Wednesday, November 11, 2009
Tired...and a little defeated
I have to say that it is tiring never being able to be right about anything. Exhausting, actually. In reality, it has nothing to do with being right--it has everything to do with being heard. I could care less about being right (unless I really am SURE that I am right on the FACTUAL level)--there is really no right and wrong with feelings I don't think. That is the problem with a thinker and a feeler being married--1/2 the time it is also the problem between men and women. I don't necessarily have logic or rationale behind the way I think and feel--and just because I can't provide the rationale or logic, well, it doesn't mean that I am wrong. I can't "win" no matter what route I take, however--and it isn't even winning. If I "argue" my case, I have to provide rationale for everything that comes out of my mouth--which isn't always there--and even if I am able to put up some sort of "reasonable" defense, I am never right and can never defend myself. Not "arguing" my case is not an option either, however--I am not allowed to just sit and listen--and it isn't even about winning--just like its not about being right--what I have to say is never taken for what it is and digested--its argued and battered about--like a cat playing with a 1/2 alive mouse--eventually for self-preservation the mouse just plays dead--I can't even flippin' play dead! Why is it that I always leave the conversation feeling like the villain and feeling like I should apologize? With a relatively reasonable person (I did say relatively) such as myself, it really is not statistically possible that I am "wrong" EVERY SINGLE TIME WE "TALK." I wish I had found my voice before I got married.
Saturday, November 7, 2009
Hello My Friend
I have not been here in 2 months.....and I am not really able to account for the last 2 months of my life. Truly laughable that I thought that I would be able to "work on myself" while in school, much less blog about it. I should have known that there was a snowball's chance in hell of that working out. That being said, my current mission is to merely survive.
This semester has worked me over in a way that I could never have imagined. I mean, seriously kicked my ass--and I am not done yet. I am still waiting for that point that I just don't care any longer and can just "let it all go" and not have to get straight As or worry about doing everything perfectly and right. I have a sneaking suspicion that that day will never come, at least not without some serious therapy first....one thing this semester has been good for it teaching me the value of a few free hours--although that doesn't really exist in my life.
I got to thinking the other day--what exactly happened during my childhood to screw me up and make me the way I am? That sounds as though I am not owning the mess that makes up me--but that is not really it at all--I would just like to pinpoint what started all of this. Surely there is some genetic susceptibility here, but nature is not alone in shaping humans--nurture counts too! I wish desperately that I could remember what exactly changed things. I remember being a happy kindergartner--I think. I remember the not-happy times too....like having to make my own lunch when I was in the 4th grade---that I either made my own lunch or I had to buy lunch....I remember envying all the kids whose mom's packed their lunches and wrote them nice notes on the napkins...no one ever wrote me notes after the 3rd grade. I remember my parents being unhappy and my mom being miserable. I remember trips to home depot with my dad early on Saturday mornings--I didn't really want to go and I don't think that he really wanted me there with him, but it was like some sort of routine--he had to act like he actually wanted me around when he really wanted to be alone and I had to act like I wanted to go to home depot when all I really wanted was for my dad to like me. I remember waiting at the bus stop in the dark waiting for my dad to get off the bus from the pentagon, just so I could walk 2 blocks home with him before he was angry with my mom and my mom mad at him. I remember the day he told me that I didn't need to put cheese on my hamburger because I was already heavy enough and when my mom showed me the movie 'Circle of Friends' just to prove to me that boys liked fat girls too. I remember doing things to earn my parent's praise so that they would like me....I never really thought they did...but they seemed to like it well enough when I got good grades and didn't make trouble.
The first time I thought about suicide was in the 6th grade. I think that I was 12. I wrote a note, decided who was getting what of my personal posessions. I don't remember now how I was going to do it--but I remember the feelings. I remember the night that I wrote the letter, under the covers with a flashlight in hand---emotional hurt beyond anything I had ever known--I can still feel that pain. I gave the note to a boy, who either gave it to the teacher or it got confiscated, one of the two. I don't really know what happened after that--I remember being sullen at lunch, bursting into tears on the platform that went upstairs to the classroom and then my mom being so angry with me. That sealed the deal---my emotional pain brought on disapproval and anger--I wasn't allowed to feel those feelings--it made my parents dislike me even more. I dropped it. They tried to get the guidance counselor to talk to me--I shut down. I got made fun of in school for a long time after that. It didn't matter. I had always been an outcast and different.....a loser of sorts. I think that is when I learned that it was not okay to feel the way I felt--that it only meant people would be angry with me. Was that when things really changed?
This semester has worked me over in a way that I could never have imagined. I mean, seriously kicked my ass--and I am not done yet. I am still waiting for that point that I just don't care any longer and can just "let it all go" and not have to get straight As or worry about doing everything perfectly and right. I have a sneaking suspicion that that day will never come, at least not without some serious therapy first....one thing this semester has been good for it teaching me the value of a few free hours--although that doesn't really exist in my life.
I got to thinking the other day--what exactly happened during my childhood to screw me up and make me the way I am? That sounds as though I am not owning the mess that makes up me--but that is not really it at all--I would just like to pinpoint what started all of this. Surely there is some genetic susceptibility here, but nature is not alone in shaping humans--nurture counts too! I wish desperately that I could remember what exactly changed things. I remember being a happy kindergartner--I think. I remember the not-happy times too....like having to make my own lunch when I was in the 4th grade---that I either made my own lunch or I had to buy lunch....I remember envying all the kids whose mom's packed their lunches and wrote them nice notes on the napkins...no one ever wrote me notes after the 3rd grade. I remember my parents being unhappy and my mom being miserable. I remember trips to home depot with my dad early on Saturday mornings--I didn't really want to go and I don't think that he really wanted me there with him, but it was like some sort of routine--he had to act like he actually wanted me around when he really wanted to be alone and I had to act like I wanted to go to home depot when all I really wanted was for my dad to like me. I remember waiting at the bus stop in the dark waiting for my dad to get off the bus from the pentagon, just so I could walk 2 blocks home with him before he was angry with my mom and my mom mad at him. I remember the day he told me that I didn't need to put cheese on my hamburger because I was already heavy enough and when my mom showed me the movie 'Circle of Friends' just to prove to me that boys liked fat girls too. I remember doing things to earn my parent's praise so that they would like me....I never really thought they did...but they seemed to like it well enough when I got good grades and didn't make trouble.
The first time I thought about suicide was in the 6th grade. I think that I was 12. I wrote a note, decided who was getting what of my personal posessions. I don't remember now how I was going to do it--but I remember the feelings. I remember the night that I wrote the letter, under the covers with a flashlight in hand---emotional hurt beyond anything I had ever known--I can still feel that pain. I gave the note to a boy, who either gave it to the teacher or it got confiscated, one of the two. I don't really know what happened after that--I remember being sullen at lunch, bursting into tears on the platform that went upstairs to the classroom and then my mom being so angry with me. That sealed the deal---my emotional pain brought on disapproval and anger--I wasn't allowed to feel those feelings--it made my parents dislike me even more. I dropped it. They tried to get the guidance counselor to talk to me--I shut down. I got made fun of in school for a long time after that. It didn't matter. I had always been an outcast and different.....a loser of sorts. I think that is when I learned that it was not okay to feel the way I felt--that it only meant people would be angry with me. Was that when things really changed?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)