It’s difficult for me to accept help.

When Dad died, I had an outpouring of sympathy and offers for assistance, but I don’t recall taking anyone up on it.  I remember a few phone calls, people asking how I was doing.  Fine. I’m always fine.  In the quiet moments of the night, when I let that wall down, I was inconsolable.  The depths of my sorrow were so severe I didn’t know how I would ever get past them.  But who do you call at 3:00 in the morning?  All I had was an empty house to hear me, so I figured writing this blog would be a good outlet; and it was.  As the one year anniversary approaches, I can feel my emotions seeking that same stone wall I built last year.  I don’t want to be around anyone.  I just want to go home and not think about it.

I don’t want anybody to see me hurting.

But it’s also what I want most.

It’s a strange, crazy dichotomy.  I feel like it’s selfish to reach out when all that I want is a shoulder to cry on or someone to hear my sorrows.  Even now, as I’m not doing as fine as I have been, when people ask I don’t tell them.  Because then they’ll ask more, and then I’ll have to TELL more, and the problem just gets worse.  So I put on a happy face.  The reclusive beast stays in the shadows.  After all, it’s been a year.  I’m sure all of my friends have read my blogs or heard me talk about these emotions; why would they want to sit through them again?  That’s when I turn into a pest, ‘that guy’ that brings everyone down.  At least, that’s what the beast tells me.

I’m very much a talker.  I prefer conversation in a coffee house than a night out at a bar, dancing or what-have-you.  I like to communicate and share with others.  It’s damned unfair that I had become recently single when everything fell apart; I wanted someone I did feel like I could share with, unselfishly, and just look to for support.  For some reason, I didn’t look to my friends for that.  I just did without.  People still asked, and I still told them I was okay.  I even made a list of names of the friends that expressly asked me to reach out to them if/when I wanted to talk.  I never utilized that list.  My desire for connection was trumped by my desire to burrow and share through electronic means.

I don’t feel like I am ‘crying out for help’ or that I desperately need someone to talk to.  I recognize I’m conflicted.  In ten days, I have a monumental anniversary to get through and I don’t know if I want to be surrounded by friends or isolated.  I have strong feelings both ways.  I just don’t know.

About rhysfunk

Rhys Martin was born in Tulsa, Oklahoma in 1981. In 2009, he sold everything he owned and left the country, living out of a backpack for ten months. He discovered a passion for photography while traveling throughout Southeast Asia and Europe. After returning home, he looked at his home town and Oklahoma heritage with fresh eyes. When he began to explore his home state, Rhys turned his attention to historic Route 66. As he became familiar with the iconic highway, he began to truly appreciate Oklahoma’s place along the Mother Road. He has traveled all 2,400 miles of Route 66, from Chicago to Los Angeles. He has also driven many miles on rural Oklahoma highways to explore the fading Main Streets of our small towns. Rhys has a desire to find and share the unique qualities of the Sooner State with the rest of the world. Cloudless Lens Photography has been featured in several publications including This Land, Route 66 Magazine, Nimrod Journal, Inbound Asia Magazine, The Oklahoman, and the Tulsa World. In 2018 he published his first book, Lost Restaurants of Tulsa. Rhys loves to connect with people and share his experiences; ask him about enjoyable day trips from Tulsa, locations along Route 66, and good diners or burger joints along the way.
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