I have been blogophobic for some time now. I have had plenty of interesting things to write about, but I am so hung up in my noggin', nothing will actually manifest into text.
It could be a few different things, but unfortunately, the biggest problem is I am depressed. Acute depression, (as if MY depression would be ugly, pffft!) I am so just joking with that vanity. Trust me.
I am conflicted. And when my mind is conflicted, it is pre-occupied. Not a lot of room for ancillary thought processes.
I have had a few traumatic experiences in the last two months. I wasn't as bothered as I felt I should have been. I have this weird thing called coping that I do. I don't see it often in others. I see lots of people who like to really get down in their traumas and play victim and milk it for attention. I didn't report these to the police, and I should because what if these people do this sort of thing again and are successful. If a man attacks me, I fight like a man. No woman has ever had the guts to even mouth off at me, so I must look like I would be hell in a fight.
Truth is, I have, until recently, only ever been in a physical altercation with someone with whom I was currently sharing a bed and lying to others saying we were in a "relationship".
I'm not the type of person that spews bravado, or goes around looking to fight. I have always prided myself on being able to diplomatically work through things and calm people down and always stay calm myself.
But, I think maybe I was repressing a bit. AM repressing a bit. This is the only reason I have ever had a psychiatrist, to confirm if I was coping or repressing. I always got a coping stamp, but it is always the biggest question eating away at me when I don't get all torn up over something that really ought to bother me.
I guess I'm just not willing to fall to pieces over something that almost happened. I am always the survivor, I never take on the mantle of victim. Even if I was, I would never see it that way.
But, perhaps it's these two events that have kept me from having anything much to say. It all seems sort of trivial. I'm not scared, I'm more just disappointed in humanity. Again. What the f*** is the matter with people these days?
I feel like we should move. I had always felt pretty safe in our area, but this is just unacceptable and I don't like having to look over my shoulder if I have to go out after dark, across the road, no more than 50 yards from our front door to pick up something I forgot.
I had to sit down and write something. Sometimes, if I just start writing, the issues will declare themselves to me and what I can't get to through thought will end up spilling out into my writing. That is how my writing became a thing that I did in the first place. I used it to extract the thoughts I couldn't access in the conventional ways. This site has always been that sort of outlet for me. I start to write and a few paragraphs in, I've got my diagnosis and my cure, because once I have the problem at hand, I can begin to sort through it, or as I do in most cases, let it go, let it go, let it go.
I know there is a catalogue of grief to choose from, that is just the reality of life. I am un-vexed by the past, it will only ever be recent or un-addressed issues that sneak in and steal my focus. I don't feel hard done by, or anything like that. Just like I said, disappointed and sad that this is the world we live in and the sick twisted spinning rock in the middle of nowhere that I've created life and bestowed upon my sons this mess of an existence.
Of course, their trials will be different from mine. All I can do is arm them with the skills they need to cleverly survive and thrive under whatever circumstances they may find themselves.
This is a start.
It appears it is all I have to give at present.
A burden shared is a burden halved, isn't that some feel good cliche your hairdresser feeds you when you apologize for telling too much personal business?
I've heard it said, never to me, but if telling one is halving it, broadcasting on a public forum ought to dispose of it entirely.
We'll see if I have my need to write returned to me and I can move on.
I am sure this is the lamest, most boring entry I could possibly torture a reader with, but it bears deep gratitude for your time and tolerance of my belly-aching.
I just thought it was all rolling off my back like water on a duck dipped in car wax. It didn't seem quite the correct response. I should have reacted in some way. I was beginning to think I had buried something unresolved and that was what was causing some other problems.
At any rate, it's nice to have an outlet to vent.
It could be a few different things, but unfortunately, the biggest problem is I am depressed. Acute depression, (as if MY depression would be ugly, pffft!) I am so just joking with that vanity. Trust me.
I am conflicted. And when my mind is conflicted, it is pre-occupied. Not a lot of room for ancillary thought processes.
I have had a few traumatic experiences in the last two months. I wasn't as bothered as I felt I should have been. I have this weird thing called coping that I do. I don't see it often in others. I see lots of people who like to really get down in their traumas and play victim and milk it for attention. I didn't report these to the police, and I should because what if these people do this sort of thing again and are successful. If a man attacks me, I fight like a man. No woman has ever had the guts to even mouth off at me, so I must look like I would be hell in a fight.
Truth is, I have, until recently, only ever been in a physical altercation with someone with whom I was currently sharing a bed and lying to others saying we were in a "relationship".
I'm not the type of person that spews bravado, or goes around looking to fight. I have always prided myself on being able to diplomatically work through things and calm people down and always stay calm myself.
But, I think maybe I was repressing a bit. AM repressing a bit. This is the only reason I have ever had a psychiatrist, to confirm if I was coping or repressing. I always got a coping stamp, but it is always the biggest question eating away at me when I don't get all torn up over something that really ought to bother me.
I guess I'm just not willing to fall to pieces over something that almost happened. I am always the survivor, I never take on the mantle of victim. Even if I was, I would never see it that way.
But, perhaps it's these two events that have kept me from having anything much to say. It all seems sort of trivial. I'm not scared, I'm more just disappointed in humanity. Again. What the f*** is the matter with people these days?
I feel like we should move. I had always felt pretty safe in our area, but this is just unacceptable and I don't like having to look over my shoulder if I have to go out after dark, across the road, no more than 50 yards from our front door to pick up something I forgot.
I had to sit down and write something. Sometimes, if I just start writing, the issues will declare themselves to me and what I can't get to through thought will end up spilling out into my writing. That is how my writing became a thing that I did in the first place. I used it to extract the thoughts I couldn't access in the conventional ways. This site has always been that sort of outlet for me. I start to write and a few paragraphs in, I've got my diagnosis and my cure, because once I have the problem at hand, I can begin to sort through it, or as I do in most cases, let it go, let it go, let it go.
I know there is a catalogue of grief to choose from, that is just the reality of life. I am un-vexed by the past, it will only ever be recent or un-addressed issues that sneak in and steal my focus. I don't feel hard done by, or anything like that. Just like I said, disappointed and sad that this is the world we live in and the sick twisted spinning rock in the middle of nowhere that I've created life and bestowed upon my sons this mess of an existence.
Of course, their trials will be different from mine. All I can do is arm them with the skills they need to cleverly survive and thrive under whatever circumstances they may find themselves.
This is a start.
It appears it is all I have to give at present.
A burden shared is a burden halved, isn't that some feel good cliche your hairdresser feeds you when you apologize for telling too much personal business?
I've heard it said, never to me, but if telling one is halving it, broadcasting on a public forum ought to dispose of it entirely.
We'll see if I have my need to write returned to me and I can move on.
I am sure this is the lamest, most boring entry I could possibly torture a reader with, but it bears deep gratitude for your time and tolerance of my belly-aching.
I just thought it was all rolling off my back like water on a duck dipped in car wax. It didn't seem quite the correct response. I should have reacted in some way. I was beginning to think I had buried something unresolved and that was what was causing some other problems.
At any rate, it's nice to have an outlet to vent.
