I don’t generally admit to emotional weakness…but-
There are days in which the melancholy threatens to take over and I’m afraid that if I start crying I might never stop. It’s not necessarily a bad thing. I think it’s really a sort of mental catharsis that happens when I’ve repressed too much stuff or there’s just a back log of unresolved emotional detritus that I need to try to address and resolve- or at least name. Even though I navigate fairly well in the “world of normal,” I’ve got to love the Asperger’s/HFA/autistic disconnect between the feeling and thinking parts of my brain. If I can’t name it, I can’t deal with it- but the rational side of my head doesn’t communicate well with the nameless, wordless emotional side. Not at all. Don’t ask me to be rational when emotional has control. I lose whatever eloquence and reason I thought I had, as well as any words I thought I could use to express what I don’t think words can express.
In other words, I simply have to accept the disappointment and regret and that old favorite, guilt, that I live with, or somehow learn to get past all of that. It’s easier said than done.
There’s always the fact that I have absolutely no courage. It’s hard to say that but it’s absolutely true. I loathe conflict. That’s probably why I get taken advantage of so easily. Despite all the knowledge that feeding alligators only makes them bolder and hungrier, that’s exactly what I do. I know I’m being exploited in many ways by just about every person I have dealings with, but I don’t speak out against it because I don’t know how to do it without the emotional side of my head butting in and making me forget the perfectly rational arguments I’ve prepared in self-defense.
I’m reduced to whatever it takes for you (meaning anyone who’s not me) to shut up and stop making demands of me…except that it’s never enough.
I’ll talk for hours about things automotive, things I find funny, the weather, politics, whatever- but don’t ask me how I feel. Most of the time I really don’t know how I feel, and I don’t usually take the time to analyze my emotional state. I enjoy good intellectual, rational conversation, but, I try not to feel- much less talk about the whole vexing realm of feelings. It’s less painful that way. The really bad thing about that is that I really need to do exactly that- some old fashioned venting- but I don’t really have anyone available to me that I can trust with that kind of stuff. I don’t want to admit to such a depth of vulnerability.
There is a saying that denial is not just an old river in Egypt, but for me I think repression is a better term than denial. I know I have tons of emotional garbage that have accumulated for decades, but I have absolutely no clue how to deal with it. I know binge drinking and chronic overwork aren’t healthy ways to deal with it (gave up binge drinking years ago, the chronic overwork…eh, I still have issues with that at times…)
It just keeps piling up…
There are a lot of things I wish I weren’t too afraid to do. It’s not so much about seeking revenge or retribution. I have no desire to inflict the same aggravation I’ve endured on anyone else. As angry as I can get, (and my primary emotions are fear and anger) even if I have the rare opportunity to get retribution, it’s usually hollowly unsatisfying.
I know I can wish in one hand and shit in the other and we all know which one will fill up first.
I don’t want to disappoint anyone or reject anyone. I really just want to fade into the wall and leave as little of an imprint as I can- not offending anyone or intruding on anyone’s space.
Kyrie elaison – God have mercy. God knows I need it.
Maybe the reason for my recent fascination with the life and times of General George S. Patton is that he represents the exact opposite of someone like me. I think he had the ability to work through the emotional discord that has to result from the love of battle versus the love of life (or in at least some consideration for the self preservation instinct.) I don’t have that courage or that love of conflict, but in some ways I wish I did. I almost wish I could be more ruthless and staid instead of just putting forth a bland and unfeeling façade. I wish I had passion, but any passion I might have had withered away and blew off years ago. I’m not kidding when I say that living in the garden of memory is not only safer for me, but sometimes it’s the only place where I can really feel alive.
I wish I could be that ruthless, but in honesty, I can’t.