Maybe Better This Way
I think one reason this whole journal reads as one long depressing post is that I tend to write only when I'm emotionally driven. That's either when I'm down or when I'm really really up. I have a hard time articulating when I'm up, so I write less when I'm in that condition.
Instead I mostly write when I'm down. Such as now.
I've been doing housework all weekend. I did tons of laundry, only to find out the people I'm doing it for have been throwing clothes on the floor, dirtying stuff up, and sending it right back to me to clean. This didn't thrill me.
I've been doing loads of dishes all weekend. I don't know how things are where you are, but here "the dishwasher" means me, not some mechanized device. One reason for this is that having OCD with a washing compulsion, I do a very very thorough job of it. Another is that if I didn't no one else would. But when people get a glass, drink some water, put it in the sink, and ten minutes later get another glass, etc. it gets old in a hurry.
So earlier I went to the store, and by the time I got back utter chaos reigned at my house. I was told to take care of things, so I did. Utter chaos then reigned outside my house, and I spent much energy and more keeping it that way while I did more dishes and got the latest round of dirty clothes out to the laundry.
Then I got yelled at.
Yep.
For not lightening up.
Yep.
For a brief moment I felt something. For a split second I felt... what? Anger? Likely. Frustration? Definately. Surprise? I don't know. Possibly. Then nothing. You reach a point where you know you've lost. Not the "know you've lost" where you're still thinking, "Next round... I'll get you next round." I knew I'd lost and would not win. Not now. Not ever. So I walked away.
What really drove this home was that everyone but me has been playing all day. Video games, reading books, rough-housing, watching movies, etc. I've been working. I've been taking care of things the way I was told. And now I'm at fault? Ok. You're right. You win. I'm at fault.
A few weeks ago I was celebrating that it's been a long long time since I'd really thought of hurting myself. But as I stood in the kitchen trying to figure out how things came to be this way, I really started thinking about it again. I wanted to cry, but I knew it would just draw more attention I didn't want.
I'd love to turn this around at this point and tell you about the epiphany I had that explained everything, that made me one with my experiences and got me through them. I'd love to tell you that I didn't hurt myself (I didn't) and that I'm not thinking of it any more. But none of that is true. I'm still feeling tired, misunderstood, and emotionally beaten.
Sometimes when I'm in this state it's useful to get into a chatroom, practically ANY chatroom, and just watch. I don't share what I'm feeling in places like this because it leaves you vulnerable to attack. But it helps to see other people, to see them laugh, to see what makes them cry, just to see them for what they are: people.
But for some reason that didn't work today. It was just a series of verbal attacks, one right after the other. There was no basis for them as far as I could see. But as quickly as I ignored the nastier chatters more came. By the time all the nastiness was clicked into oblivion I was left with a stack of silent chatters, just like me.
Could we all have been there for the same reason? Could we all have been looking for a glimpse of humanity, fragile, feeble, fallible, but human? Could we all have been seeing the same nasty hatred and could we all have been wondering the same thing?
What if this really is humanity? What if this is the human condition? What if I'm the problem for wishing it was some other way?
I left. I can't remember if I typed a word.
So now I find myself here, writing out my angst and self-doubt in a journal. Perfect. Now I get to read it two weeks from now when I'm bubbling over with enthusiasm, unable to put two words together to explain why. And I'll think, "How the hell did I ever feel like THAT?! That's not ME!"
Aaaah, but it is. Get used to it. Because those feelings will come back.
They always do.
-- Pencil
Instead I mostly write when I'm down. Such as now.
I've been doing housework all weekend. I did tons of laundry, only to find out the people I'm doing it for have been throwing clothes on the floor, dirtying stuff up, and sending it right back to me to clean. This didn't thrill me.
I've been doing loads of dishes all weekend. I don't know how things are where you are, but here "the dishwasher" means me, not some mechanized device. One reason for this is that having OCD with a washing compulsion, I do a very very thorough job of it. Another is that if I didn't no one else would. But when people get a glass, drink some water, put it in the sink, and ten minutes later get another glass, etc. it gets old in a hurry.
So earlier I went to the store, and by the time I got back utter chaos reigned at my house. I was told to take care of things, so I did. Utter chaos then reigned outside my house, and I spent much energy and more keeping it that way while I did more dishes and got the latest round of dirty clothes out to the laundry.
Then I got yelled at.
Yep.
For not lightening up.
Yep.
For a brief moment I felt something. For a split second I felt... what? Anger? Likely. Frustration? Definately. Surprise? I don't know. Possibly. Then nothing. You reach a point where you know you've lost. Not the "know you've lost" where you're still thinking, "Next round... I'll get you next round." I knew I'd lost and would not win. Not now. Not ever. So I walked away.
What really drove this home was that everyone but me has been playing all day. Video games, reading books, rough-housing, watching movies, etc. I've been working. I've been taking care of things the way I was told. And now I'm at fault? Ok. You're right. You win. I'm at fault.
A few weeks ago I was celebrating that it's been a long long time since I'd really thought of hurting myself. But as I stood in the kitchen trying to figure out how things came to be this way, I really started thinking about it again. I wanted to cry, but I knew it would just draw more attention I didn't want.
I'd love to turn this around at this point and tell you about the epiphany I had that explained everything, that made me one with my experiences and got me through them. I'd love to tell you that I didn't hurt myself (I didn't) and that I'm not thinking of it any more. But none of that is true. I'm still feeling tired, misunderstood, and emotionally beaten.
Sometimes when I'm in this state it's useful to get into a chatroom, practically ANY chatroom, and just watch. I don't share what I'm feeling in places like this because it leaves you vulnerable to attack. But it helps to see other people, to see them laugh, to see what makes them cry, just to see them for what they are: people.
But for some reason that didn't work today. It was just a series of verbal attacks, one right after the other. There was no basis for them as far as I could see. But as quickly as I ignored the nastier chatters more came. By the time all the nastiness was clicked into oblivion I was left with a stack of silent chatters, just like me.
Could we all have been there for the same reason? Could we all have been looking for a glimpse of humanity, fragile, feeble, fallible, but human? Could we all have been seeing the same nasty hatred and could we all have been wondering the same thing?
What if this really is humanity? What if this is the human condition? What if I'm the problem for wishing it was some other way?
I left. I can't remember if I typed a word.
So now I find myself here, writing out my angst and self-doubt in a journal. Perfect. Now I get to read it two weeks from now when I'm bubbling over with enthusiasm, unable to put two words together to explain why. And I'll think, "How the hell did I ever feel like THAT?! That's not ME!"
Aaaah, but it is. Get used to it. Because those feelings will come back.
They always do.
-- Pencil
posted by pencil at 8:44 PM
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