As much as I throw it out there that letting go of things is a healthy way to exist, I'm not always so good at being a person who lets go of things. I have a tendency to perseverate. My husband and I will have a disagreement over something, and days later I am still stuck on a particular thing he said that I thought was wrong, and having repeated conversations with myself where in I roleplay both of us and stick my point to him over and over until he falls over from the sheer brilliance of my superior mind.
Or some drama on the internet will settle hooks into my gray matter and no matter how useless it may be, I find myself idly drawn to hunting down more tidbits of information or opinion. Sometimes its not even an issue I particularly take sides in, but part of me just can't help but watch it unfold. I pick up nuance and opinion and data and start playing them on an endless background loop.
My shrink said that I do this in order to distract myself from my deeper feelings of fear and loss, of self-loathing and shame. I would counter that as I age I find less to loathe about myself, but I can't help but admit that I still struggle with all of those things.
If life were fair and if life unfolded according to my plan...probably we'd all fall off the surface of the planet because I would have forgotten to make sure we always had gravity turned on.
So then you'll agree its probably best I'm not in charge of this whole shebang.
I'm struggling lately with feelings of loneliness and fear. By the time my husband comes home from this job he will have been gone...a lot. Putting numbers on it doesn't really do anything but make it seem worse. Lets just say gone more than he's been home. And I'm selfish. Even when I know that he, as a capital-M Man has the same drive that I have to shoot the biggest mammoth I can in order to provide for my family, I still at the bottom most layer of it just really want him to not be gone. I want someone besides the Betta Fish on my kitchen counter to talk to in evenings when the kids are at their dads. I want to go out to breakfast with SG, not alone and certainly not with the kids. I want to come home to my husband's arms and his being glad to see me at the end of the day.
And I find myself being childish and petulant about it.
I think of my son, upset because he can't play his beloved game. He makes it into a Supreme Court Case. "If you really loved me you'd let me play." "My life is ruined right now and nothing will make it better." "I hate you." "Global warming will end if you just let me play my game." (No, he didn't really say that. I made it up. But how cool would it be if he DID say that? How utterly cool?)
I catch myself being dramatic even in my thoughts.
I'm always alone.
No one will ever really love me.
We're all going to die in a fiery explosion because I have to be celibate for three months.
IF HE REALLY LOVED ME HE'D GIVE UP EVERYTHING JUST TO BE WITH ME.
You know, stuff along those lines. Real sane, level-headed, purposeful CLEAR thinking. Ha, I crack myself up.
And I'm not really sure how to make that thought cycle stop.