I have never been good with anger.
It has always been an ugly black feeling that never seems justified, though I suppose there are times when I should have been angry and wasn't. Anger is said to be healthy, but I have always felt bad about being angry with someone, like they wouldn't like me or would be disappointed in me if I were angry at them. Thanks to this unhealthy view of my own natural emotion, it has been shoved down into the depths time and again. Unfortunately for anyone who has ever pushed my buttons to the point of explosion, this means that when I do get angry it comes with a mushroom cloud. Thankfully, most people know that when I say "hey, this is pissing me off" they should stop and they do. I wonder, though, if I am the only one who feels the fall out.
The guilt that follows the anger is deep and drowning. The last time I lost my temper to the point of screaming and red face left me curled on the floor sobbing. That was a time when my anger was justified, albeit a bit extreme. I don't know that anyone deserves to be screamed at, and I felt horrible. At the same time, the other voice chimed in with "how many times do you poke the dog before you get bitten?"
Losing control like that has happened twice. I pray it won't happen again and have begun working on ways to keep it from happening, like dealing with things now instead of later. Temper explosions are like grenades filled with the shrapnel of everything unsaid. In order to keep the collateral down, it is important to keep the ammunition to a minimum. The craziest thing for me to think about is how many years of stuffing have been involved in this anger that stews inside me? It is possible I had decades of unresolved emotions swirling in the abyss within me.
I don't get angry often, and I don't mean I control it well or ignore it. I mean that most things just don't bother me all that much. I told a friend that I had lost my temper before and I described what happened. She was shocked. It was hard to believe that this laid back dude would be capable of that. So, to think about how long I must have been stuffing things down is kind of mental.
I am not trying to condone going off on everyone that pisses you off, but it is important to deal with things. It is also important to look at the anger itself. Buddhism teaches that anger comes from within, not from without. When we get angry it comes from our unresolved fears or a damaged ego. It is important to look at the anger and at yourself. This can be very difficult. The chance of finding something we don't want to see is scary. But not looking at it doesn't make it go away and the longer it is there the more damage it can do.
The last time I blew up, I was afraid. I was afraid I would never get out of the hole I had crawled into. I was afraid that I would continue to allow this person to push me to places I didn't want to go, the places that had left me suicidal. The places where I couldn't sleep in a bed by myself. The places where I was punching walls and drinking to wash down the pills I was using to escape the things I was doing. I was scared of those things. I had allowed myself to continue to jump in front of this train time and time again. I was weak. I was hurting and I could see what I needed to get better. I needed to be away from this person. I blew up because I was afraid I wouldn't get there.
I was angry because I knew that I had allowed myself to get to this place. There had been plenty of stops along the way where I could have gotten off and taken care of myself. I chose not to. Was I vulnerable? Yes, but it was still my choice. Sometimes I like to blame her even though I know that I am the only one who can control me. I lost my temper when it all became too much and the fear and frustration boiled to the surface in a miasma of pain and frustration.
I was mad at her, sure. But I was mostly mad at myself.
As I write this down I can feel some of the stress relax from my shoulders and neck. My jaw loosens, slightly. I have a lot of unresolved issues sitting inside me. I am trying to look at them and deal with them. It is a strange, revealing adventure and I have learned a few things. Even anger requires some exploration and it is just as fascinating as looking at love or depression.
“Conquer anger by non-anger. Conquer evil by good. Conquer miserliness
by liberality. Conquer a liar by truthfulness.” (Dhammapada, v. 233)
Tuesday, January 10, 2012
Monday, January 9, 2012
This Latent Emotion
As much as I have grown, there are bad habits that won't go away.
I still struggle with shoving emotions down to deal with later, and though this is great at the time I am finding that the emotions won't stay hidden for as long as they would have in the past. My Pandora's box has been opened and all of my demons are screaming from it's depths. They tend to show up at the most inopportune moments.
For example, with a lady this weekend.
What was fun-aggressive turned to a mix of negative emotions as I sat in my breath and sweat. My thoughts reeled and I couldn't catch my breath and I couldn't hide my confusion. Because she is who she is, she was kind and understanding and supportive. It was what I needed at that time. I wasn't ready to talk about everything I was feeling and she was okay with it.
There is anger crouching over my shoulder. I am not good with my anger. This fact gives it power. Instead of letting it out, I tend to rationalize it. As civilized as this seems, it does me no good. When I think of unleashing it I wonder how effective it would be when I couldn't even tell the person with which I am angry. It would do no good. It would be spitting in the wind. On top of that, what good would it do to yell at the other people I am angry with? I can't yell at myself without seeming insane or pulling off a fight club moment in some parking lot. I can't blow up at my father. I can't scream at the universe.
I could, actually, but what good does it do?
So I write about it in hopes that the "page" will take these emotions and turn them into something else. This is a first step to talking about it. I did talk about it and in doing so I took some of its power away.
The power of words.
I have lost the train for this post. I think that dealing with some of these latent emotions is like digging up an old treasure. I find a few coins, but most of it is still hidden and reveals itself in time.
I still struggle with shoving emotions down to deal with later, and though this is great at the time I am finding that the emotions won't stay hidden for as long as they would have in the past. My Pandora's box has been opened and all of my demons are screaming from it's depths. They tend to show up at the most inopportune moments.
For example, with a lady this weekend.
What was fun-aggressive turned to a mix of negative emotions as I sat in my breath and sweat. My thoughts reeled and I couldn't catch my breath and I couldn't hide my confusion. Because she is who she is, she was kind and understanding and supportive. It was what I needed at that time. I wasn't ready to talk about everything I was feeling and she was okay with it.
There is anger crouching over my shoulder. I am not good with my anger. This fact gives it power. Instead of letting it out, I tend to rationalize it. As civilized as this seems, it does me no good. When I think of unleashing it I wonder how effective it would be when I couldn't even tell the person with which I am angry. It would do no good. It would be spitting in the wind. On top of that, what good would it do to yell at the other people I am angry with? I can't yell at myself without seeming insane or pulling off a fight club moment in some parking lot. I can't blow up at my father. I can't scream at the universe.
I could, actually, but what good does it do?
So I write about it in hopes that the "page" will take these emotions and turn them into something else. This is a first step to talking about it. I did talk about it and in doing so I took some of its power away.
The power of words.
I have lost the train for this post. I think that dealing with some of these latent emotions is like digging up an old treasure. I find a few coins, but most of it is still hidden and reveals itself in time.
Thursday, December 8, 2011
Words Like Pepto
Sometimes the memories flood my brain and fill me with the emotional wreckage of my not-so-popular life choices. But at least I have something to write about.
I have taken to writing or doodling every night before I go to bed and this practice seems to have put cracks in the damn that I have been building to help me deal with the rush of emotions that I sometimes experience. By writing down whatever I have in the front of my mind, room is made for the next set of thoughts to step to the front of the line. It's like the act of putting it on paper actually removes it from my mind. It is my coping mechanism, which is healthier than my old method of stuffing it down into a sack in the basement of my brain and hoping it would never get to see the light of day. But it always does.
So, I have an emotional emesis nightly spread out in my rather nondescript scrawl over lined paper. The taste it leaves in my mouth depends on the contents. There are nights when the taste is sweet from removing the taint from my heart and I sleep deeply with dreams that entertain with insanity. Other nights, the heaving brings tears and sobbing as I work out the emotions of past indiscretions and apologize to nobody for things I have done but have never spoken of. The visions that come to me in my sleep will leave me choked up and tearful, as if I had been crying all night, when my alarm clock forces me awake in the morning. The strangest discovery for me is the taste of hate and anger on my tongue. There is more than I thought, and if I had to guess I would say there is probably even more than that.
I don't like hate. It is ugly. I didn't even think I had that emotion amongst my lexicon of feelings. I guess I do. I guess I am as human as anyone else. The taste it leaves is sour as it passes onto the page. The worst part of its ugliness is that it sticks in my teeth for days following. Hate is the Pablano of emotions. Sometimes you think you could use a little bit to spice things up, but you always regret it later when your heart burns and the indigestion leaves your mouth sour.
I am captivated by the the nights that I tap into something that I didn't know was looming behind the scenes. Those nights the words spill onto the page in a fury and are nonsensical afterward. Those are the words that most accurately reflect the darkness that dwells. They are the guilt and the sadness and the anger and hate that creep into my dreams and cloud my vision when I wake. They are the words I can't speak out loud. My only reprieve is that of pen to paper and they only surface in letters forming words forming thoughts or in drawings that are rarely more than sketches of the recesses of my mind.
Sometimes they scare me. But when emotions are seen clearly they are never as bad as they are in your heart. I think your heart tends to see things bigger than they are. That's why initial emotions are so strong in both love and hate. When the blood slows again, things fall in to perspective. For me, putting the emotion on paper is my way of seeing it clearly.
Even writing about my writing is like seeing the silt in the river begin to clear so that the largest stones begin to take shape. I can't see the little fish yet, but they are down there.
Words are thoughts taken shape. They are the reflection of the things we can't see.
Words are what will eventually set me free.
I have taken to writing or doodling every night before I go to bed and this practice seems to have put cracks in the damn that I have been building to help me deal with the rush of emotions that I sometimes experience. By writing down whatever I have in the front of my mind, room is made for the next set of thoughts to step to the front of the line. It's like the act of putting it on paper actually removes it from my mind. It is my coping mechanism, which is healthier than my old method of stuffing it down into a sack in the basement of my brain and hoping it would never get to see the light of day. But it always does.
So, I have an emotional emesis nightly spread out in my rather nondescript scrawl over lined paper. The taste it leaves in my mouth depends on the contents. There are nights when the taste is sweet from removing the taint from my heart and I sleep deeply with dreams that entertain with insanity. Other nights, the heaving brings tears and sobbing as I work out the emotions of past indiscretions and apologize to nobody for things I have done but have never spoken of. The visions that come to me in my sleep will leave me choked up and tearful, as if I had been crying all night, when my alarm clock forces me awake in the morning. The strangest discovery for me is the taste of hate and anger on my tongue. There is more than I thought, and if I had to guess I would say there is probably even more than that.
I don't like hate. It is ugly. I didn't even think I had that emotion amongst my lexicon of feelings. I guess I do. I guess I am as human as anyone else. The taste it leaves is sour as it passes onto the page. The worst part of its ugliness is that it sticks in my teeth for days following. Hate is the Pablano of emotions. Sometimes you think you could use a little bit to spice things up, but you always regret it later when your heart burns and the indigestion leaves your mouth sour.
I am captivated by the the nights that I tap into something that I didn't know was looming behind the scenes. Those nights the words spill onto the page in a fury and are nonsensical afterward. Those are the words that most accurately reflect the darkness that dwells. They are the guilt and the sadness and the anger and hate that creep into my dreams and cloud my vision when I wake. They are the words I can't speak out loud. My only reprieve is that of pen to paper and they only surface in letters forming words forming thoughts or in drawings that are rarely more than sketches of the recesses of my mind.
Sometimes they scare me. But when emotions are seen clearly they are never as bad as they are in your heart. I think your heart tends to see things bigger than they are. That's why initial emotions are so strong in both love and hate. When the blood slows again, things fall in to perspective. For me, putting the emotion on paper is my way of seeing it clearly.
Even writing about my writing is like seeing the silt in the river begin to clear so that the largest stones begin to take shape. I can't see the little fish yet, but they are down there.
Words are thoughts taken shape. They are the reflection of the things we can't see.
Words are what will eventually set me free.
Friday, December 2, 2011
Bored of Melancholy
For a brief moment I was legitimately happy. That strange kind of happy that you feel in your chest in the same spot where feelings, even the bad ones, seem to find a home. Anxiety was the immediate reaction to that feeling. I have been miserable for long enough that the thought of being happy was run off by fear. Fear of what? Fear that I don't deserve it? Fear that it will won't last? Probably both.
Then I let those fears go.
Curiosity has taken their place.
I know I have asked this before, but am I so wired for feeling down and out that feeling something else is so alien that I fear it?
It must be true. Otherwise, why would I have that reaction?
I can feel myself changing inside. I feel more in control and I am not as affected by dreams and memories and nostalgia of my past life as I have been. I have also begun to see that being sad is really shitty. I have grown bored of it. I have a play list that was pieced together over the course of the past year and a half. It is full of great, mellow, emotional music that holds a lot of meaning to me. It is also really depressing. But that was where I lived. That was what felt right to me. I can barely listen to that list without feeling the mood of those songs wash over me and I have to get away from it. I find myself moving from the beautiful melancholy of Ray Lamontagne to the positive and shiny optimism of Brett Dennen. It is very odd to look at my musical selection this way.
I will still listen to some of the music I was in to in school. Nirvana and Pearl Jam. Alice in Chains and Korn. Music that was angsty and anxious. Depressed and angry. I still listen to it. I probably always will, but it doesn't have quite the same effect on me. At one point I sought out the sounds that reflected my stormy soul. Or perhaps fed it.
I don't want to feed it like that anymore. I seek out music that moves me in a different way. Songs from The Temper Trap and Band of Horses that resonate with something other than the dark parts of our emotional psyche speak to me. I love this. My nostalgia holds on to those bands and songs that were a part of me for so long, and it really is hard to let go of some of them. But the effect they had on me was not always positive. It created a poetic romanticism to my depression.
I am kind of bored of being depressed as well.
The constant cloud looming in the distance is tired. A lot of it stems from things that I didn't realize affected me. The divorce and lack of a consistent, solid male presence has had a deep and powerful effect on me. Dragging up the fact that I taught myself to shave almost sent me into a fit of anxiety. I have some serious baggage to deal with and I believe that all of this stuff that is locked up inside of me was a driving force behind some of my poorer life choices as of late. But I am working at it and this work has led me to the moment I had just a few minutes ago. A moment of happiness and contentment.
Anxiety for those moments is stupid and I am done with it. I am done with being all dark and broody and melancholy all the time. It sucks.
I don't doubt that I will slip and fall from time to time. My therapist tells me that one of my character traits seems to be a tendency towards melancholy. This is partially drawn from my introspective mind set. The dreams of my old life that wake me with sobbing are a billboard for the fact that I have some healing to do. Today, I choose to dwell on the fact that I recognize that I am still a bit fucked up, not on the fact that I am still a bit fucked up.
Allow a moment of cliche when I say I am looking more at the silver lining and less at the dark cloud.
Then I let those fears go.
Curiosity has taken their place.
I know I have asked this before, but am I so wired for feeling down and out that feeling something else is so alien that I fear it?
It must be true. Otherwise, why would I have that reaction?
I can feel myself changing inside. I feel more in control and I am not as affected by dreams and memories and nostalgia of my past life as I have been. I have also begun to see that being sad is really shitty. I have grown bored of it. I have a play list that was pieced together over the course of the past year and a half. It is full of great, mellow, emotional music that holds a lot of meaning to me. It is also really depressing. But that was where I lived. That was what felt right to me. I can barely listen to that list without feeling the mood of those songs wash over me and I have to get away from it. I find myself moving from the beautiful melancholy of Ray Lamontagne to the positive and shiny optimism of Brett Dennen. It is very odd to look at my musical selection this way.
I will still listen to some of the music I was in to in school. Nirvana and Pearl Jam. Alice in Chains and Korn. Music that was angsty and anxious. Depressed and angry. I still listen to it. I probably always will, but it doesn't have quite the same effect on me. At one point I sought out the sounds that reflected my stormy soul. Or perhaps fed it.
I don't want to feed it like that anymore. I seek out music that moves me in a different way. Songs from The Temper Trap and Band of Horses that resonate with something other than the dark parts of our emotional psyche speak to me. I love this. My nostalgia holds on to those bands and songs that were a part of me for so long, and it really is hard to let go of some of them. But the effect they had on me was not always positive. It created a poetic romanticism to my depression.
I am kind of bored of being depressed as well.
The constant cloud looming in the distance is tired. A lot of it stems from things that I didn't realize affected me. The divorce and lack of a consistent, solid male presence has had a deep and powerful effect on me. Dragging up the fact that I taught myself to shave almost sent me into a fit of anxiety. I have some serious baggage to deal with and I believe that all of this stuff that is locked up inside of me was a driving force behind some of my poorer life choices as of late. But I am working at it and this work has led me to the moment I had just a few minutes ago. A moment of happiness and contentment.
Anxiety for those moments is stupid and I am done with it. I am done with being all dark and broody and melancholy all the time. It sucks.
I don't doubt that I will slip and fall from time to time. My therapist tells me that one of my character traits seems to be a tendency towards melancholy. This is partially drawn from my introspective mind set. The dreams of my old life that wake me with sobbing are a billboard for the fact that I have some healing to do. Today, I choose to dwell on the fact that I recognize that I am still a bit fucked up, not on the fact that I am still a bit fucked up.
Allow a moment of cliche when I say I am looking more at the silver lining and less at the dark cloud.
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
Friends and Lovers
I have lost connection with a lot of people that I should not have.
The friends that we make in life are important. They help fill our lives with all of the things that life can be. They are supports. Sometimes we do things and some of the people get shoved aside. I am ashamed that I have shoved aside the people that I have.
When I left my wife, a lot of people were really upset with me. Some of them still won't talk to me and I understand. I know that I made mistakes, that I did things without thinking - regardless of whether they were the right thing to do or not. The friends that I am reconnecting with, the relationship is still not the same. I suppose this is a byproduct of actions taken and things not said. I don't expect everyone to turn around, shake my hand and tell me that all is forgiven. How could I? Some words, once spoke, can't be taken back. But I have to try.
Real friends are hard to come by.
The thing about meeting people - lovers are easy, friends are hard. The right combination of clothing and small talk can land you a lover, but friends - friends are a mystery.*
There have been plenty of lovers in and out of my life. Some of them were meant to go, others I wish had stayed longer, and others I wish I had not left when I did. But I did. It's the friends that hurt the most. One thing I miss about my ex-wife is the friendship, the companionship. We may not have been perfect together, but we cared (still care). Having people care about you is an understated pleasure in life.
------------------
I can't go back and put the words back in my mouth or fix the broken relationships in my life.
All we can ever do is work and hope that we are forgiven and accepted again. If not, perhaps it is important to realize that what we did or said hurt people. Then we don't do or say those things again. Then we grow a little. Buddhism tells us to detach ourselves from worldly things. Nothing is permanent. The things that I have lost are not important. The people are. Since I am a far cry from a Bodhisattva I still miss them.
So, I am attempting to reconnect. It helps to believe that I am making everything out to be something that it isn't and that I am underestimating the people that I have so rudely shoved aside. They were all good people.
The friends that still try with me are a blessing. The ones that were pissed at me, but stayed are gifts that I can't be thankful enough for. I know that I would be that and more for them.
--------------------
People come and go. They affect us and the move us and we laugh with them and cry with them and get drunk with them and eat meals together. Some leave and the leave a mark on us. Others stay a bit longer and we watch them grow and change and mature and lose and gain. And some of them leave and their mark changes us. Still others stay longer. They grow old with us. You watch the world change together and you lean on each other as that world moves just as fast as you slow down. We cry when they leave this world, which is the only way they could ever leave us. Those are the people who have become a part of us.
--------------------
Everyone is important.
--------------------
We will leave traces, for we are people and not cities.*
*Steven Dietz
*Ionesco
The friends that we make in life are important. They help fill our lives with all of the things that life can be. They are supports. Sometimes we do things and some of the people get shoved aside. I am ashamed that I have shoved aside the people that I have.
When I left my wife, a lot of people were really upset with me. Some of them still won't talk to me and I understand. I know that I made mistakes, that I did things without thinking - regardless of whether they were the right thing to do or not. The friends that I am reconnecting with, the relationship is still not the same. I suppose this is a byproduct of actions taken and things not said. I don't expect everyone to turn around, shake my hand and tell me that all is forgiven. How could I? Some words, once spoke, can't be taken back. But I have to try.
Real friends are hard to come by.
The thing about meeting people - lovers are easy, friends are hard. The right combination of clothing and small talk can land you a lover, but friends - friends are a mystery.*
There have been plenty of lovers in and out of my life. Some of them were meant to go, others I wish had stayed longer, and others I wish I had not left when I did. But I did. It's the friends that hurt the most. One thing I miss about my ex-wife is the friendship, the companionship. We may not have been perfect together, but we cared (still care). Having people care about you is an understated pleasure in life.
------------------
I can't go back and put the words back in my mouth or fix the broken relationships in my life.
All we can ever do is work and hope that we are forgiven and accepted again. If not, perhaps it is important to realize that what we did or said hurt people. Then we don't do or say those things again. Then we grow a little. Buddhism tells us to detach ourselves from worldly things. Nothing is permanent. The things that I have lost are not important. The people are. Since I am a far cry from a Bodhisattva I still miss them.
So, I am attempting to reconnect. It helps to believe that I am making everything out to be something that it isn't and that I am underestimating the people that I have so rudely shoved aside. They were all good people.
The friends that still try with me are a blessing. The ones that were pissed at me, but stayed are gifts that I can't be thankful enough for. I know that I would be that and more for them.
--------------------
People come and go. They affect us and the move us and we laugh with them and cry with them and get drunk with them and eat meals together. Some leave and the leave a mark on us. Others stay a bit longer and we watch them grow and change and mature and lose and gain. And some of them leave and their mark changes us. Still others stay longer. They grow old with us. You watch the world change together and you lean on each other as that world moves just as fast as you slow down. We cry when they leave this world, which is the only way they could ever leave us. Those are the people who have become a part of us.
--------------------
Everyone is important.
--------------------
We will leave traces, for we are people and not cities.*
*Steven Dietz
*Ionesco
Monday, November 14, 2011
Monsters Inside Us
I find that there are still traces of my great depression of '10-'11 lingering around the periphery of my vision. They dance around like the shadows at night in the room of a small child. They are the monsters under my bed and most days go unnoticed. But, like all memories, they are still in the corner of my mind. Though I have learned to step back and look at these things as objectively as possible, I just don't know how to step back enough so that the mind does not follow the body when the depression threatens to crawl out and drag me down again.
Is it possible to get past those days and nights when we were at our worst?
After talking to a friend about things that I had done, she made the comment that she was amazed at my stories. She said I didn't seem like the guy who would lash out at people or walls or raise my voice to anyone. At one point in my life I would have agreed with her and as I was trying to reassure her that it takes a lot to get me to that point where I can't control myself, I wasn't sure if I was reassuring her or me.
Those days and nights are still a blur for me and I still don't know who that was. It was as if this other person had stepped into my skin and taken over. He ruined relationships, screamed at people, ignored the people who cared and threw himself over the edge. The fact that the things I was doing were not healthy did not seem to register. That fact that he is me is still hard to accept.
I was doing things that were out of character for me. I wouldn't stop. I contemplated suicide. I drank to escape. I took pills to chase whatever it was I was drinking so I might escape even further. I did not want to live because I didn't know who I was or what I was doing or why I was doing it. Those things were threatening to devour me. Many of the thoughts are still there, but more as a reflection of the time than as a current state of mind.
Do we all have this monster inside of us?
I know that I have spent the majority of my life stuffing emotions and hiding my feelings and thoughts from the light. I believe that my monster was the manifestation of all of these things come to life. I believe that the shadows dancing at the corners of my vision are a reminder, a warning of what will come if I choose to avoid changing the things that need to be changed.
Perhaps we all have this unknown creature hiding somewhere in the depths of our psyches. For the most part it stays that way, lurking about but not rearing its ugly head. There are moments, however, where the little things we do that we don't talk about, the unspoken things, are too much to contain and it is like adding water to a full glass. These are the moments when we are at our worst. These are the times when we can only learn from our mistakes and hope the people around us can forgive.
I meditate now before I go to bed.
We are all looking for answers and many people find these answers in religion and spirituality. I am not a religious man. The path that seems to make the most sense for me is one focused on spirituality and finding the answers in yourself. For six or seven years now, the path of Buddhism has intrigued me. Like an estranged father, it has stood back until I was able to look to it for guidance. I would not call myself Buddhist, but reading and pondering and meditating on the concepts and ideas of Buddhism helps me. I like how it places the burden of enlightenment on me and at the same time that this idea is freeing, it is that burden that I struggle with. Knowing that I struggle and looking for answers instead of ignoring the problems is a step forward.
I have seen the monster that is inside me and he still whispers up from the darkness to remind me of where I have been and what will happen if I choose to go there again. But we all must learn, somehow, and the steps we take afterwards are what really count. I talk to people now. I am actively trying to find my answers. I am slowly (hopefully not too slowly) walking in a relationship that is actually healthy. I am trying to live where I am instead of where I think I want to be.
One thing I have definitely learned is that the grass only seems greener on the other side. Enjoying the grass on this side of the fence is one way for me to keep my monsters in check and under the bed where they belong.
Little steps for a long journey.
Is it possible to get past those days and nights when we were at our worst?
After talking to a friend about things that I had done, she made the comment that she was amazed at my stories. She said I didn't seem like the guy who would lash out at people or walls or raise my voice to anyone. At one point in my life I would have agreed with her and as I was trying to reassure her that it takes a lot to get me to that point where I can't control myself, I wasn't sure if I was reassuring her or me.
Those days and nights are still a blur for me and I still don't know who that was. It was as if this other person had stepped into my skin and taken over. He ruined relationships, screamed at people, ignored the people who cared and threw himself over the edge. The fact that the things I was doing were not healthy did not seem to register. That fact that he is me is still hard to accept.
I was doing things that were out of character for me. I wouldn't stop. I contemplated suicide. I drank to escape. I took pills to chase whatever it was I was drinking so I might escape even further. I did not want to live because I didn't know who I was or what I was doing or why I was doing it. Those things were threatening to devour me. Many of the thoughts are still there, but more as a reflection of the time than as a current state of mind.
Do we all have this monster inside of us?
I know that I have spent the majority of my life stuffing emotions and hiding my feelings and thoughts from the light. I believe that my monster was the manifestation of all of these things come to life. I believe that the shadows dancing at the corners of my vision are a reminder, a warning of what will come if I choose to avoid changing the things that need to be changed.
Perhaps we all have this unknown creature hiding somewhere in the depths of our psyches. For the most part it stays that way, lurking about but not rearing its ugly head. There are moments, however, where the little things we do that we don't talk about, the unspoken things, are too much to contain and it is like adding water to a full glass. These are the moments when we are at our worst. These are the times when we can only learn from our mistakes and hope the people around us can forgive.
I meditate now before I go to bed.
We are all looking for answers and many people find these answers in religion and spirituality. I am not a religious man. The path that seems to make the most sense for me is one focused on spirituality and finding the answers in yourself. For six or seven years now, the path of Buddhism has intrigued me. Like an estranged father, it has stood back until I was able to look to it for guidance. I would not call myself Buddhist, but reading and pondering and meditating on the concepts and ideas of Buddhism helps me. I like how it places the burden of enlightenment on me and at the same time that this idea is freeing, it is that burden that I struggle with. Knowing that I struggle and looking for answers instead of ignoring the problems is a step forward.
I have seen the monster that is inside me and he still whispers up from the darkness to remind me of where I have been and what will happen if I choose to go there again. But we all must learn, somehow, and the steps we take afterwards are what really count. I talk to people now. I am actively trying to find my answers. I am slowly (hopefully not too slowly) walking in a relationship that is actually healthy. I am trying to live where I am instead of where I think I want to be.
One thing I have definitely learned is that the grass only seems greener on the other side. Enjoying the grass on this side of the fence is one way for me to keep my monsters in check and under the bed where they belong.
Little steps for a long journey.
Monday, November 7, 2011
The Smallest Ripple
Is this all there is?
I keep asking myself if this is really all that life is. Then I ask myself what I expected it to be. We wake up, we go to work or school or outside to play (those things if we are lucky) and we talk to people and have a drink or a meal and watch some TV or play with the kids or help them with homework and then we sleep so we can do it all again the next day. We do that until we die.
Is there a point to it?
We go to work to make money to buy stuff like food and clothes and shelter and fun so that we can eat and be warm. Are we just surviving so that we can eventually die, hopefully after having had a bit of fun and having done something worth while? How does this make us any different than any other animal?
Are we different?
Looking at the way we treat most of the other living creatures on the planet, it would seem that we are better than them. At least, that would be where we place ourselves. But if we look at what life seems to be, a series of activities we perform in order to eat, be warm, be sheltered and happy it looks like we are doing the same thing even the smallest ant is doing. Our methods are different, more complicated, but I am struggling to see any real difference. We live to survive. We are born to die.
But that is the beginning and the end. That part is pretty simple. The middle part is where it all becomes a bit muddled. Is it really as cliche as to say it is what we do with the time we have that matters? I keep staring at one thought trying to make sense of it. Does anything we do really make a difference?
As soon as I wrote that down, an answer jumped out at me. Yes. It makes a difference to the people around us. If I wake up and go to work I have made a bit of cash to satisfy a bit of Maslow for myself. I have also helped my coworkers to get through their day a little easier. The work I have done has helped to produce something that will save someone's life. The money I spend on food will help someone else make money so they can eat and have a roof and clothes. If I make a phone call to a friend and we go out for a night, we both benefit from laughing and talking so that the next day we might laugh and talk with someone else and they will do the same and so on and so on. The butterfly effect.
The ripple I make will spread and can affect a lot of people. So few of them know it, but it is happening all the time. The keyboard I am typing on was made by someone who wants to make some money and to eat and to have a home to go to. Have I ever thought, "thanks dude or lady who made this keyboard that is allowing me to write this which will in turn help me figure something out to alleviate my mood so that I might do something that will help someone else who will help someone else and on and on and on."
I am humbled and empowered.
The enormity of this is now threatening to devour me. At the same time that I can impact so much by simply waking up in the morning, it is humbling to think of how little I affect as well. I doubt that this blog will affect the wars in the Middle East, but maybe it will (I recognize the absurdity of the notion). Someone might read it and decide to stop fighting which might stop one other person and on and on. There is potential in nearly every action we take to affect someone that could change the world. It's like the movie Lady in the Water. The words of one man put on paper could affect the life of some child who later becomes a world leader. Then again, they might not. They might just entertain someone for a few hours. But even that has an effect.
I had no idea that me questioning the value of my life would lead me down this stream of thought. But I am glad it did. I have realized something. What I am doing with my life may not be perfect for me at this moment, but it is affecting something. Everything we do affects something or someone. So, this is why it is so important to practice mindfulness everyday. It is also an example of how we are all connected to each other. We are all just trying to have food and shelter and to be happy, whatever that means. Isn't that what all living things are trying to do?
Even the smallest stone causes a ripple. Even the smallest action has value. I guess this is as much a warning as it is hopeful.
I keep asking myself if this is really all that life is. Then I ask myself what I expected it to be. We wake up, we go to work or school or outside to play (those things if we are lucky) and we talk to people and have a drink or a meal and watch some TV or play with the kids or help them with homework and then we sleep so we can do it all again the next day. We do that until we die.
Is there a point to it?
We go to work to make money to buy stuff like food and clothes and shelter and fun so that we can eat and be warm. Are we just surviving so that we can eventually die, hopefully after having had a bit of fun and having done something worth while? How does this make us any different than any other animal?
Are we different?
Looking at the way we treat most of the other living creatures on the planet, it would seem that we are better than them. At least, that would be where we place ourselves. But if we look at what life seems to be, a series of activities we perform in order to eat, be warm, be sheltered and happy it looks like we are doing the same thing even the smallest ant is doing. Our methods are different, more complicated, but I am struggling to see any real difference. We live to survive. We are born to die.
But that is the beginning and the end. That part is pretty simple. The middle part is where it all becomes a bit muddled. Is it really as cliche as to say it is what we do with the time we have that matters? I keep staring at one thought trying to make sense of it. Does anything we do really make a difference?
As soon as I wrote that down, an answer jumped out at me. Yes. It makes a difference to the people around us. If I wake up and go to work I have made a bit of cash to satisfy a bit of Maslow for myself. I have also helped my coworkers to get through their day a little easier. The work I have done has helped to produce something that will save someone's life. The money I spend on food will help someone else make money so they can eat and have a roof and clothes. If I make a phone call to a friend and we go out for a night, we both benefit from laughing and talking so that the next day we might laugh and talk with someone else and they will do the same and so on and so on. The butterfly effect.
The ripple I make will spread and can affect a lot of people. So few of them know it, but it is happening all the time. The keyboard I am typing on was made by someone who wants to make some money and to eat and to have a home to go to. Have I ever thought, "thanks dude or lady who made this keyboard that is allowing me to write this which will in turn help me figure something out to alleviate my mood so that I might do something that will help someone else who will help someone else and on and on and on."
I am humbled and empowered.
The enormity of this is now threatening to devour me. At the same time that I can impact so much by simply waking up in the morning, it is humbling to think of how little I affect as well. I doubt that this blog will affect the wars in the Middle East, but maybe it will (I recognize the absurdity of the notion). Someone might read it and decide to stop fighting which might stop one other person and on and on. There is potential in nearly every action we take to affect someone that could change the world. It's like the movie Lady in the Water. The words of one man put on paper could affect the life of some child who later becomes a world leader. Then again, they might not. They might just entertain someone for a few hours. But even that has an effect.
I had no idea that me questioning the value of my life would lead me down this stream of thought. But I am glad it did. I have realized something. What I am doing with my life may not be perfect for me at this moment, but it is affecting something. Everything we do affects something or someone. So, this is why it is so important to practice mindfulness everyday. It is also an example of how we are all connected to each other. We are all just trying to have food and shelter and to be happy, whatever that means. Isn't that what all living things are trying to do?
Even the smallest stone causes a ripple. Even the smallest action has value. I guess this is as much a warning as it is hopeful.
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