A bit of this, a bit of that
Jul. 29th, 2013 06:10 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
meirwen_1988I was looking back at the pages here and saw that not only have I not been finishing books and reviewing them, but I also haven't been writing here much at all. The good news is that it isn't that I've been writing elsewhere and not posting. The bad news is, I've not been writing.
I think it's all tied together with a group of other activities/non-activities and is probably all rooted in some sort of mental/emotional situation that I'm generally disinclined to poke at with a sharp stick, or sharp pencil, or, whatever. But, a few weeks ago things came crashing down on me (metaphorically, not actually), and there's been poking. Which explains the anxiety attack that left me shaking in bed this morning at 5 AM.
What provoked that, you ask? Well, actually it was a dear friend's rather immediate situation, one that has maximum suckage to the square inch, and her troubles brought my own logistical nightmares front and center to my consciousness--that of getting my portion of the house in order for putting the sucker on the market. It plays into every single one of my psychological issues, and the fact that I've been facing them and trying to deal with things (albeit too slowly and inefficiently to be really effective) has them all on the surface.
That's the environmental stuff. Really, sometimes I'd just as soon just walk away from all of it and start over. I'd take the TAG and Ping's things with me, and whatever else I could fit in the smallest UHaul made, and bug out. I'm good at walking away from things. It's both a strength and a huge character flaw. I can abandon people as easily as places. Oh, they live in my memory, and I regret, sometimes, the hole in my life where they used to be, but if I choose to walk away, it's done. I just get on with it.
Which may strike people as strange, given how much I still miss Morguhn. Not a day goes by when I don't find myself aware of the empty places where he should be. But I also have an empty place where my uterus used to be. And I'm aware of it nearly as often. I still get up and make the life I have be "good enough." That doesn't make the empty places any less empty, have any less of an impact on me, but I can choose how I go through the days--crawling or walking. I choose walking. And skipping happens from time to time, though not as often as it did.
But, and here's where things get muddy, I think that as the fifth anniversary of that horrible day approaches, there's some shifting going on with me, and I'm not sure what it is, or where it's going to end up, and I think that the symptom is my weight.
For the first two years after Morguhn died I managed to keep the weight I'd lost off. During the first couple of months it was from the emotional trauma, and as any number of people have commented, I was probably too thin. If you take off the extra (as in, above average) poundage I carry around on my chest, I was down to about 106 pounds. I felt fragile, and apparently looked it as well. I put on another 10, and that was good for my body, but when I looked in the mirror I saw an old woman, so I decided ZsaZsa was right, that at a certain age a woman has to choose between her face and her hips, and I chose face. So I put on another 5 pounds, and held at that weight for a couple of years.
Looking back I think in part it was about control. I could control that. I couldn't control the emotional spiralling, the learning how to live a new way/return to an old way, my friends, my family. None of it. But I could control what went into my mouth.
But then, about 18 months ago, I stopped giving a damn. I put my energy into work, and ate what tasted good, what I liked, and screw the consequences. And then, of course, there was the booze. Because that helps with the whole "not caring." Between the two "Poof!" twenty pounds suddenly reappeared. And I was reminded why I'd decided I had to lose the weight in the first place--my asthma, and my back, are both MUCH better when I'm in Weight Watchers target range for my height and age. So, starting a couple of weeks ago I started being "good" again. I need to lose 10 pounds to hit the top end of the target, and I prefer a five pound cushion. Doesn't sound like much (considering I lost 42 the first time around), but it really requires the right mindset, and frankly last time a big incentive was the pure animal response I used to get from a certain redhead as the pounds went away. Now it's just about the health. I can't even delude myself that it will increase my potential dating pool. That's pretty much off the table since every man who's made a pass at me that I was aware of in the past 4 years was either a creep or in an "open marriage"--and I don't date other women's husbands. End. Of. Story. Our funky marriage came about because I matter of factly told Morguhn that--without rancor, without bitterness, and even wishing him and Rowan all the best and meaning it. He wasn't prepared to let me go, so...Plan B. But, that mindset does seriously compromise my ability to be with people in the environment where most of my social network is. Now, that doesn't mean that non-creep, single men haven't tried to get my attention. I'm just notoriously bad at picking up on that sort of thing. Apparently it's cost me any number of chances over my lifetime. So, it comes down to doing it because it's "healthy"--I can't even tell myself it will help at work, since, in fact, I need to wear clothes that de-emphasize my shape in order to be taken seriously at work. Such are the ironies of life.
But I have to wonder where the "not give a damn" is rooted, and probably should do something to counter that. I begin to suspect that I've been doing things "because I should," whether that's SCA, Eastern Star, going to work, getting along. I'm not sure that I care about very much any more. Or I care too much, and am keeping it under a thick layer of insulation so I don't have to deal with it. Not sure. And why am I examining it right now? "Because I should." Because to be a good friend, a good teacher I should care, and not just go through the motions based on "someone who cares would do 'X,'" which is how I've been operating a good bit of the time. So, I suppose my concern is that I've been doing a good impersonation of a high-functioning sociopath. That's...problematic.
I'm not sure where this is going, not sure what the road looks like. For now, I'm just going to try to attend to the symptomatic body half of the mind/body connection. One battle at a time. I need to be able to breathe regularly and get through a night without the red hot dagger jammed into my spine. I think I care about that. It will have to be enough for now.
I think it's all tied together with a group of other activities/non-activities and is probably all rooted in some sort of mental/emotional situation that I'm generally disinclined to poke at with a sharp stick, or sharp pencil, or, whatever. But, a few weeks ago things came crashing down on me (metaphorically, not actually), and there's been poking. Which explains the anxiety attack that left me shaking in bed this morning at 5 AM.
What provoked that, you ask? Well, actually it was a dear friend's rather immediate situation, one that has maximum suckage to the square inch, and her troubles brought my own logistical nightmares front and center to my consciousness--that of getting my portion of the house in order for putting the sucker on the market. It plays into every single one of my psychological issues, and the fact that I've been facing them and trying to deal with things (albeit too slowly and inefficiently to be really effective) has them all on the surface.
That's the environmental stuff. Really, sometimes I'd just as soon just walk away from all of it and start over. I'd take the TAG and Ping's things with me, and whatever else I could fit in the smallest UHaul made, and bug out. I'm good at walking away from things. It's both a strength and a huge character flaw. I can abandon people as easily as places. Oh, they live in my memory, and I regret, sometimes, the hole in my life where they used to be, but if I choose to walk away, it's done. I just get on with it.
Which may strike people as strange, given how much I still miss Morguhn. Not a day goes by when I don't find myself aware of the empty places where he should be. But I also have an empty place where my uterus used to be. And I'm aware of it nearly as often. I still get up and make the life I have be "good enough." That doesn't make the empty places any less empty, have any less of an impact on me, but I can choose how I go through the days--crawling or walking. I choose walking. And skipping happens from time to time, though not as often as it did.
But, and here's where things get muddy, I think that as the fifth anniversary of that horrible day approaches, there's some shifting going on with me, and I'm not sure what it is, or where it's going to end up, and I think that the symptom is my weight.
For the first two years after Morguhn died I managed to keep the weight I'd lost off. During the first couple of months it was from the emotional trauma, and as any number of people have commented, I was probably too thin. If you take off the extra (as in, above average) poundage I carry around on my chest, I was down to about 106 pounds. I felt fragile, and apparently looked it as well. I put on another 10, and that was good for my body, but when I looked in the mirror I saw an old woman, so I decided ZsaZsa was right, that at a certain age a woman has to choose between her face and her hips, and I chose face. So I put on another 5 pounds, and held at that weight for a couple of years.
Looking back I think in part it was about control. I could control that. I couldn't control the emotional spiralling, the learning how to live a new way/return to an old way, my friends, my family. None of it. But I could control what went into my mouth.
But then, about 18 months ago, I stopped giving a damn. I put my energy into work, and ate what tasted good, what I liked, and screw the consequences. And then, of course, there was the booze. Because that helps with the whole "not caring." Between the two "Poof!" twenty pounds suddenly reappeared. And I was reminded why I'd decided I had to lose the weight in the first place--my asthma, and my back, are both MUCH better when I'm in Weight Watchers target range for my height and age. So, starting a couple of weeks ago I started being "good" again. I need to lose 10 pounds to hit the top end of the target, and I prefer a five pound cushion. Doesn't sound like much (considering I lost 42 the first time around), but it really requires the right mindset, and frankly last time a big incentive was the pure animal response I used to get from a certain redhead as the pounds went away. Now it's just about the health. I can't even delude myself that it will increase my potential dating pool. That's pretty much off the table since every man who's made a pass at me that I was aware of in the past 4 years was either a creep or in an "open marriage"--and I don't date other women's husbands. End. Of. Story. Our funky marriage came about because I matter of factly told Morguhn that--without rancor, without bitterness, and even wishing him and Rowan all the best and meaning it. He wasn't prepared to let me go, so...Plan B. But, that mindset does seriously compromise my ability to be with people in the environment where most of my social network is. Now, that doesn't mean that non-creep, single men haven't tried to get my attention. I'm just notoriously bad at picking up on that sort of thing. Apparently it's cost me any number of chances over my lifetime. So, it comes down to doing it because it's "healthy"--I can't even tell myself it will help at work, since, in fact, I need to wear clothes that de-emphasize my shape in order to be taken seriously at work. Such are the ironies of life.
But I have to wonder where the "not give a damn" is rooted, and probably should do something to counter that. I begin to suspect that I've been doing things "because I should," whether that's SCA, Eastern Star, going to work, getting along. I'm not sure that I care about very much any more. Or I care too much, and am keeping it under a thick layer of insulation so I don't have to deal with it. Not sure. And why am I examining it right now? "Because I should." Because to be a good friend, a good teacher I should care, and not just go through the motions based on "someone who cares would do 'X,'" which is how I've been operating a good bit of the time. So, I suppose my concern is that I've been doing a good impersonation of a high-functioning sociopath. That's...problematic.
I'm not sure where this is going, not sure what the road looks like. For now, I'm just going to try to attend to the symptomatic body half of the mind/body connection. One battle at a time. I need to be able to breathe regularly and get through a night without the red hot dagger jammed into my spine. I think I care about that. It will have to be enough for now.
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no subject
Date: 2013-07-29 10:25 pm (UTC)If you've never had training, permission, or safe space to poke at what may actually be an overwhelming tidal surge of Stuff, it's no surprise that you're running into symptoms now of things you haven't looked at in a while. And since you're choosing right now to attend to the mind/body connection, I'm going to recommend a little book by Eugene Gendlin called "Focusing", which is all about opening that awareness bridge. It opens other things too, but that's where it starts.
And as always, if I can be of any support in the process of rooting around in the Stuff, you know I'll make myself available in a heartbeat.
no subject
Date: 2013-07-30 03:43 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-07-30 04:32 pm (UTC)Most importantly: LOVE TO YOU!!!
We might just make it... With a little help from our friends.
Also, drugs. I'm thinking prescription drugs will be involved in the recovery process.
Now to get cat off my bladder and take care of... Stuff.
{{{gentle hugs}}}