We can't stay still
Jan. 24th, 2011 03:57 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rachg82![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif){kind=small}
keenai, you should really try to stop being right all the time. It's a bit creepy.~Direct quote~
When we were talking at my last session, I would be all, "I'm great! Things are picking up! Life is wonderful! I have rage!"
My response?
Tears. Down my face. You just made me laugh so hard.
"I'M DOING FANTASTIC! NOW, LET ME PUNCH YOU IN THE FACE! P.S. Have a great day."
Ahhh, welcome to the lives of ACAs. Good times, good times.
I'm gonna go to a meeting tonight. I need to be around fellow bitter people who understand my vile, fist-clenching sadness & want to be happy. It rises up in you when you least expect it, for no reason, over something as simple as someone just not *getting* you, and UGH. You just don't have the patience for fuckery. Your quota was met long ago. You take things very seriously & niceness is a supreme effort. Even a hint that covert bullshit is being defended by "it was only sarcasm/you're too sensitive" is enough to create the fires of mordor in your eyes.
Stupid jokes make you want to storm home & take your toys with you. "THIS WORLD SUCKS!"
It's not your fucking problem; it's theirs. And yet.
Chill the hell out, self. God damn.
Hence, time for a meeting. Good thing I made that resolution. (*edited to add: except I'm apparently full of FAIL today, because I didn't get ready on time & now I'm gonna be late & it's cold out & BLAH. I can go another day, right? I mean, there are seven days in a week, and technically, my scheduled day to go is Saturday. I was over-achieving today. Except I kinda wanted to go tonight too because that nice girl was there last time on a Monday. And she was cute. Probably straight though. And going to Chile. Hmph.)
The ticking time bombyness makes sense too, I suppose, considering It came out of NOWHERE. Trash on my sister's floor; Easter basket. I was like, "Wait? Where's that from? Did that happen?" And then--realization. Yes. That's what started the hairbrush incident. My sister was already gone, Mom and I were in her room, and she was yelling about the things that had been left out. She spotted a bunny-shaped Easter basket on the desk & went *off*. WHY did she still have it, did she expect her to throw it out, and how stupid was she that she'd keep such a thing. I suggested that maybe she'd kept it because she liked it, because it looked like a bunny, which just made her even angrier--it was, after all, "stupid" to keep, and trash, fucking trash--and if she wanted to keep garbage then, fine, she could. She then took her garbage can & emptied it out on the floor. I guess she thought it would be a nice thing for her to return to when she came back from the mental hospital, eh?
She became increasingly agitated at that point, as my suggestion made her believe I was on my sister's side, defending her. I still don't remember any of what was said after that--I only remember her standing in the doorway & yelling, me sitting on the bed--but it ended with her grabbing a hairbrush from the bathroom & throwing it at my head, all so I'd *understand*. I remember I cried, but I also remember I was glad I had a good excuse to cry, because it meant she might "wake up" and stop. She might feel bad & it might be over. I knew how the game was played. As usual, screaming would be followed by apologies & "it didn't mean what you think it meant" & "I love you." Then life carries on. La de da.
Oh, the anger. I remember sitting in the passenger seat at twelve years old with my dad, listening as he yelled about my sister & sped dangerously along (it was the night she wouldn't come over for our two-week vacation, i.e. the fight that finally broke them apart), my eyes darting over to the steering wheel--back & forth, back & forth--because I was debating whether to reach for it & yank, hard. I wanted to crash the car. I wanted to either escape or die. I wasn't sure which. I wasn't sure I cared.
My instinct here is to say "it's okay" or "but I'm fine." But you know what? It's not okay. I'm not fine. I mean, because what the hell is "fine", anyway?
Once again,
keenai says it best: I'm used to just saying "it's fine, whatever" and it's not fine, whatever.
I read this book, and the character's AA sponsor said fine = fucking insecure neurotic and emotional. Fine is not a real emotion. So when we're saying we're fine, we're saying we're FINE and need to put a real emotion/feeling to it.
It's true.
When I was seeing my counselor last year, we did a few sessions of meditation where she asked me to focus on where I felt things, what they would look like if I could describe them in visual/physical terms, how does it feel if I imagine setting them aside before putting them back in, and so on. Keenai suggested a similar concept to me the other day, which I found to be very practical:
Another thing I've started doing is (and I walked my friend through this): What do you feel? Where do you feel it? Why is it making you feel [x]?
It's almost the same, but with the very important addition of the "why". For instance, if you're sad & feeling sick to your stomach, acknowledge it. Obviously, 90+ percent of the seretonin in your body resides in your abdomen (interesting, right?), but go deeper than that--specifically, what emotions are causing those reactions & WHY? What thoughts are you having? What are you telling yourself? About you? About others? Is there shame? Is there disgust? Is there fear? What? The book I mentioned the other day ("The Adult Child's Guide To What's Normal") has a whole section explaining & describing how emotions feel for ACAs, specifically because we obviously never learned how to correctly identify them, but I imagine that's got to be a useful practice for just about anyone.
Also? Reading it, I couldn't help but think of Booth. Ha.
Brennan: What are you feeling, Booth?
Booth: What? Since when do you care about feelings?
Brennan: I care about feelings.
Booth: *eyebrow*
Brennan: Also, Cam asked me to ask you.
Booth: I feel fine. Can we talk about something else now?
Brennan: I've been told that fine is not a real emotion.
Booth: *sighs* What?
Brennan: What do you FEEL, Booth? *pokes him in the forehead*
Booth: I'm starting to feel angry, now. Thank you.
Brennan: Where?
Booth: What? Right here. *waves hand in the air* Where we're standing.
Brennan: Where in your body? How does it feel to be angry?
Booth: Bones, you're being too literal, okay? When people feel angry, they're just. . .angry. Mad, pissed off--y'know, ANGRY.
Brennan: You realize you're simply using random synonyms to describe the same word. I'm not asking what other people feel. I'm asking what you feel. Do you even know?
Booth: No, okay? Is that what you want to hear? I'm a freak. Happy?
Brennan: *smiles* Me too.
AND THEN THEY HIGH FIVE. Freak solidarity FTW.
Haha.
Craaaaaaack.
For my Vid of the Day, I've got a mini-soundtrack for y'all.
"Hey, Rachael," you might be asking yourselves, "What are some good songs to listen to when you feel like crackin' skulls?"
I'm glad you asked.
Uh huh, okay, whassup, SHUT UP. Hahaha, best come-back ever. P.S. WHY MUST PEOPLE DISABLE EMBEDDING? Such douchery.
Who's the Baddest Bitch? Trina is, that's who.
(Hey, when did this turn into a cathartic calming-myself-down soundtrack? Ha. I can't help it. SHE SPEAKS TO MY SOUL. God damn, Ani. TESTIFY.)
I will force myself to stop with the Ani songs here though, because otherwise I'd go on forever.
This song is so incredible live, THERE ARE NO WORDS. Goosebumps in your fucking teeth, holy Christ.
Aaaand I'm out, PEACE. I think I feel better now. Heh. *shadowboxes*
