For fear of being rude, I tend to think and speak of my parents' suicides as tragedies that they endured. They were sick, they were sad, they felt a deep despair, they can't be blamed for ending that. It is in my nature to hold back my opinions and honest feelings because of a sense of duty and a desire not to rock the boat.
And while I feel incredibly sad for them, and will always wonder what their last thoughts were, will always feel a pit in my stomach for the despair they felt, I also must recognize that I'm sad for myself and the others they left behind.
We were abandoned. I am left without any parents, because my parents left. They left violently, selfishly, and I am left to clean up the mess. It's very, very hard for me to type that, to think it; I feel guilty and ungrateful. But I can tell by the tears welling up in my eyes that it's true, and must be thought. I have to allow myself to feel that, and know that I won't be a bad daughter for feeling it.
I am achingly sad about this abandonment, and occasionally angry. I feel it's unfair, and I hate the burden it puts on my life every day. Sorry mom and dad.
Friday, August 28, 2009
grown up love
Talking to my counselor last night, I stumbled upon the revelation that as I sit here now, at age 32, I really have no idea how to be married. Not just married, but in a long term, stable relationship. The concept of deep trust, comfort, lack of chase scares the shit out of me, and I try with all of my might to cram my relationship into the context I understand more: the thrill of the chase.
I react when things feel comfortable, at all of the moments where Ian is not pursuing me, when I sense that the initial thrill of romance and all that is gone. And I sense that all of the time, obviously, because we've been married for almost four years. Relaxing into the next phase of the relationship, deeper intimacy, an inherent comfort with the other person, a leveling out of the spark, that feels foreign to me right now.
Perhaps this sounds ridiculous, I don't know. But it's bonkers, and it's sad. I feel like intimacy is a foreign language I haven't learned yet, and when I think about how to approach it I just don't know the right words. But there's no other option; without relaxing into the intimacy and giving more of myself, in a positive way, there is a void there where a great relationship could be.
I'll figure this out. I've been figuring things out lately, and it's feeling really good. Patience, patience, patience. Perhaps? Part of me feels like I need to close my eyes, spread my arms out and jump into the void, trusting that as I sail down, naked and vulnerable, someone will catch me. That I'm not alone. It will be an act of faith.
I react when things feel comfortable, at all of the moments where Ian is not pursuing me, when I sense that the initial thrill of romance and all that is gone. And I sense that all of the time, obviously, because we've been married for almost four years. Relaxing into the next phase of the relationship, deeper intimacy, an inherent comfort with the other person, a leveling out of the spark, that feels foreign to me right now.
Perhaps this sounds ridiculous, I don't know. But it's bonkers, and it's sad. I feel like intimacy is a foreign language I haven't learned yet, and when I think about how to approach it I just don't know the right words. But there's no other option; without relaxing into the intimacy and giving more of myself, in a positive way, there is a void there where a great relationship could be.
I'll figure this out. I've been figuring things out lately, and it's feeling really good. Patience, patience, patience. Perhaps? Part of me feels like I need to close my eyes, spread my arms out and jump into the void, trusting that as I sail down, naked and vulnerable, someone will catch me. That I'm not alone. It will be an act of faith.
Thursday, August 20, 2009
saboteur
There's a sabotage plan afoot. Someone's up to something. I'm sitting here in perfect idyll, enjoying myself, and I can sense a plan to shake it all up and create some trouble. Two weeks of feeling good, and now there's a monkey ready to jump in the works.
Eek eek! I want a banana.
Yep, I'm the monkey. I felt my fightin' side rear its head again this morning, and it sits in stark contrast to the peaceful, happy way I've been feeling lately. It just doesn't fit in anymore, whereas before it dominated the way I interacted with my world.
So that's the good news, a significant shift. But I've got to steel myself against the monkey and make it go off and take a nap, or maybe put it to better use. I felt myself stir and start to react to an imaginary conflict, fill in blanks with negative thoughts, and rise to my own defense.
For a moment it felt delicious, like when I scratch a mosquito bite. Shouldn't do this, I think, but it feels sooooo good. Then it itches like hell. Reacting and battling has a similar delicious feel, but it man, it stings.
But as I reached to scratch, I stopped myself and thought, no, no, no. This sucks. I've been so enjoying feeling love and benevolence, and I'd like to keep going with that. Deep breath.
And it's working. I'm objectively examining the expectations and theories that were starting to distort my approach, looking for the root of my reaction. I've clarified that my goal is to love, be loved, and be happy. Duh, right? But that hasn't been obvious for a long time.
So the monkey is back in its tree, no banana. And I'm feeling peaceful again. Sabotage averted. Time to go to work.
Eek eek! I want a banana.
Yep, I'm the monkey. I felt my fightin' side rear its head again this morning, and it sits in stark contrast to the peaceful, happy way I've been feeling lately. It just doesn't fit in anymore, whereas before it dominated the way I interacted with my world.
So that's the good news, a significant shift. But I've got to steel myself against the monkey and make it go off and take a nap, or maybe put it to better use. I felt myself stir and start to react to an imaginary conflict, fill in blanks with negative thoughts, and rise to my own defense.
For a moment it felt delicious, like when I scratch a mosquito bite. Shouldn't do this, I think, but it feels sooooo good. Then it itches like hell. Reacting and battling has a similar delicious feel, but it man, it stings.
But as I reached to scratch, I stopped myself and thought, no, no, no. This sucks. I've been so enjoying feeling love and benevolence, and I'd like to keep going with that. Deep breath.
And it's working. I'm objectively examining the expectations and theories that were starting to distort my approach, looking for the root of my reaction. I've clarified that my goal is to love, be loved, and be happy. Duh, right? But that hasn't been obvious for a long time.
So the monkey is back in its tree, no banana. And I'm feeling peaceful again. Sabotage averted. Time to go to work.
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
neglecting nostalgia
As I've felt incrementally better over the past couple of weeks, I've noticed a couple really wonderful things happening:
1. I'm experiencing my surroundings with a new vividness. Until recently I felt things in a sad, nostalgic way, as if a feeling couldn't be felt anew, but only as a carbon copy of something felt long ago. As if I was stifled from making new memories and had to subsist on old ones. Now smells, sights, sounds and feelings are hitting me directly, in the now, and I'm experiencing them as new, exciting and FUN.
2. I'm not angry. I've started to release my death grip on the multitude of things that I can't possibly control, and have started facing and taking steps to fix the things I can control. The relaxing of expectations and the release from guilt has had an extinguishing effect on the feeling of helpless anger that had been hovering around me for the past long while.
3. I've been smiling a lot. Turns out that when I'm not spending so much energy being upset and on the defensive, there's a lot to smile about. The world feels a lot friendlier, and I keep feeling my mouth curve upward. At strangers, at cats, at friends and loved ones.
It's as if I've woken up one day to find my flu is gone, headache vanished, cough dissolved. The revelation of "I feel better!" is a fun one to revel in. And I feel like I'm doing enough work and introspection to inoculate myself against a bad reoccurance of the flu, so I can keep the vicious cycle of happy sad happy sad from repeating. Oh sure, I'll get a cold now and then, but I'm hoping it'll be a-ok.
1. I'm experiencing my surroundings with a new vividness. Until recently I felt things in a sad, nostalgic way, as if a feeling couldn't be felt anew, but only as a carbon copy of something felt long ago. As if I was stifled from making new memories and had to subsist on old ones. Now smells, sights, sounds and feelings are hitting me directly, in the now, and I'm experiencing them as new, exciting and FUN.
2. I'm not angry. I've started to release my death grip on the multitude of things that I can't possibly control, and have started facing and taking steps to fix the things I can control. The relaxing of expectations and the release from guilt has had an extinguishing effect on the feeling of helpless anger that had been hovering around me for the past long while.
3. I've been smiling a lot. Turns out that when I'm not spending so much energy being upset and on the defensive, there's a lot to smile about. The world feels a lot friendlier, and I keep feeling my mouth curve upward. At strangers, at cats, at friends and loved ones.
It's as if I've woken up one day to find my flu is gone, headache vanished, cough dissolved. The revelation of "I feel better!" is a fun one to revel in. And I feel like I'm doing enough work and introspection to inoculate myself against a bad reoccurance of the flu, so I can keep the vicious cycle of happy sad happy sad from repeating. Oh sure, I'll get a cold now and then, but I'm hoping it'll be a-ok.
Thursday, August 13, 2009
looking for trouble
I am looking for a fight this morning! It seems that I might be more comfortable with conflict than calm contentment, as this morning I furrowed my brow and began to anticipate what might be wrong. Nothing, really, IS wrong. But I tried to find something to react to, and felt sort of devilish in the doing.
What am I doing? Everything's perfectly fine, and I'm scanning the horizon for a fight, a battle, something to go head to head about.
It seems so normal to have conflict that I frankly have a hard time imagining just being happy and getting along. Reacting has become my comfort zone, whereas calm feels disorienting.
But I can see what I'm doing, can hold still and think about it, and by the time Ian stirred from bed and we said good morning, I'd managed to reconcile myself with happiness and the fact that all is right with the world. No disaster to deal with today.
It's clear, though, that I've got a tricky set of ingrained habits that must be dealt with less they derail me. I just need to learn how to let things be okay. Sounds kind of fun, frankly.
What am I doing? Everything's perfectly fine, and I'm scanning the horizon for a fight, a battle, something to go head to head about.
It seems so normal to have conflict that I frankly have a hard time imagining just being happy and getting along. Reacting has become my comfort zone, whereas calm feels disorienting.
But I can see what I'm doing, can hold still and think about it, and by the time Ian stirred from bed and we said good morning, I'd managed to reconcile myself with happiness and the fact that all is right with the world. No disaster to deal with today.
It's clear, though, that I've got a tricky set of ingrained habits that must be dealt with less they derail me. I just need to learn how to let things be okay. Sounds kind of fun, frankly.
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
Siblings
I hate to say it, but I really don't know how my siblings feel about our parents' suicides. We don't talk about it much. They each lost one parent, a parent they felt very conflicted about. They each have one parent left. They were both at different stages of their lives than me when it happened, and have different support networks and ways of coping.
My brother and I had a conversation where we discovered that we both secretly had the thought that our dad had faked his death and was living down in Mexico. It was a nice fantasy, that he had simply chosen to go live happily elsewhere. That he wasn't really gone as a result of years of sickness and depression and drug use. We wouldn't be offended at all that he'd faked his death and disappeared without saying good bye, not if that was what he needed to do. And it pleased us both that it was a mutual, spontaneous feeling.
My sister most likely fears going down the same path as our mother. There was lots of tension around that possibility, their similarities, and they fought over the fact that they thought the same and acted the same in many ways. I know my sister is deeply saddened, but I haven't gotten the nerve up to really talk to her about it.
It's easier not to talk. But the air feels vacant without the words being spoken, the relationships forged deeper, the feelings shared. I hope I find the courage, as the big sister, to open my mouth and speak.
My brother and I had a conversation where we discovered that we both secretly had the thought that our dad had faked his death and was living down in Mexico. It was a nice fantasy, that he had simply chosen to go live happily elsewhere. That he wasn't really gone as a result of years of sickness and depression and drug use. We wouldn't be offended at all that he'd faked his death and disappeared without saying good bye, not if that was what he needed to do. And it pleased us both that it was a mutual, spontaneous feeling.
My sister most likely fears going down the same path as our mother. There was lots of tension around that possibility, their similarities, and they fought over the fact that they thought the same and acted the same in many ways. I know my sister is deeply saddened, but I haven't gotten the nerve up to really talk to her about it.
It's easier not to talk. But the air feels vacant without the words being spoken, the relationships forged deeper, the feelings shared. I hope I find the courage, as the big sister, to open my mouth and speak.
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
wavelengths
Yesterday, as I was riding my bike home, the vision of wavelengths, undulating and pulsing, filled my head. I was feeling good, but pondering how the evening would go at home. Lately I've taken to worrying about how Ian and I will interact, if we'll speak easily to each other and smile, or if we'll sense a tension in each other and react.
It occurs to me that my worrying is a major contributer to the tension that takes us off track, so as I pedaled up the hill I thought about how in the world I could just stop worrying and relax. That seems to be the key to a lot of my problems. I just need to relax and give up control. Chances are I'll learn that disaster won't strike the moment I let my guard down, right? Right.
But how to relax, how to trust someone else and simply relate to them on a neutral plane? That's when the wavelengths began humming through my mind. I could see my wavelength, tight and sharp, with steep peaks and deep valleys, fueled by grief and anxiety. Overlayed on top of that was Ian's wavelength, shallower and broader, relaxed but distant. Our wavelengths aren't matching up, causing a great dissonance. And I was fairly certain that my wavelength, distorted and pitched, wouldn't match up with many others.
I liked the wavelength metaphor. If your wavelength and another person's are conflicting and off kilter, then you can't relate to them easily. You can't communicate on the same bandwidth, because you're moving in different rhythms. There is simply too much distortion.
I pictured relaxing my wavelength to a more neutral, relaxed shape. Not matching mine to anyone else's, because that seems untrue and unsustainable, but finding a natural spot to exist within a more normal range. I could envision dealing with the grief that pulls at my wavelength, which would then allow it to relax. Then I pictured Ian's wavelength adjusting from his distant, guarded shape to meet me in this neutral, relaxed range. The harmony that seemed possible--our two lines moving together--was inspiring.
It occurs to me that my worrying is a major contributer to the tension that takes us off track, so as I pedaled up the hill I thought about how in the world I could just stop worrying and relax. That seems to be the key to a lot of my problems. I just need to relax and give up control. Chances are I'll learn that disaster won't strike the moment I let my guard down, right? Right.
But how to relax, how to trust someone else and simply relate to them on a neutral plane? That's when the wavelengths began humming through my mind. I could see my wavelength, tight and sharp, with steep peaks and deep valleys, fueled by grief and anxiety. Overlayed on top of that was Ian's wavelength, shallower and broader, relaxed but distant. Our wavelengths aren't matching up, causing a great dissonance. And I was fairly certain that my wavelength, distorted and pitched, wouldn't match up with many others.
I liked the wavelength metaphor. If your wavelength and another person's are conflicting and off kilter, then you can't relate to them easily. You can't communicate on the same bandwidth, because you're moving in different rhythms. There is simply too much distortion.
I pictured relaxing my wavelength to a more neutral, relaxed shape. Not matching mine to anyone else's, because that seems untrue and unsustainable, but finding a natural spot to exist within a more normal range. I could envision dealing with the grief that pulls at my wavelength, which would then allow it to relax. Then I pictured Ian's wavelength adjusting from his distant, guarded shape to meet me in this neutral, relaxed range. The harmony that seemed possible--our two lines moving together--was inspiring.
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