And (somewhat seriously) considering medication.
In the mean time I’m putting conscious effort into some simpler, less drastic methods of coping, such as venting to the anonymous expanses of the 'net. There’s plenty to dump here, frustrations and fears and disappointments, but I’m so scattered I’m not even sure where to start.
My boss is crazy. I know everyone says this, rants about the bad boss, and I’ve certainly had worse, but I’ve just about reached my saturation point with her particular brand of crazy. (A crappy metaphor, I know, doesn’t even really make any sort of sense, let alone hold up to any scrutiny. Whatever.) She forgets little things, unimportant details mostly, but sometimes it turns out to be crucial. I’m the one who has to pick up the pieces, taking care of course not to let on that she’s made any sort of mistake in the first place because she flies off the handle if you ever do anything she can possibly construe as challenging her abilities or insubordination. It was kinda funny at first, kooky lady with her inattention to detail and utter lack of short term memory, and then later it was just a mild irritation, but here lately I find myself constantly cleaning up after her. My job is easier when she’s out for a week and I do both my work and hers, and nothing makes my day like finding out she’s called in sick. And while I still enjoy most of our professors, the ones I see most are the whiners, the prima donnas, the crotchety old men who talk down to me yet expect me to work miracles. It’s not that I’m looking for them to be grateful or even particularly nice, but I do expect a measure of common decency and respect, and I just haven’t been getting it.
So. Work is unpleasant. It’s never anything big, but rather a constant, day-to-day assault on my patience. I plaster on this big, perky smile from 8 to 5, sometimes because I feel it but increasingly because I get paid to, and at the end of the day I feel like my good will is all used up and I just need to go home to my empty apartment so I don’t lash out at someone who doesn’t deserve it.
Quite naturally, this leads to isolation, and we all know what happens when I isolate. Well, I suppose that only applies for particularly small values of “we.” I get depressed. Not sad or mopey, but honest-to-god depressed, with the lethargy and timidity and anger-turned-inward urge to self sabotage and, worse, self harm. Yeah. The good ol’ I’m-bad-so-I-deserve-to-hurt thoughts are back, and boy was I not wanting to have to face that any time again, ever. I slipped yesterday, for the first time in close to two years, and intentionally, consciously hurt myself. Nothing major, no need to stage an intervention, but that loss of control was enough to scare me. This isn’t just a simple bad week; it’s something major, a regression into unhealthy coping mechanisms and, worse, a subtle sense of hopelessness, that it’s not worth working on and that somehow I deserve to feel this way.
Thinking back, my worst low was in February a couple years ago, and early spring tends to be consistently difficult for me. Last year was understandably an exception, but this year isn’t going so well. I just feel terrible right now, sad all the time, short-tempered and aggressive and absolutely terrified to talk about it. These new friends I’ve made have known me as an essentially upbeat person, prone to frustration or disappointment as much as anyone, but certainly not the overwrought, overemotional wreck that I was a few years ago. I’m afraid that if they see all of this they’ll suddenly find my company much less desirable, and I’ll find myself not only lacking real confidants, but with no one even to talk to at all.
David can see all this brewing beneath the surface, senses that something isn’t right, but he can’t tell what it is and it leaves him feeling uncertain of me, distrustful, so he withdraws a bit, and in turn I’m just that much more certain that I have to hide all my unhappiness, that he’ll leave the instant he see a bit of it… You see how this grows? And that becomes more fuel for the fire, something else to be anxious and edgy about so that even after spending a whole day alone I still feel wrung-out and like I’m in no shape to spend any time with people. It's complex and self-perpetuating and I feel like I’m just slowly slipping back into what I worked so hard to escape.
I feel like I need help, but I don’t know how to ask for it, don’t even know what sort of help I need.
Monday, February 11, 2008
Wednesday, December 26, 2007
Welcome back, me.
This sporadic posting is really quite silly, and I wish that didn’t rhyme. This idea I’ve had for so long, of being a poet? I really do know better.
And that’s not the tone I was hoping to start all this up with, but there we have it. I’m not feeling the optimism and this isn’t the place for faking it. A year ago I felt optimistic, grateful, and surprisingly stable, despite all the upheaval in my life. I was willing to face the upheaval, to initiate all those positive changes, because I felt so stable and centered. Now I’m reeling from one extreme to another in the span of minutes, but I don’t think it’s anything as simple as regression. That calm, sedate outlook of a year ago wasn’t an escape from my emotional instability; it’s what my depression looks like, reduced by a couple orders of magnitude. I was still stuck deep in the middle of it, even as I was surrounded by so much goodness, and it left me just a bit slow to respond to all the stimuli in my life. Which can look a whole lot like stoicism and stability, but really isn’t.
And now? Another manic phase. Not in the sense of being genuinely bipolar, just in the sense that all people tend to vary across the spectrum of emotional intensity throughout their lives, and me more than most. So what does my mania look like, reduced and held in check and not completely ruling me? Typical feminine hysterics. I’m kinda disgusted with myself. There’s been crying these past few weeks, and the occasional desire to scream at the people around me, especially the ones I care about. I’ve been grinding my teeth in my sleep again, fighting down anger more often than not and sometimes for the silliest reasons. I have a surprising reserve of energy, both emotional and physical, and a restless sense of being unfulfilled in pretty much everything I do. I don’t trust any of my happiness, though I spend a bit more time trying to ensure it than maybe I should. And in retrospect those two should be joined by an “obviously,” not that contrary, denying “though.”
The big news this month: David and I are a couple. An item, a unit, together in our togetherness. He is my boyfriend. I hate that word now more than I ever have. I’m pushing 25, which is still quite young, but boyfriend sounds entirely juvenile, the appropriate word for teenage histrionics and fumbled, clumsy first kisses. But our coupledom is more or less official now, mutually agreed upon, and our language hasn’t evolved quickly enough to accommodate the modern variety of romantic attachments. To be perfectly frank, I don’t trust it. He’s gotten close and run away so many times, and though the past couple weeks have been entirely new and different, I can’t seem to convince myself, emotionally, that this will last. That I’ll get to hold on to this, to him, or even get the chance to ruin it in typical self-sabotage and clumsiness.
But, all my doubting and mixed emotions aside, he’s joined the ranks of my boyfriends. Ryan, Jacob, Ben, and now, David. Such common names. I like to think they were uncommon men, but on closer inspection I’m not so sure that’s the case. Ryan is mean in a very old fashioned sense of the word. Ignoble, small-minded, petty, base, sordid, and vile. (Thank you dictionary.com, for saying what I’ve been afraid to say.) I love him dearly to this day, think about him more than I’d like to admit and I wish all the time that I could see him, play some part in his life, but I don’t want to get anywhere near the life he’s chosen. He had a remarkable intelligence, but he’s slowly burned it away in his desperation to escape reality. Turns out heroin isn’t so great for neurological health, nor are cocaine, acid, meth and the myriad others I’m sure he’s tried that I don’t know the first thing about. He’s reduced himself to something so small: another prisoner, petty thief, mean, low-life young man. Heartbreaking and common, pitiable in no small part because the story is so very mundane.
Jacob has a remarkable kindness, an absolutely unique virtue, and I often think that I was lucky just to touch him, to get to play any role in his life. He was, in my life, quite extraordinary, largely because he taught me what genuine respect looks like, how it feels to be treated with consideration and compassion. But observed from a greater distance, these things are rather common, though not as much so as they ought to be. He was the perfect Baptist boy, grown up into a respectful young man with a respectable career, a pretty, darling wife and a neat, tidy life. His wedding was excruciating for me. I had to watch this radiant, joyful woman and not let on how I was comparing myself to her, my knowledge that I in no way measure up to her and am utterly unworthy of the life she’ll find with him. Surrounded by so much joy and I wanted to just be happy for him, not jealous and resentful that I couldn’t measure up to this simple goodness. And then to admit to myself that even if somehow I could immerse myself in it I’d feel bored and stifled in the space of a minute. He is good and admirable and worthy of immense respect. And common in all the best ways, all the ways I was never able to conform myself to.
Ben? Common in the most negative sense of the word. Utterly lacking in ambition or really anything in the way of distinguishing qualities. Two years with him taught me just how much I disdain commonness, how incredibly stifling it is to strive for mediocrity. My mother taught me that disdain and I’ve worked very hard to get past her condescension and pretension, to dial down the judgment and see the people around me as people, not graduations to measure myself against. But with Ben I realized I need to set higher standards in seeking out a partner. If I want a relationship that will hold my attention, I need someone who fascinates and confounds me. If I want to grow with someone, I need him to accept me in all my strength and challenge me. If I want to go anywhere worth going, I need someone approaches life with tenacity and ambition. Ben did none of these things.
Does David do any of these things? Is he any less common than any other failed relationship? I adore him, can’t help but smile when he smiles and want nothing but happiness for him, want desperately to be part of that happiness. He does fascinate and confound me, with his wit and sensitivity and stubborn reluctance to share himself with the world around him, me included. He reminds me quite a bit of Ryan in that. He challenges me with his gentleness, which is entirely new and surprising. I’ve always been gentle, even given my occasional pig-headed stubbornness and flaring temper; I’ve rarely met anyone who challenged me to greater compassion. Jacob did, and David has a kindness about him, a sense of virtue and fair play that I can only compare to Jacob. And he has next to no ambition. The dreams are there, sure, but they’re little more than dreams. He’s not willing to face any kind of adversity to achieve them, and more and more that reminds me of Ben. He has all these strengths, but these weaknesses too, and I’ve gone and accepted all of that in all its messiness. I’ve fallen in love with him and now I have to wait and see if it’ll rip my heart out or slowly fizzle to disappointment or drag on too long into biting resentment and regret.
I know this won’t work. I absolutely know it won’t. I’m not anywhere close to being mature enough for any real happiness, and I didn’t choose him wisely, didn’t work out ahead of time what sort of strengths I need to challenge me, what weaknesses I can accept with grace and patience. Do I really need to be challenged to greater compassion when it's such a struggle for me to assert myself? And much like Ben, he can’t and won’t handle my extremes, my outbursts of passion and defiance and stubbornness. It’s good to be tempered and held to a higher standard of self-control, but so often it feels like rounding off all the sharp edges, softening myself until I’m safe and utterly predictable, giving up my strengths right along with my weaknesses. He tries my patience and I don’t know if I can support him the way he deserves to be supported. He can’t read my emotions, can’t tell when I’m hiding hurt and frustration, is so often distant and distracted, that I doubt he’ll be much good at supporting me. And I already love him, have committed to trying this with him, so I'm hesitant to say any of this to him for fear that it'll just stir up trouble, make it that much harder to be happy together.
And in another couple hours I know I’ll be glowing with affection again, grateful for him and my place in his life. I feel so crazy right now, unmoored and feminine in the worst ways. Where’d my reason and hard-won self control get off to?
And that’s not the tone I was hoping to start all this up with, but there we have it. I’m not feeling the optimism and this isn’t the place for faking it. A year ago I felt optimistic, grateful, and surprisingly stable, despite all the upheaval in my life. I was willing to face the upheaval, to initiate all those positive changes, because I felt so stable and centered. Now I’m reeling from one extreme to another in the span of minutes, but I don’t think it’s anything as simple as regression. That calm, sedate outlook of a year ago wasn’t an escape from my emotional instability; it’s what my depression looks like, reduced by a couple orders of magnitude. I was still stuck deep in the middle of it, even as I was surrounded by so much goodness, and it left me just a bit slow to respond to all the stimuli in my life. Which can look a whole lot like stoicism and stability, but really isn’t.
And now? Another manic phase. Not in the sense of being genuinely bipolar, just in the sense that all people tend to vary across the spectrum of emotional intensity throughout their lives, and me more than most. So what does my mania look like, reduced and held in check and not completely ruling me? Typical feminine hysterics. I’m kinda disgusted with myself. There’s been crying these past few weeks, and the occasional desire to scream at the people around me, especially the ones I care about. I’ve been grinding my teeth in my sleep again, fighting down anger more often than not and sometimes for the silliest reasons. I have a surprising reserve of energy, both emotional and physical, and a restless sense of being unfulfilled in pretty much everything I do. I don’t trust any of my happiness, though I spend a bit more time trying to ensure it than maybe I should. And in retrospect those two should be joined by an “obviously,” not that contrary, denying “though.”
The big news this month: David and I are a couple. An item, a unit, together in our togetherness. He is my boyfriend. I hate that word now more than I ever have. I’m pushing 25, which is still quite young, but boyfriend sounds entirely juvenile, the appropriate word for teenage histrionics and fumbled, clumsy first kisses. But our coupledom is more or less official now, mutually agreed upon, and our language hasn’t evolved quickly enough to accommodate the modern variety of romantic attachments. To be perfectly frank, I don’t trust it. He’s gotten close and run away so many times, and though the past couple weeks have been entirely new and different, I can’t seem to convince myself, emotionally, that this will last. That I’ll get to hold on to this, to him, or even get the chance to ruin it in typical self-sabotage and clumsiness.
But, all my doubting and mixed emotions aside, he’s joined the ranks of my boyfriends. Ryan, Jacob, Ben, and now, David. Such common names. I like to think they were uncommon men, but on closer inspection I’m not so sure that’s the case. Ryan is mean in a very old fashioned sense of the word. Ignoble, small-minded, petty, base, sordid, and vile. (Thank you dictionary.com, for saying what I’ve been afraid to say.) I love him dearly to this day, think about him more than I’d like to admit and I wish all the time that I could see him, play some part in his life, but I don’t want to get anywhere near the life he’s chosen. He had a remarkable intelligence, but he’s slowly burned it away in his desperation to escape reality. Turns out heroin isn’t so great for neurological health, nor are cocaine, acid, meth and the myriad others I’m sure he’s tried that I don’t know the first thing about. He’s reduced himself to something so small: another prisoner, petty thief, mean, low-life young man. Heartbreaking and common, pitiable in no small part because the story is so very mundane.
Jacob has a remarkable kindness, an absolutely unique virtue, and I often think that I was lucky just to touch him, to get to play any role in his life. He was, in my life, quite extraordinary, largely because he taught me what genuine respect looks like, how it feels to be treated with consideration and compassion. But observed from a greater distance, these things are rather common, though not as much so as they ought to be. He was the perfect Baptist boy, grown up into a respectful young man with a respectable career, a pretty, darling wife and a neat, tidy life. His wedding was excruciating for me. I had to watch this radiant, joyful woman and not let on how I was comparing myself to her, my knowledge that I in no way measure up to her and am utterly unworthy of the life she’ll find with him. Surrounded by so much joy and I wanted to just be happy for him, not jealous and resentful that I couldn’t measure up to this simple goodness. And then to admit to myself that even if somehow I could immerse myself in it I’d feel bored and stifled in the space of a minute. He is good and admirable and worthy of immense respect. And common in all the best ways, all the ways I was never able to conform myself to.
Ben? Common in the most negative sense of the word. Utterly lacking in ambition or really anything in the way of distinguishing qualities. Two years with him taught me just how much I disdain commonness, how incredibly stifling it is to strive for mediocrity. My mother taught me that disdain and I’ve worked very hard to get past her condescension and pretension, to dial down the judgment and see the people around me as people, not graduations to measure myself against. But with Ben I realized I need to set higher standards in seeking out a partner. If I want a relationship that will hold my attention, I need someone who fascinates and confounds me. If I want to grow with someone, I need him to accept me in all my strength and challenge me. If I want to go anywhere worth going, I need someone approaches life with tenacity and ambition. Ben did none of these things.
Does David do any of these things? Is he any less common than any other failed relationship? I adore him, can’t help but smile when he smiles and want nothing but happiness for him, want desperately to be part of that happiness. He does fascinate and confound me, with his wit and sensitivity and stubborn reluctance to share himself with the world around him, me included. He reminds me quite a bit of Ryan in that. He challenges me with his gentleness, which is entirely new and surprising. I’ve always been gentle, even given my occasional pig-headed stubbornness and flaring temper; I’ve rarely met anyone who challenged me to greater compassion. Jacob did, and David has a kindness about him, a sense of virtue and fair play that I can only compare to Jacob. And he has next to no ambition. The dreams are there, sure, but they’re little more than dreams. He’s not willing to face any kind of adversity to achieve them, and more and more that reminds me of Ben. He has all these strengths, but these weaknesses too, and I’ve gone and accepted all of that in all its messiness. I’ve fallen in love with him and now I have to wait and see if it’ll rip my heart out or slowly fizzle to disappointment or drag on too long into biting resentment and regret.
I know this won’t work. I absolutely know it won’t. I’m not anywhere close to being mature enough for any real happiness, and I didn’t choose him wisely, didn’t work out ahead of time what sort of strengths I need to challenge me, what weaknesses I can accept with grace and patience. Do I really need to be challenged to greater compassion when it's such a struggle for me to assert myself? And much like Ben, he can’t and won’t handle my extremes, my outbursts of passion and defiance and stubbornness. It’s good to be tempered and held to a higher standard of self-control, but so often it feels like rounding off all the sharp edges, softening myself until I’m safe and utterly predictable, giving up my strengths right along with my weaknesses. He tries my patience and I don’t know if I can support him the way he deserves to be supported. He can’t read my emotions, can’t tell when I’m hiding hurt and frustration, is so often distant and distracted, that I doubt he’ll be much good at supporting me. And I already love him, have committed to trying this with him, so I'm hesitant to say any of this to him for fear that it'll just stir up trouble, make it that much harder to be happy together.
And in another couple hours I know I’ll be glowing with affection again, grateful for him and my place in his life. I feel so crazy right now, unmoored and feminine in the worst ways. Where’d my reason and hard-won self control get off to?
Sunday, September 02, 2007
Growth
It’s been a while, and I don’t know if anyone is still checking in here, but if you are… Well. You know already that you’re appreciated even when I disappear, right? I’ve said it often enough, and it feels redundant and somewhat hollow to just keep apologizing. I’m lucky for my friends, that there are people in this world patient enough to stick around through years of my mood swings and capriciousness. And pedantry.
There’s a smile there at the end, and on a better day I’d be able to make the words themselves convey that, but just at the moment I’m not going to spend enough time rewriting to make my tone clear, but instead just tell you. I’m happy. I’m also slightly overwhelmed by my good fortune and by the responsibilities I’ve chosen to take on. I’ve been given more than I know how to accept and bitten off a bit more than I can chew, but I’m determined to make the most of it.
I’m back in school. It’s taken four years and the humility of accepting my mother’s money (which, truth be told, she can finally afford so I don’t feel as guilty I might have in the past), not to mention a considerable measure of emotional energy. I’d forgotten how terrifying it is for me. There’s nowhere I’m more qualified or better-equipped than a classroom, and at the same time it terrifies me beyond my ability to explain. All those eyes on me, the potential for judgment, the need to prove myself not only informed and insightful but also socially graceful, all these things press on me with a near physical weight as soon as I walk in the door, make me clumsy and awkward. But when we discuss characters and social context I do know what I’m talking about, when political events are linked to contemporary philosophers I have insight past what I’m being spoon-fed, and it feels good to get back to what I’m best at after having been away so long.
Work is going remarkably well, and though my boss and I butt heads more often than I’d like and I know my attitude isn’t always what it should be, I’m confident I’m doing a good job. And, ignoring the possible patheticness of the admission, they like me, they really like me! The students, the professors, even the other staff, all seem to be pleased by the job I’m doing and enjoy my company during the day. It feels so good to be appreciated that I almost don’t know how to respond. My social circle continues to grow, both in number of people and in emotional depth. I had forgotten the feeling of seeing my friends on a daily basis, the ease and comfort of spending time together without having to plan for it. It is, to me, the most basic and essential pleasure, and keeping that in mind it’s not at all surprising to me that I’ve been so despondent for the past several years. How could I not be, with all my friends and everyone I care about so far away from me, our only contact carried out in hurried phone calls, half-ignored instant messaging, and the occasional stolen bit of time together that always manages to feel stilted and contrived despite everyone’s best efforts? My old friends are so precious to me, and I love them with a depth that only comes from years of mutual loyalty. No one new can know all the backstory that Rachel and Melissa do, have the effortless insight that Lilah and Jacob always surprise me with. But Bridgett, David and Chris are here with me, day to day, they get to see first-hand the mundane realities of my life. They get to see the slump in my shoulders when a week has been a little too long, to respond to my emotional needs with thoughtless, helpful gestures that make hard days easier to bear and good ones even better. And I love them for it already. Not the same love I have for the people who knew me through my misery and stuck with me despite it, but a real love all the same, and there was a time that I shared this same easy association with them.
Love. It’s a big word, and over-used to the point of being trite and hollow, but it’s important nevertheless. I’m getting more comfortable with it, not letting it rule me or excluding it from my mental vocabulary in an effort to avoid melodrama. I feel a small, simple love for my new friends, something basic and unembellished and essential, and just feeling it makes me grow, makes me more of the person I want to be. With one in particular that feeling is growing more profound, soothing anxieties and motivating simple changes. It scares me a bit even as it excites me, and I’m cautious of the feeling, a bit untrusting, but can’t and won’t deny it. He is exceptional and I am grateful for him. And doing my best to keep an open mind about what will be, not ruin this for either of us with anxiety or presumption. I think he’s doing the same.
And I think I’ve typed enough for one sitting. There’s more to say, and I hope I’ll get back here to say it in the next couple days. If I don’t (and even if I do) you are all welcome as always to call me, give me a piece of your mind for being so distant and unreachable. It might even make my day.
There’s a smile there at the end, and on a better day I’d be able to make the words themselves convey that, but just at the moment I’m not going to spend enough time rewriting to make my tone clear, but instead just tell you. I’m happy. I’m also slightly overwhelmed by my good fortune and by the responsibilities I’ve chosen to take on. I’ve been given more than I know how to accept and bitten off a bit more than I can chew, but I’m determined to make the most of it.
I’m back in school. It’s taken four years and the humility of accepting my mother’s money (which, truth be told, she can finally afford so I don’t feel as guilty I might have in the past), not to mention a considerable measure of emotional energy. I’d forgotten how terrifying it is for me. There’s nowhere I’m more qualified or better-equipped than a classroom, and at the same time it terrifies me beyond my ability to explain. All those eyes on me, the potential for judgment, the need to prove myself not only informed and insightful but also socially graceful, all these things press on me with a near physical weight as soon as I walk in the door, make me clumsy and awkward. But when we discuss characters and social context I do know what I’m talking about, when political events are linked to contemporary philosophers I have insight past what I’m being spoon-fed, and it feels good to get back to what I’m best at after having been away so long.
Work is going remarkably well, and though my boss and I butt heads more often than I’d like and I know my attitude isn’t always what it should be, I’m confident I’m doing a good job. And, ignoring the possible patheticness of the admission, they like me, they really like me! The students, the professors, even the other staff, all seem to be pleased by the job I’m doing and enjoy my company during the day. It feels so good to be appreciated that I almost don’t know how to respond. My social circle continues to grow, both in number of people and in emotional depth. I had forgotten the feeling of seeing my friends on a daily basis, the ease and comfort of spending time together without having to plan for it. It is, to me, the most basic and essential pleasure, and keeping that in mind it’s not at all surprising to me that I’ve been so despondent for the past several years. How could I not be, with all my friends and everyone I care about so far away from me, our only contact carried out in hurried phone calls, half-ignored instant messaging, and the occasional stolen bit of time together that always manages to feel stilted and contrived despite everyone’s best efforts? My old friends are so precious to me, and I love them with a depth that only comes from years of mutual loyalty. No one new can know all the backstory that Rachel and Melissa do, have the effortless insight that Lilah and Jacob always surprise me with. But Bridgett, David and Chris are here with me, day to day, they get to see first-hand the mundane realities of my life. They get to see the slump in my shoulders when a week has been a little too long, to respond to my emotional needs with thoughtless, helpful gestures that make hard days easier to bear and good ones even better. And I love them for it already. Not the same love I have for the people who knew me through my misery and stuck with me despite it, but a real love all the same, and there was a time that I shared this same easy association with them.
Love. It’s a big word, and over-used to the point of being trite and hollow, but it’s important nevertheless. I’m getting more comfortable with it, not letting it rule me or excluding it from my mental vocabulary in an effort to avoid melodrama. I feel a small, simple love for my new friends, something basic and unembellished and essential, and just feeling it makes me grow, makes me more of the person I want to be. With one in particular that feeling is growing more profound, soothing anxieties and motivating simple changes. It scares me a bit even as it excites me, and I’m cautious of the feeling, a bit untrusting, but can’t and won’t deny it. He is exceptional and I am grateful for him. And doing my best to keep an open mind about what will be, not ruin this for either of us with anxiety or presumption. I think he’s doing the same.
And I think I’ve typed enough for one sitting. There’s more to say, and I hope I’ll get back here to say it in the next couple days. If I don’t (and even if I do) you are all welcome as always to call me, give me a piece of your mind for being so distant and unreachable. It might even make my day.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
