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| Photo courtesy of sodahead.com |
Apparently, drama is addictive (see any Real Housewives franchise, Basketball Wives, MTV’s current lineup).
While working through this grip of depression, frustration, and anger, I’ve done everything I can think of to get my life back to a semblance of normality. Last year this time, I was besting the kids in Mario Kart, culling old toys to give away to the less fortunate and just loving life. Now I’m at a point where my car keys have been confiscated, I’ve been relegated to dining with a spoon, and Queenie is threatening to sit with me during the day while the house is empty. THAT IS A DEFINITE NADA!
That is not where this #* year old woman ever thought she would be.
I’ve been using my phone to download various apps that tout themselves as THE thing that will get me over the next hump. Unashamedly, I now sport over 150 apps and with the exception of Tiny Towers, I have yet to find one that helps me get past this malaise. I’m at a point where I have been too busy looking for a fix than actually fixing the issue.
One of the more helpful apps I found was Lifehack.org. According to one of the authors, it’s quite possible that despite the pain I’m in, I ENJOY that pain. If I allow myself to be truthful, and embrace the truth, I’m comfortable where I am.
Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.
Why do I do it?
Looking at the above saying is proof enough why I stay bitter. I’ve been hurt by depending on others. If I stay in my sphere of solitude, I don’t feel pain. I alone am responsible for me. I don’t have to depend on any man, god, thing to feel the way I do. I’m responsible for my pain; I don’t have to be disappointed when people inevitably let me down. I can use bitterness as an excuse to lash out when I’m angry. I can blame everyone and everything around me if I say something out of pocket. I can prevent any further hurt by releasing myself from the responsibility of acting my age, not my shoe size* therefore remaining stagnant.
But, by not trying again. I don’t grow.
These internal feelings are like an emotional cancer. I feel it seeping through my spirit, my mind, my soul. I don’t want to feel this way, but this feeling has been with me far longer than my latest blow. I’ve carried some form of bitterness from my father’s forgetting to pick me up at age 8 for a Saturday visit, to the woman at the Country Club I recently dined in that grabbed her husband’s hand when he stared too long at my newly yoga toned legs. The promotions I have been denied because of the trappings of my sex. These feelings and thoughts weigh me WAY down. The best thing to do would be to forget they exist and rise above them all. Alas, rising above during the day does not prevent them from resurfacing at night as I try to fall asleep or as a distraction while I’m driving which leads me to pulling over until the emotion passes. I want to let go because it’s the right thing to do for my sanity and I still have a responsibility to teach my children how to react when life kicks you in the balls. It’s exhausting feeling this way, this dueling feeling of being so mad I could spit nails, and the phony smile plastered on my face as I face someone who I would have no problem kicking his or her ass. I want release. I want the cathartic feeling that means I have stopped struggling, I’ve accepted my latest non victory, and I am at peace and free.
Commit to Change
I’ve been quitting smoking for the last four years. Each time I get to the last smoke in the pack, I promise myself that this will be the last time I would smoke. Then I find myself back in Wawa, asking for my chosen brand. It’s not that I enjoy smoking. When I’ve gone without nicotine, I’ve felt clarity, tasted the fresh air, and with the exception of itchy eyeballs and the camaraderie that is the smoker’s huddle, I enjoy my smoke free existence. I haven’t quit because I haven’t embraced a commitment that’s my own.
Like my need to light up that first smoke in the morning, I need to understand WHY I cling to my bitterness. Despite that lung hacking inducing cough making me sound like I need a tank of oxygen ASAP, understanding that this is a habit is one of my first steps. The same with my grudge/anger. I need to understand why I hold on to the thing that pisses me off. I worked hard, endured some things that I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy, I’ve cried, ate too much chocolate, and drank way too much wine. These numb me for a bit, but the next day comes and I have a stomach ache from the overindulgence, a wicked hangover, and the puffy eyes that comes from crying in my sleep. THESE have become my habits. As we see, habits aren’t always good. These habits can kill me.
Rational versus Denial
I know by my actions, feelings, waistline, and skin to name a few, my current state is unhealthy. Yet it burns my ass when I think about what happened, and it’s overwhelming thinking about where to begin to change. Reading has always been a means of escape and education for me. During this last experience, I’ve found myself haunting the libraries in the area to find relief from my latest life upheaval. Talking to people leaves me exhausted. People are quick to tell you how THEY would handle this change, or as two of the closest people in my life said, “Dammit just get over it!”
In the past it was easy to get over it. I would go to church, pray, sing with abandon and worship so hard my shoe would be at the alter. I feel like God hasn’t been a help to me in a long time.
During this Christmas break, HBO played Men in Black like it was the only movie in the rotation. This following scene is one of my favorites. Agent K explains to a befuddled Agent J the following:
A Person is smart. People are dumb, panicky, dangerous animals, and you know it.
He also drops this little chestnut:
1500 hundred years ago, everybody knew that the Earth was the center of the universe. 500 years ago, everybody knew that the Earth was flat. And 15 minutes ago, you knew that people were alone on this planet. Imagine what you’ll know tomorrow.
I’ve pondered these quotes as I did my yoga, played with the kids, and talked to a cop friend. Once again. words have the power to help or heal. I’m at the crossroads. Will my words heal me, or will they be the thing that pushes me over the edge?
* Line from “Kiss” by Prince
Keep the conversation going. Comments welcomed!