Safety in Numbers

 How many people do you need around you to feel safe? Interesting question?

I was told by someone once that they hated being alone. They would go to the shopping centre and walk around rather than be alone in their house. They didn't want to ever be alone. I  struggled with that theory. I wondered what was in their head that they constantly wanted to flee and what was their magic number of people they felt safe with?

Being an only child I was literally alone but never alone. I had nobody to share my lifestyle with. Everyone jumped in and said that I was lucky, spoiled, had everything. That idea is the fairystory version of being an only child. In my case, one parent who had issues, and one who created them. 

I couldn't hide in my room because that would be invaded constantly. The sound of the door scraping on the 70's shag pile carpet is still in my head. The quiet "What are you doing?" with no answer ever being acceptable or appropriate, or to be honest even heard let alone respected. The ongoing effect is that I struggle to sit with my back to a group of people. I'm the one who sits with their back to the wall in restaurants and even in my own office. I don't like people walking up behind me. I don't like surprises. 

I couldn't hide in the toilet because that would have a voice outside the door asking questions, or just talking, or looking for something that in all honesty wasn't needed at that time. The ongoing effect for decades was Irritable Bowel Syndrome. Every time I think I've beaten that I'm proven wrong too.

I couldn't hide with friends because I didn't trust anyone that much. More to the point, time with friends was always timed for when I had to be picked up. That time was always cut short by my ride sitting outside waiting, or being invited in for a coffee. So my time with friends was never care free. 

I couldn't hide when I moved to another town. First, I realised when I got there that I had all this stuff in my head that I didn't want to deal with. I'd added guilt of leaving to that pile of mulch. So I had safety in numbers. I partied, I worked, I went out every day, I shared my house with others. I had a level of freedom I'd not had. Yet, I was so "old". A teenager, and yet I was the cook, cleaner and mother figure for my housemates. It didn't take long to get a partner, and what did I do then? Yes, I did the caring thing. That's the only thing I was ever good at, in my mind. So the numbers game didn't really work, but I did it for a long time!

I learned new skills, and I learned where my trigger points were. I had help from people I hadn't known long, but I trusted with my innermost secrets. I learned to be open.

I learned that my safety number was 1. It was me. I learned to be so damned happy inside me. One of my favourite people to go out for a coffee with is.............? One of my favourite people I love to go on drives and adventures with is..................? One of my favourite people I love to sit and watch TV and do craft with is.......................? ME.

I don't have to explain Me to Me. I don't have to wonder what I think of I. I don't have to guard my soft, scared, scarred places from me. I'm able to reach into the septic spots and clean them out. I trust me. 

This blog has become where I extend the inner me to the world. I don't know if anyone reads it. More to the point, I'm not sure I care any more. I don't write this for attention and response. I write to put my thoughts out in some form that selfishly helps me. If it helps others then that's a bonus.

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