I want you to hear my voice in your head as if I were really in there with you. I want you to picture me saying these things. For those of you who have never seen me, my gravatar illustrates it pretty well. Picture that image. The big curls all over the place. The pink robe, which I’m usually wearing when I write. The glasses. Oh, those are the splitting image of my glasses. I love Sang so much for that. Kisses to you, Sang darling.

Anyway, I want you to picture me, sitting in front of you, elbow on each knee as I lean forward, hands clasped together, and my mouth hesitates before I ask you “Why are you like that?” This is after you just said some offhand joke that seemed insignificant, but to me, it was indicative of an entire mentality that bore that thought. I take that slip as being meaningful and an invitation to me into you. That’s why I lean forward.

It’s a dramatic shift from the bubbly, giggly, flirty young thing you just had sitting in front of you. My mood shifted too quickly; my question was too great a departure from the person you thought I was just a millisecond ago; you’re caught off guard, watched by me as you stutter and try to figure out how I just saw you. Then, you wonder, should I admit to this. Most people decide right then I’m harmless. I don’t know why. I hope it’s because they see I’m a sincere person who wears her heart on her sleeve, but that’s probably not it. I’ve just always been the secret-keeper. In therapy world, I’m an enabler. It’s an addiction, really. I feel bad if I’m not taking care of someone. It’s in this that is rooted my need to always be useful.

If I had to say, I’d say it’s because I was my mother’s secret keeper. Later and for the next twenty or so years, every one else came flocking. For crying out loud, my best friend Nyte and I became friends with this understanding. We had formed a study group for a literature course. Nyte was the student, I was the teacher, and from each other we learned. It was great. But we didn’t get close until I joked once that I was everybody’s therapist. That was back when I was embracing the enabler in me, so you can imagine I was pretty stressed out. But here she say, “oh, wow, I could use a friend like you.” And I dropped everything else on my mind to hear about this. I blocked the whole world out, even things high on my priority list, because I heard something in the broken breathing behind her laugh, the way she looked to the floor before saying that, where before she had been looking straight at me. My mind registers the sadness.

That’s when I moved my chair closer to hers, leaned forward with an elbow on each knee, and asked, “is that true?”

She laughed nervously, but she looked me in the eye, nodded, and said, “yeah.”

That was the beginning of an enabling storm that lasted over a year. I mean, I love her deeply. I hope when she’s done with school next year, she’ll have more time to talk. But Nyte is a whirlwind of a woman, a gorgeous Asian with brains who embraced the sex toy stereotype with luster and not a little pain. I couldn’t turn that wounded kitten away. Unhealthy, I know. That’s enabling. And back then, my enabling had no rules to guide it.

But I’m glad they didn’t. I’ve had complete strangers take me on a journey into their lives. Through my words, I give all of myself to these beautiful but misplaced strangers. And always, always, they give some part of themselves back.

So what I’m trying to say is, my life is ideal to me. There’s pain, yes. There’s a lot of mental anguish and economic struggling. I’m always sick, and I don’t have health insurance. I’m always really down before I get on an upswing. But all that enables me to see people’s suffering as clearly as I see my own. It helps me understand it, too. Why would I trade that for “fun” or “safety”? The idea makes me want to laugh. Why wouldn’t I want to suffer, when there’s so much learning to do in it?!

Lean forward, elbows on knees, hands clasped together: No, seriously. Sure, I ranted there for a while, but put another way, the joy of release can’t be had without the persistent, if agonizing, build up. So, if I want the release, I need the build up. It seems logical enough to me. Don’t you think? Or have I just intellectualized my enabling?

Damn it. I have to laugh. I thought I understood something about myself for a second. Eh. Maybe I did.