As If I Matter

My name is Cristina D. Johnson.

Since May, I've been overwhelmed, consumed by and obsessed with the debilitating grief over my break up of my five-year relationship, as well as the loss of every single "friendship" associated with that relationship. I've defriended at least 50 people from my Facebook page. My PTSD wreaked havoc on my life for the past year, but especially since May.

Being abandoned so young, I grew up with (and still hold to) this belief that I am nothing...worth nothing. I mean, really, if your own parents didn't want you, who would? Right? It started for me, so young (around age 3, when I was placed in a foster home), that it is an extremely deep-seated belief. "You are nothing" runs through my mind, every single time I try to wear a dress or put on jewelry. "You are nothing" echoes in my head anytime I go anywhere. Especially now...after the things that were done to me.

But that's not what this is about.

Today I was perusing my Facebook - which now consists of 127 friends - and I saw my name on someone's status - Robin - and she was commenting on how good a writer I am. "Just sayin'," she said in her status. I almost cried. Robin and I haven't ever really talked much - our sons were friends and her son was wonderful to my Trevor - and we got together a couple of times, but that's it.

But that's not all.

Ron and Cindy adopted me - legally - when I was 36 years old. Yeah, yeah I know it sounds weird - an adult adoption - and most people look at me cock-eyed when I tell them, but to me - at the time - I had no concept of family and in some way, I guess I was both fantasizing about having parents, and also thinking I was helping them. (So technically, my real name is Cristina D. Kuptzin-Johnson).

Anyway for awhile (actually for almost the entire time I dated "him"), we were estranged. Cindy and I texted occasionally but I stayed clear away from Ron. He was frightening to me. Very tall, domineering and intimidating. Much like my birth father.

In May, Cindy and I were talking (apparently, because I don't remember any of it) on the phone as I was heading to a motel to attempt suicide. Cindy showed up and found me, I believe. And "he" also showed up...I don't know who showed up when, but Cindy was there.

That's when our communication opened back up. Cindy understood - much more than "he" did - that it was not a suicide attempt; it was a cry for help...it was desperation, fear, pain...so many things but not a desire to die. (it's called Suicide Ideation).

As "he" went out and told everyone all about my disorders and attempted suicide, Cindy continued to talk to me and check on me, while he would yell at me or swear at me or mock my disorders, attempt to control me and constantly hurt me. While all this was happening, Cindy was there, always checking on me. Always worried about me. Like a mother, I suppose.

And, of course, there was Bill, checking on me and Hannah who was frantic over my well-being and irate over the way "he" was treating me.

But lately, as I go through therapy and work on myself, I am finding tiny little lights...little pieces of heaven.

Ron - with whom I have not spoke in over five years - has been quietly sitting on the sidelines, waiting for me to call the shots - as if I matter.

Cindy has been here every day, texting every day asking how I am - as if I matter.

Hannah texts me for advice or to see how I am doing - as if I matter.

Robin boasts about how good my writing is - as if I matter.

Nate and Derek help me with their knowledge because I have no idea what I'm doing with my whole website situation - as if I matter.

My cousins, Jan, Cora.... they reached out to me (Jan was even gonna visit!) - as if I matter.

My Aunt Neen encouraged me to keep writing, to get it out, to be strong - as if I matter.

Cindy came over today and cut Trevor's hair and watched (and helped) as I taught him to shave for the first time. She sat and talked with me for a few hours - as if I matter.

With her, she brought a box that had a small stereo in it that Ron sent, as well as some other things that he picked up for me at the store. As if I matter.

Officer Gingras knew what PTSD was and he helped me so compassionately, with such kindness.

And, finally of course, there's Bill who has been my rock, my best friend and everything I could dream of...been there for me through everything As if I matter.

Because my "You are nothing" runs so deep, the thought that I might matter, I might be important or valuable, is like (as I told my therapist) trying to get a rock to absorb water but I have to admit, these little pieces of compassion, acceptance, love...these kindnesses ....these small things (and big things) that you all have done, chip away at that rock and I want to thank you all.

Even though it aches, it's like pushing a sore tooth - it feels good, too.

I Being I

My Name is Cristina D. Johnson.

When have I been "I"?

When I posted "Coming Out," I was being I...I was being "real" and goddamn it was scary, especially posting it on my facebook, going public to so many people I hadn't shared with and had, in fact, deliberately hidden from.

Today I was talking to Bill (a long-time, trusted friend) about the past five years of my life because I've given it a lot of thought. I suppose it even started before then - when I moved to Connecticut.

I had the intention of making a better life for myself and my son (and also my daughter at the time, but it ended up not working out that way). I was afraid of this...place. These people. Upper Crust Society - the "them" that I'd always feared and been ashamed to be around, and also held some contempt for. But somewhere inside, I wanted to be that. I wanted to be more than I always had been.

I didn't want to live in the ghetto anymore. I didn't want to be poor and broken anymore and throughout my life, I ran and ran - always running (I can't tell you how many places I've lived in or how many places I've gone to) but I was always running. I didn't know it at the time, of course, but I know it now.

Then I came here and I was still running...still running from all the darkness inside, the truth....the shadows that followed me with the promise of torment.

Then I met "him" and I thought, okay...this is my change. This is where I really take a step up and move further up and beyond. And BOY was I really running then, but in my mind, there was no way my demons could catch me if I were with him. No way because life would be different. He was more cultured (I believed) and he was more educated and intelligent and would help me escape my ugly. I could hide in his world.

And I did - for a long time.

So I was talking to Bill about this - about how I used to be, before I met "him" and how different I became. How I got sucked into this world - his world - and slowly became someone I didn't want to be and have never been: someone who judged others. I became exactly what I'd always abhorred in humanity...exactly what makes it feel like an "us versus them" world. I would sit around the picnic or dinner table and, at first, just listen - listen to others talk about people (poor, gay, drug addicts, etc) with little or no conscience or compassion.

But slowly, trying to be this "better" that I'd been seeking (whatever "better" is), I became one of those among them who, albeit not quite as much, fell prey to the gossip.

I didn't like it and I don't like it now. I am not that kind of person and never have been (although my blogs of recent could be argued otherwise, however I do not view them that way - I view them as opening up and sharing my pain and my heartache and they're certainly not "gossip" but, rather, my experiences).

"Yeah you used to get mad at people when they talked about others," Bill said to me. "It used to irritate you."

"Yeah it did," I recalled.

That's because I was one of those people that "upper crusters" talk about. So...

When have I been "I"? I certainly wasn't free to be "me" when I was among "the enemy" - those whom I'd heard bashing the poor, gay, different, etc. I was not free to be "me" because I was afraid to show myself.

I was, though, myself at one point: When I became vulnerable and weak; when I opened up; when I shared; when I was afraid; when I was open and honest about my past to everyone I know and have known for these past five years. When I gave him my trust and was vulnerable...terrifyingly so. It was the first time ever in my life. That was when I was "I".

It is so terrifying to put it out there, oh God you can't imagine.

I have a tendency to tell people something - some detail or part of my abuse or something about the effects of it - and then immediately push them away because I am afraid I've said too much.

Well it's the same way with this blog - with Coming Out. I was scared for three days of what people were going to say to and/or about me and for three days, I was severely affected. I was truly shocked when people - even family members that I hadn't talked to in decades - came out and encouraged me. Friends contacted me and shared with me. My therapist was proud of me, as were Bill and Cindy and my beloved Aunt Neen. It even inspired others (from a different site, as well as my online protege' to do the same - to come out and share their names).

So for a few days, I got to experience "I" - the real "I" that I've neglected all these years and the one that I've run away from my whole life. With every blog I write, I dig deeper into the "me" that I've never had the luxury of knowing and for every message, text, phone call, or letter, I feel more and more empowered, encouraged, supported and accepted.

I know there are people out there gossiping - I lived it and it's rife here.

But I won't live it anymore. That's not me. That's just the tiny pieces of a little girl who has spent her entire life trying to be "better" or "right" enough to be loved who just keeps trying to do everything she can to fit in.

It's much more satisfying to be accepted for the real "I" that I am - as terrifying as it is to be so exposed to people whose character I've come to know...to communities that are burdened by judgment, and don't even know it.

Thank you to those who have reached out to me, despite the ugliness I feel inside. I struggle a lot and know it's a long road, but your support and encouragement truly gives me hope and strength.