Being Human...

And no, this isn't a post about a werewolf, a vampire and a ghost... (has anyone else seen those commercials?)

This a shower post being written a good six hours after the shower, so we'll see how much of the brilliance I managed to retain.  And yes, Ken, I did write myself a brief e-mail..

The other night I was whining to my girlfriend about shall we call my failings or my limitations and my frustration with my ADD and my frustration with blaming it all on my ADD and not really being able to understand or differentiate what belongs to that issue and what doesn't.  And on, and on...

(God bless her for listening)

And when I was done, she said to me simply, "Babe... those things about yourself that you blame on ADD, the rest of us for ourselves blame on being human..."  I.e., welcome to the human race, you're normal. 

And it is funny, because I am more than able to acknowledge I am human in other circumstances - mostly that I'll make mistakes and I will misunderstand, and I forget a lot of stuff.  But for some reason, in other areas, I hold myself to a higher standard. 

It reminded me, too, of another e-mail exchange with another friend a little over three years ago, where I was expressing some of my fears - particularly surrounding my temper.  I was kind of scared to be admitting my concerns and my issues, and feeling really vulnerable, and really afraid that expressing it to another person would make them suddenly realize what a horrible person I really am.  And I probably had been holding my breath from the moment I sent it until the moment I got her response. 

And it was a really simple response: 'OMG! Borg, you're human!"  (Yeah, well, we both know she didn't use the word "Borg", but Rose by any other name.. blah, blah, blah...)

I remember how relieved I felt when she said that.  Recognizing that I wasn't alone, and that feeling the way I did, did not mean I was a horrible person.  I was just a person. 

I clearly know I am human.  It is one of those tags on the side.  And frequently, when I see others beating themselves up, I am quick to remind them of that universal fact.  And yet, sometimes, I find it harder to accept for myself.  I'm sure some Freudians, or Jungians or some other psychobabble following could come up with some reason why I hold myself to a higher standard.  I'm sure it is because my mother didn't breast feed me, or maybe because she DID breast feed me.  Because my father was cold and distant.  Or my father was too involved. 

But I am amused because I think the very ironic reason that I hold myself to a higher standard than perhaps I might hold others and therefore find it hard, sometimes, to simply accept that I am human is because.... well... Go figure! I'm human.