Emotional Grunge

May days are hell days for me. It is the worst month of the year for my allergies and I am constantly inundated with symptoms ranging from an itchy nose to an itchy brain.

{With the nose, I’m always squeezing it with a fist; the itchy brain, nothing really helps that}

Soon enough the trees will be finished spawning and I will feel human on my feet again. I enjoy the spring and the hope of exciting things to come in the summer. If I don’t prune my roses a bit – they won’t be coming, I am sure of that. My office is on the third floor of my house, I can see mid tree-line out my windows and it feels a bit lush with all the leaves bloomed and waving. The giant Copper Beech tree out front blooms red to green and I adore the change, although it is the tree that makes me suffer the most.

Funny how often the things we adore or the people we love can cause us the most discomfort or pain.

I feel like I have a bit of emotional grunge happening. I would like to blame it on that crazy full Megalodon moon everybody was talking about the other night but I am not that far in denial to just wave it off as crazy. My birthday is this month and every year I am filled with dread at the thought of turning a new age. I suppose less the age itself and more the significance of milestones. I have so often been the girl with the rule book. What is expected of me? How should I look? When I got married for the third time in August 2001 – I was sure I had gotten it right finally. We had been together a few years and he asked me to marry him. I was in school for muscular therapy at the time, a couple of years sober and working full-time. I was sure we had all the ingredients to reach the middle class pipe dream, have a couple of kids, buy a pretty house. I would make family dinners and entertain. Similar to Leave it to Beaver. Yup – those damn t.v. sitcom families have been setting my ideals since I can remember. Fortunately, for my influence bug Showtime and HBO have come up with some more realistic families for me to watch over my adult years. Although highly glamorized for all of our High definition viewing pleasure. I find it easier to relate to chaos, comedy and lots of error. I laugh out loud constantly when I watch The New Adventures of the Old Christine. She nails the insecurities and sadness with a physical humor and illing grace that always makes me giddy.

Writing in my office with my bedroom down the hall on a floor of my own wasn’t what I thought I would be doing in this big pretty house all these years later. I cleaned out the big blue house recently. I took over fifty trash bags to the curb. The amount of clothes, toys, sporting gear and paper that has collected in my house over the past 9 years of residence felt impenetrable. It wasn’t until I committed to calling it a memory and stuffing it in an expandable hefty that I could even begin the process of purging. Then I did it. Full on attacked room by room and emptied the house of cobwebs, clutter and made it into a more suited and comfortable space for our family’s lifestyle. I have poured myself into making the house just right. Just right so I can feel at home. I have always been so busy in my mind and striving to have all the right ingredients I never give my ass a chance to sit down and breathe. Take it in. Feel what a home feels like. Home has always felt chaotic to me. My mind is so often cluttered and jammed with demands and committees of do-gooders, generally I feel like I am on a wire all the time.

Here I sit now, trying to figure out what next.

What I will do next and how I am feeling are probably two very different things. Over the years living with myself and all of the consequences I can rack up quickly, I have learned to not act on my impulses so spontaneously. I believe I told you the story of fulfilling my hour-long dream of becoming a military police officer. I signed up for six years on my lunch break one day long ago. It seemed like the answer to all my problems at the time. I’ve had to tone down those behaviors a bit for the sake of adulthood and my children’s best interest. Instead of running away and changing my entire life because of sadness/loneliness/fear/addiction I take short breaks from my family. I consistently do the next right thing I am supposed to as a mother and somebody’s partner. That is certainly not to say I am doing it like June Cleaver anymore or pretending to even give a shit about matching utensils anymore. I am getting it done. The clothes get washed, the kids get fed and loved, the dog gets to the park more often and all those fucking papers that were piled over that gorgeous granite are gone. It’s pretty neat and spiffy for a house that seems to never fully sleep.

How I feel about the state of my personal affairs lately changes weekly. By my side are weekly therapy, daily writing and Cellexa. Fucked if I know if it’s working or not. I know I am not scratching my skin off with anxiety and self loathing so that’s good. I keep repeating some of these actions in my essays because that also serves as a gentle reminder of the commitment I have made to myself. I have made a promise to myself that I would essentially give peace a chance. Allow myself time to learn how to feel, how to grow as a woman.

Inside, I feel sad. SAD. SAD. SAD. Weepy and childish. Returned has that longing to be cradled. I don’t even really care to read the previous sentence, I only wrote it because it keeps coming up in my mind. I feel like a failure at every romantic relationship I have had and don’t feel hopeful for the coming times. Encouraged by my therapist to experience a feeling to its source – that’s the shit I come up with. I’m a loser. It feels like something I am not very interested in.

Hence, all of the other self-medicating, that itself is a daily beast. I am tired of fighting the universe all the time to gain control. Sometimes it is just raining and I need to get wet. It is a chance and time for renewal for me. I have all of the ingredients I suppose. All I can do is keep trying to learn about these moods, talking about grief and survival, accepting some of what the world has to offer. Most importantly I’m not God. ~ I don’t know any of the answers and I am not in charge of this battleship.

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Words and images on this blog are copyrighted and not to be reproduced in any way without my express permission in writing. Please contact me with any queries at cognitive-ly@live.com

3 thoughts on “Emotional Grunge

  1. I enjoy your raw truth, your flow of emotions no matter how you may think they sound in your head or how they come across to the audience reading.

    Life is life.

    Some things you stated has moved me inside. Like how I feel like a loser as well. Not because of the space I want from life or from people around. But because I spend more time frozen in some kind of fear, sadness, despair for no hope, for no positivity for just shutting down any thought of happiness. For repeating these cycles because the hardest part is to start something and second will come “try something new.”

    I’m learning how to surrender slowly to life itself. I already know everything isn’t in my grasp and thank god, I wouldn’t want it to be. But I’m growing up in my skin that is slowly changing because of age. How do I make things fit together like wanting new addictions? How do I heal my wounded child to become that successful adult I feel I’m meant to be?

    I appreciate you sharing. The title caught me. I knew you were going to let some heavy stuff out here and there. Well, I think I get you. Sometimes I get things. A knack for simply understanding.

    Sorry for the babble. 😀

  2. I don’t have any answers for you, just observations and a perspective not unlike yours:
    How to take care of others when you need to work on yourself just as much..? It’s a cruel parallel line that requires as much maintenance as you can give, only double.

    Where does the energy come from? Haha, I have to laugh at it often because I’ll go crazy otherwise. It comes from nowhere; the proverbial void and doesn’t need any further explanation.


    You make me think and conduct self-examination whenever I read your blog. I suppose I’m as close to a groupie as you can get without my undergarments your stage. No Creeper, yo.

    Anyway, I’m another lost traveler, looking for a way to happiness, even though it seems close enough to motorboat.

    That’s all I have to give tonight. Thanks, as always, for the platform.

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