No Stranger to Despair
Oct. 6th, 2010 09:03 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
angela_n_huntSo.
The Behemoth died the final death last Thursday. The hard drive enclosure I found came last night and was... wait for it...
Too small.
At that point, I quit for the night. It's been one fucking thing after the other these last five days and at that point, it was just the better part of valor to go to fucking bed. Which I did. I read a little bit of the latest Julia Cameron book I have (not much of which I think I actually really saw) and then went to sleep.
And cried.
Again.
This is one of the very, very, very few things that I resent about having had children. Before I had my girls, I didn't cry except rarely. It required an effort of will to weep, especially in front of people. When I went to Sundoor, one of the things that I gave myself express permission to do was to cry if I felt that I needed to cry.
At the time, it was liberating.
But now...
For fuck's sake, I cry at the drop of the hat. I don't know if I stuffed it for so long that I've reached my limit or what. I am slowly finding a way to put a lid on it, because I am not pretty when I cry. The Bean and I cry the same way. We get red and angry. We're not like the Mouse who cries these perfect jewel like tears.
So, having achieved some sort of lid, I'm back to where I was, so long ago. Crying makes me angry.
It doesn't help that I've gone missing from my Goddess and my other attendant spirits. I know they're there. I'm the one who's lost. Not them. I'm the one who's abandoned my practice. I'm the one who has forgotten the feel of the Fire.
Droughts end, I tell myself. Obstacles are surmounted if I don't give up. Mountains are conquered if I continue to climb. Crying solves nothing.
But I can't stop.
I just want gear to fucking work. I want to keep my agreements to all the people I have promised to deliver to. I hate when the World thwarts my will, even though I know that it's way fucking bigger than me and often has bigger plans than I can conceive. It makes me want to scream and break things. It makes me drive way too fucking fast and recklessly.
Right now, I don't fucking give a shit.
And when I get angry, the blades come out.
Is that the best you've got, motherfucking World? You'll have to work a lot harder to stop me. Because the only way you will is to kill me.
Bring it.
I will not fucking stop.
The Behemoth died the final death last Thursday. The hard drive enclosure I found came last night and was... wait for it...
Too small.
At that point, I quit for the night. It's been one fucking thing after the other these last five days and at that point, it was just the better part of valor to go to fucking bed. Which I did. I read a little bit of the latest Julia Cameron book I have (not much of which I think I actually really saw) and then went to sleep.
And cried.
Again.
This is one of the very, very, very few things that I resent about having had children. Before I had my girls, I didn't cry except rarely. It required an effort of will to weep, especially in front of people. When I went to Sundoor, one of the things that I gave myself express permission to do was to cry if I felt that I needed to cry.
At the time, it was liberating.
But now...
For fuck's sake, I cry at the drop of the hat. I don't know if I stuffed it for so long that I've reached my limit or what. I am slowly finding a way to put a lid on it, because I am not pretty when I cry. The Bean and I cry the same way. We get red and angry. We're not like the Mouse who cries these perfect jewel like tears.
So, having achieved some sort of lid, I'm back to where I was, so long ago. Crying makes me angry.
It doesn't help that I've gone missing from my Goddess and my other attendant spirits. I know they're there. I'm the one who's lost. Not them. I'm the one who's abandoned my practice. I'm the one who has forgotten the feel of the Fire.
Droughts end, I tell myself. Obstacles are surmounted if I don't give up. Mountains are conquered if I continue to climb. Crying solves nothing.
But I can't stop.
I just want gear to fucking work. I want to keep my agreements to all the people I have promised to deliver to. I hate when the World thwarts my will, even though I know that it's way fucking bigger than me and often has bigger plans than I can conceive. It makes me want to scream and break things. It makes me drive way too fucking fast and recklessly.
Right now, I don't fucking give a shit.
And when I get angry, the blades come out.
Is that the best you've got, motherfucking World? You'll have to work a lot harder to stop me. Because the only way you will is to kill me.
Bring it.
I will not fucking stop.
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no subject
Date: 2010-10-06 04:53 pm (UTC)(before I got married, I never cried. Now, I bawl all the time. Wouldn't change it at all - my wife made me feel again, and care about something. I don't cry much in public, tho).
But.
KICK IT INNA FACE!
*HUG*
no subject
Date: 2010-10-06 05:07 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-10-06 07:10 pm (UTC)Personal question for you that you don't need to answer here: were you punished, mocked, dismissed, or ignored when you cried as a child?
Actually, you're wrong about one thing. Crying does solve something. Crying releases pressure. And honey...you're under *SO* much pressure right now. If you don't let it out somehow, it'll get stuck inside. And that's *not* better. Trust me.
(Oh, and I've started crying at the drop of a hat since I entered menopause. There's definitely a female hormonal component.)
That said...cry when you need to. Then whip out the knives and the chains and the steel-toed combat boots and take that muthafukah on!!!
no subject
Date: 2010-10-06 07:32 pm (UTC)Doesn't help that I saw it routinely used as a tool of emotional manipulation by other women growing up, so I came to equate it with that behavior. It took me a long time to understand that a woman weeping could be genuinely feeling a strong emotion and not resorting to passive aggressive behavior.
And I am super triggery about passive aggressive/emotional manipulation/emotional abuse.
Thing is, there are times that crying has absolutely been a release. Right now, it just feels like something that keeps getting in my way.
And the hormone soup fucking sucks.
some thoughts along similar lines, I believe
Date: 2010-10-07 04:32 am (UTC)From experience, things trigger me badly now which didn't used to. This is not helped by hormonal soups, of course, but dammit, when I read about somebody's cat dying, or losing their house, it upsets me in a way it wouldn't have done thirty years ago. It's totally real to me. Having kids you love will do that to you also.
I have an older friend who just explains, when she tears up at movies or tv shows, that she just cries at grass being cut, she's sentimental--and she's not apologizing for it. She's just reassuring people, explaining she's physically fine, onlookers don't need to stop and get her some help. The interesting thing is that this openness draws people to her, allows them to share with her how they feel if it's upsetting them--hey, she's got nothing to prove--and it ends up reassuring everybody.
We're talking bursting into tears in public, at conventions where she's seeing videos and things that are considered fairly neutral by younger people, and this is behavior which startles people.
But I get it. Entirely aside from hormone soup, when you're really triggered off that weight of realness will bring you to your knees. How to manage? "Oh, I cry at grass," while waving your hankie, is actually pretty smooth management technique, admirable to watch in action.
It's not a matter of little old ladies being given license to pull stuff like bursting into tears--they have to *take* that license, and own it, and not get ashamed when somebody calls them a weepy sentimental old lady. Yeah, so?? This is how I feel right now. This is the real deal, and I'd much rather not share it with half the neighbors, but guess what? I don't feel like trying to do an unsuccessful Iron Maiden act, I can't pull it off any more.
It actually takes considerable toughness to react this way, sort of like that whole "girly dancing backwards in pink heels" stuff takes guts. It takes guts to explain it, without minding if people are squicked. For a long time, that was harder to do than to stiffen pride and anger enough to hide it.
Beyond a certain point, the emotions are too much stronger than the walls.
That is the point where I would say, yes, it can get in your way if you feel pressed for time. That's a warning sign by itself you need more processing time, more alone time, more rest, fewer people making demands on you. (Ha! with kids? An artist? Ha! Yeah, I get that.)
I ended up giving up some time-intensive friendships and events I simply had no energy left to maintain, for instance. I've cut back on volunteering for things, on working on unrewarding things because I *ought* to. Hell with it. No ought-to's, can't be bothered. The emotional reactions will come whipping in out of nowhere on some of these unexpected triggers, they'll *make* you take time to process grief, and fear, and frustration, if it isn't acknowledged.
None of that is manipulative. Of course scheming little old ladies figure out soon enough they can bully the power company people by crying over the phone, but goodness knows the power company has bullied them for years on end.
Re: some thoughts along similar lines, I believe
Date: 2010-10-07 04:25 pm (UTC)I clearly need a hankie to wave and to steal that line though.
Re: some thoughts along similar lines, I believe
Date: 2010-10-07 10:06 pm (UTC)Re: some thoughts along similar lines, I believe
Date: 2010-10-07 10:32 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-10-09 08:53 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-10-09 05:59 pm (UTC)I hope good things are in the future for all of us.