us. To some degree. So those people who claim that your life is better spent with someone with less alleged baggage than you: I'm sorry but I call bull puckey.
Knowing that you're the one who's been rejected... I felt as though I'd walked into the house trailing all this baggage. -Anthea Turner
I have this gorgeous friend. Her name and the sordid details of her life's worth of stories aren't particularly important because stories like these are a dime a dozen. I find that too often women have been left scarred by their inevitable baggage, as if the men who scorned them can somehow define who they are.
Very long and difficult to talk about story short, she has endured more in the last six months than I could survive in two lifetimes. With a pensive sense of reserve, she shared with me her story: A botched relationship with a violent Latino dreamboat who ended their tumultuous relationship by putting her in the hospital. Rendering her nearly unrecognizable. The unexpected and untimely death of an immediate family member. And a few months later, she woke up to find that two of her closest friends were killed together, in a very publicly televised car accident.
This dear friend and I talk nearly everyday about all sorts of things. Sometimes we even talk about nothing. The odd thing about being overwhelmed with tragedy and wrong doing is that you're more apt to talk about nothing than something. And the truth is that those seemingly minuscule nothings that inherently inhabit our conversations have meant more to me than so many somethings...
There's a luggage limit to every passenger on a flight. The same rules apply to your life. You must eliminate some baggage before you can fly. -Rosalind Johnson
So I guess that my question is: How much is too much? Is this aforementioned gorgeous friend doomed to spinsterhood in Crazy Cat Lady Land because she's had bad things happen to and around her? Is she, and other women like her, now deemed damaged goods? Half a person with half a soul? The comparable version of the ever tragic, yet incessantly gorgeous Elizabeth Taylor in our midst? And how do you determine who is worth the hefty baggage and who isn't...? What are the stipulations in that regard?
Moral of the Crazy: I suppose for me, that baggage, those unfortunate circumstances that WE ALL inevitably carry, is what makes us who we are. Perhaps the reason that we go through terrible things at all is so that we can grow and become better, more formidable people. We may be people with scars; some on the flesh for the world to see and ask about. Some on our hearts that we keep hidden but still wear with the pride of any true survivor. But those scars, friends, they aren't just accessories. They're the reason that we're still here. The reason we became who we are. Baggage? What baggage?
They say a mistake is only a mistake if you don't learn from it. I've learned from the alleged baggage I carry and when I get disgruntled, I unpack that shit to remind myself why my heart is still beating. To be eternally grateful for all the pain I've endured. Because it brought me here: to a happy, warm and inviting place. With my luggage trailing far behind me. It's still there but it's way back there. Just a bucket of rust on a long, lonely highway of heartache that led me here.
The highway that led me straight to my husband. The only normal I've ever known.
Sure, I may have baggage. Lots of it. Scores, even. But it's designer. And I carry it like a boss.
A chip on the shoulder is too heavy a piece of baggage to carry through life. -John Hannah
The Crazy version of Dear Abby:
Need advice on something vital or love induced? Have some gossip that you desperately need to share? Want to swap idiot boyfriend stories?
Share your stories with me at: katieruth0804@gmail.com with the subject line Crazy Face and be anonymously featured in my blog!
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