Tuesday, Oct. 05, 2004 - 3:24 a.m.
Cost of the War in Iraq
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Another Hard Day
Previous entry tonight here (***** for Radiogurl!!)
Another hard day.
Arguing over mindbogglingly stupid stuff. Communication null. Splitting hairs. Hit self again. Fantasies of slashing face with knives. Not good. Arms too. Frustration, shame, tears, anger, spiralling down.
But pulled out of it before crashing. I am ok. I'm not ok, but i'm ok. All is not as bad as it feels, looks, seems. She hopes. She throws in blind faith.
She is scared some day she will crash. It takes but a split second.
It seems so crazy the next second. Like anyone who crashes, seen from the outside it seems such a nutso thing to do, cuz the world and life are so much bigger. I am so much bigger than arguing with my father, or raising my voice when I am frustrated, or trying to talk an issue into some semblance of understanding. I am more than my faults. Please let it be so.
Some resolution later. Tears. hugs.
But no cure.
Ok after supper.
I won by a bit.
Shutting down when it gets bad so that the spiralling downward of craziness and communication will stop. Shut up shut up do not talk cuz every single peep of a sound makes it spiral worse, I remember how I ended up in huge depression when I was in high school. By shutting up and shutting down.
Vacuuming so as to do something positive with the body, the head, the energy, myself, I see several things.
Why my mother didn't get along with my Dad... they worked together on projects and did a lot together. It is crazymaking. Two people cannot have opinions in this exchange. And now I know that he, she and i are cut of the same cloth. A submissive dog and a dominant one don't fight. Two dominant dogs, no matter how nice they are, will fight to the death and never give up. Not to say that we are dominant. Just to say that two of the same can sometimes be worse than just one. His second wife did housework and her own stuff. Never did projects with Dad. I thought she was nuts, too housewifey, not involved enough, when I was 13. Dad in the yard or building. Her cooking and cleaning. Now I see that is one reason why they lasted and she didn't end up on anti-depressants (I am assuming, since I don' t know, maybe she is). I get along fine with Dad when he works alone and I vacuum, or draw.
Other thing. I see why workaholism can arise. How people who have bad marriages or bad communications skills throw themselves into projects. Must use the kinetic energy in a positive way. Have an argument, feel you cannot communicate with someone you love, you hurt the feelings of someone you care for, you say things you regret or act ways that you are ashamed of. One can withdraw into depression or self-hatred, or one can act elsewhere. Have fun with the guys at the tavern, or better yet, work. Get your mind on something else. Something that will be a success of your own doing. Something to tell you "I am more than this messy horrible person unsuccessful in this important relationship, I can make this thing, I can do this, I can accomplish this". Something to help your self-esteem.
But at what point do you become a workaholic neurotic loner who does excellent work, and who isolates oneself.
A hard day.
ps, I have a really hard time at Home D*epot... that is where ob worked. It makes me feel haunted by ghosts being in there. Every orange apron makes me imagine dragging jeans and a smiling face happy to see me come to get her to take her home. It was hard not to cry in the flooring aisle.
Here is my horoscope for Monday, October 4:
My one demand huh. My one wish is that my parents' "what's wrong with wenchie" list didn't so closely resemble my own.
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previous meanderings - future past
Goodbye Michael. May your next life be kinder to you. - Thursday, Jun. 25, 2009
*inspired by Chaosdaily