Coming down–a little

Things are getting slightly better for me as far the mental/emotional stuff goes. I’m having more dreamlike things; I don’t know if that’s good or not, though.

I don’t feel overwhelmed anymore. I feel just whelmed, if you understand. It’s not overly uncomfortable; now it’s at or near regular discomfort. I consider that a step in the right direction.

I’m still uncomfortable with the feelings the last dream I had brought up. I’m still uncomfortable with what happened in the last dream. That’s part of what I have to work through. There’s still a small voice in my head that says that there are some things you just do not do, not even in dreams.

But mostly it’s the feelings I’m battling. I feel like something was pulled out of me, and now it’s out and walking around, and I can’t put it back in the place it was. I’m trying to deal with a lot of guilt and shame here, for feeling what I do, and thinking what the feelings are having me think.

It’s like coming face-to-face with a part of you that was so hidden that you’re surprised and shocked that it’s there. I keep telling myself that these feelings aren’t bad, they’re just new. I’m not making any headway in convincing myself yet.

I feel impatient with myself, too. This dream happened a week ago, and I’m still talking about it, still feeling it. It’s shameful, it really is.

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Late blooming, mom’s voice, and fear–oh my!

Still trying to sort through and accept the feelings that have decided to push their way into my awareness. This is not a pleasant process, and it’s leaving me embarrassed.

I’ve run from my feelings for so long that now I don’t know how to deal with them. I’m a big girl; I shouldn’t allow my own feelings to do this to me.

To be perfectly honest, I’m afraid of my–shall we say more primal–feelings. Anger, rage, those I can handle all right.  Yes, I know anger is a primal feeling, but the fact remains that I can handle it better. Maybe because I’m used to seeing it–I don’t call my father Volcano on this blog for nothing.  As weird as it sounds, anger is an emotion I can understand. I don’t like to see it used as a weapon or just spewed indiscriminately, but I can understand it.

But I can’t deal with the things that I kept locked up in a box. Things that I keep feeling that I’m too old to have to deal with now. I feel like I’m having a late bloom of…everything.

That was my mother’s voice in those words; I am working to stomp her into submission. It’s harder to do it for this than it is for most other things. For example, I had no trouble booting her out of my head as regards my religion choice, or the things I like to do in my spare time.  But for this…she lives and breathes and walks in my head, and she doesn’t want to pack up and leave.

There are so many things I’m afraid of, so many things that I wish I could resolve with a magic wand, or the push of a button.

I trust myself in a lot of areas, but here in this one, I have no trust at all. I know that the things I’ve always been told are wrong, but I can’t trust myself to believe the things that make more sense.

Runaway horse

I feel afraid of myself right now. I feel like my emotions are a runaway horse that I’m trying–unsuccessfully–to catch.

Everything is so extreme. My eyes fill up and I’m crying at the drop of a hat. I feel all shaky inside. A part of me is standing by watching this in absolute disgust.

I can’t talk myself out of feeling this. I can’t muscle this back into wherever it was.

I know I have to deal with this. I don’t have the first clue how to deal with it, though. It’s uncomfortable, having this swirling around inside me with nowhere to vent it. I wish I could disconnect from it; if I could I might be able to handle it better.

I don’t want to go where I think I’m going to have to. I don’t want these thoughts in my head, don’t want these feelings. I don’t.

But here they are. How can get to acceptance?

Fumes and vapor

It came to me today, as I was cleaning out the fridge and trying to plan out the rest of my schedule for the week.

I have absolutely nothing left anymore.

I’m running on fumes, on less than that. There’s just nothing left in my tank right now. I wish I could just hole up, or just disappear. There’s just no end to it. It’s hard enough trying to deal with the internal gauntlet I’m running right now; my external life seems like it’s suddenly too much to handle. I wish there was a way to stop one so I can handle the other, but I can never do the easy stuff.

I feel like I just give and give and give. That’s fine; I’m not such a selfish person that I can’t handle that, but I’m so tired. I wish there was somebody to give to me.

I wish I weren’t a coward. If I were braver, I’d end it now and stop all this whining.   If I weren’t so concerned about everybody else, I’d end it and have done.

I’m heading to bed now. Maybe my courage will get a boost during sleep.

No fancy title; I’m too scattered to make one

In the midst of all the feelings that are coming up demanding to be handled is a set of feelings that I want to not handle at all. I don’t want to look at them, don’t want to have to feel them at all. I’m not ready for them.

But maybe the time for all of the posturing is over now.

Doesn’t mean I like it, though. I feel like I’m being pulled in all directions, like I’m thisclose to being torn to pieces. I don’t know how to stop it. I don’t know if it’s a good thing or not.

I feel like such an idiot. I can’t trust myself or my reactions. I’m sitting here having a crybaby moment. For nothing. For no reason that I can see. I feel like I’m walking on eggshells inside my own head, trying to avoid things.

I just wish I could disappear. I’m sick of myself. I want to put my brain on a shelf and not worry about it for a while. Anybody got some extra storage space?

Thoughts on a cold rainy morning

I have been doing some thinking on the heels of the very interesting dream I had, and I’ve come to a realization.

Note: what is about to come will probably sound really stupid. It sounds stupid to me, and it’s my own thought.

I think I’m a little afraid of emotion. Specifically, my own emotion. Only the heavy emotions, though. I can handle everybody else’s emotions, but when it comes to me feeling them, there’s a disconnect.

I can trace some of where the disconnect comes from. In my house, Volcano is the one who has the most free reign with his emotions, and he goes from calm to spew in .002 seconds. That’s the way it always is with him; once he’s angry, he’s there for a really long time. He’s a champion grudge holder. So, usually to keep from being singed by Volcano’s molten temper, I try to stay calm and not feed his fire.

I live with a bunch of equally volatile tempers, so I have to be careful of how much of my own emotion I express.

Then there’s the fact that there is nowhere I can safely vent whatever emotions come up. Nobody here cares if I’m having a crappy day and just need to be away from them for a while, or if I’m feeling some really intense things and need to vent them out. Most of the time they don’t even ask me how I’m feeling. Not that I’d tell them if they did (there’s no use putting myself out there just to be mocked, right?), but I wish they asked and really cared about the response. I would talk to them more if they did.

Mostly I feel like I don’t have the right to feel anything. My emotions aren’t all that important in the grand scheme, right? It’s my job to handle my emotions, not let them rule me.

God, I can’t believe I still spout that crap to myself. I don’t want to live in an emotionless, unmoved void where I touch nothing and nothing touches me.  I don’t know what kind of person that makes me (I know what it sounds like, though), but it’s the truth.

No more for now. Goodnight, folks.

Maybe dream, maybe not

I had a dream that I’m not sure you can have.  I had a dream that was completely auditory.

Can you call such a thing a dream, though? I don’t know, but I was asleep when it happened, so I suppose it qualifies.

In this dream (since I don’t know what else to call it),  I was in a noplace place. I don’t know if I really was anywhere, because there were no visual cues for anything. It felt open and airy, the way really old spaces feel.

I’m there in that space and then there was a voice. “Why will you not let us in?” it asked.

I wondered who “us” could be. Was the voice speaking for more than one entity, or was it using the royal we?

“You try so hard to keep us out. You try to block us out. We mean you no harm, [my name].”

“Who are you?” I asked.

The voice swirled around  me. “We are what you try to keep out. We are what you try to hold in. Know us. Allow us. You need us; you require us. Allow us. Allow us to be.”

“But who are you?”

The voice became louder, almost shouting. “You know us.  You keep trying to kill us. But we will not die. We will not die.”

“Give me a name or something!” I plead.

“You know us. You keep trying to kill us,” the voice says again. “You think you can live without us. You cannot run from us, you cannot drown us. You try and you try, but you cannot.”

The volume rises again, and now it seems like the words are coming from many throats.  “We will not die. We will not die. We will not die.”

I woke up with that sentence ringing in my ears.