Too little for too long and your body will forget to remind you anymore and just take matters into it own proverbial hands.
Nodding asleep while driving, the worst time, is a sign perhaps too late in coming.
The adrenaline that results, a survival instinct, will only last a short while.
That is to say if you have abused your body and tested your endurance.
Coffee, strong enough, may save you, but look what you have just done.
The perpetuation of a cycle, a downward spiral in the clouds;
You really cannot see what is below.
You can only hope that the next time it will end as well.
And you make it home to bed.
Thursday, October 18, 2012
Why so shy?
What keeps me from...
Telling her what I really think/feel. Where the sea is rocking the proverbial boat already. The thought of adding to the stress, the 'shit' of daily life and what we must deal with outside of ourselves. I suddenly realize that there are a lot of people (outside of 'she'), other she's if you will, that I will allow only as much as I (subjectively I might add) feel that they can handle. Why inflict 'myself' on anyone?
Oddly, there are those that seem to martyr themselves to the shy and introverted, anxious and depressed by taking in or listening to our hurt, our 'crap' and empathize/sympathize with us (me). [aside: So, what is the real difference between emp and symp, when it comes to 'athizing'?]
I hear them say, "You can share/speak/talk with me." A basic form of, "I don't mind." will usually follow. It is not that easy, even with permission...
I have, and I try not to sound to prideful in saying, shared a lot more recently than in much of my life combined. There is much more, yet I will relate that I do not want to taint the image of what I would like
Writing, it is not quite like opening a vein (or artery for that matter) where the words flow easily (as I would like). Perhaps there is a want to put down what seems three or four dimentional in my thoughts into a two dimentional and very linear sentence...
Telling her what I really think/feel. Where the sea is rocking the proverbial boat already. The thought of adding to the stress, the 'shit' of daily life and what we must deal with outside of ourselves. I suddenly realize that there are a lot of people (outside of 'she'), other she's if you will, that I will allow only as much as I (subjectively I might add) feel that they can handle. Why inflict 'myself' on anyone?
Oddly, there are those that seem to martyr themselves to the shy and introverted, anxious and depressed by taking in or listening to our hurt, our 'crap' and empathize/sympathize with us (me). [aside: So, what is the real difference between emp and symp, when it comes to 'athizing'?]
I hear them say, "You can share/speak/talk with me." A basic form of, "I don't mind." will usually follow. It is not that easy, even with permission...
I have, and I try not to sound to prideful in saying, shared a lot more recently than in much of my life combined. There is much more, yet I will relate that I do not want to taint the image of what I would like
Writing, it is not quite like opening a vein (or artery for that matter) where the words flow easily (as I would like). Perhaps there is a want to put down what seems three or four dimentional in my thoughts into a two dimentional and very linear sentence...
Tuesday, October 16, 2012
Pain is in the eye of the beholder
Painfully shy...
I was not always painfully shy. At least I can remember a time as what I thought was normal...
Between the ages of three and five years old, I lived in England. Being American, by birth, though later in my childhood I was to find out I was adopted; I never met my "British" (biological) Mother and "Argentinian (bio) Father. I really had no clue that I was any different than any other little boy. I guess we just do not have that worldly a perspective at that age...
I went to a Public School, uniforms and all, figgy pudding at Christmas time, English lavender growing up to my waist in the gardens, Flake bars in my ice cream, a nanny, Matchbox and Corgi cars in the toy box, the whole nine yards...
The others seemed to accept me, we'd play, imagine, create, sing and run around the neighborhood, as that is what kids did back then. I vaguely remember that baseball, football and basketball were not part of my experience. Then everything changed...
My family came back to the States, and I was virtually a British kid. I sounded, thought and politely interacted with the adults, all with an unconsciously adopted British accent. The new places, faces, customs, games, etc. I do not specifically remember any of them putting me off... I went to a local school with virtually no solid internal walls, all were accordion fabric and plastic on tracks. There were no uniforms, I brought a lunch everyday to an unfamiliar, loud and boisterous cafeteria. Then I started to just notice that I really did not know how to play with these kids. I didn't know their games, I sounded different to them at first (I eventually lost the accent when my parents left me with some relatives in Georgia while they finalized stuff with our house. (They still live there to this day...) but it was that I was like a stranger in a strange land, to borrow the cliche.
Anyway, I tried to figure out what to do, but fell into my old ways (Yeah, I was 5-6 years old, so how old could "old ways" be.) I'd play, pretend, interact like I knew how. It really didn't work that well, so I kept to myself. I believe that it was at this time that Iwas forever changed by the playground hierarchy, (bullies and the bullied) along with how easily the environment distracted me with all of the noise and other classes around me. (Yes, I was one of the bullied, as I was a little husky and had big ears even then.)
I was rarely included (in the reindeer games) and did not know to make the effort beyond the first try. Resigned to playing alone at six years of age... I did not speak up, to me, that was not polite; I could not keep up and talk as fast or as forcefully, and more often than not got drowned out. Smothered by many more dominant personalities around me.
This lead me to books and something I knew how to do, read, and play on my own. I was happy to play on my own. I was really never lonely or bored. Just shy.
The distractions of the American "open design" public school proved to be to much for me, according to my parents, and I was sent to a private school. Walls, traditions, formal education, and it looked much like what I had left behind in England, except for one thing. I was now quiet and some might say visibly introverted. I was not a fighter, I never knew how (except later when frustrated with my younger sister, and Yes that is another story...) I got picked on, and I withdrew further, crying, hiding and running away to the library, where I would sit in a sunny window seat and read books the Librarian would suggest to me. [Mrs. Coates was really great.]
I was a push over, and would learn to play invisible, unnoticed by others (as far as I could tell) as they seem to have enough on their minds thinking of themselves. I played team sports, because that is what we were supposed to do. Soccer, Lacrosse, kick ball, Basketball, even pick up games of ice hockey, etc. I was never really a competitive kid, but I'd try my best. (All through Elementary and Middle school never really comfortable with Offense, I played Defense).
I often wonder what my classmates remember about me at that time, how did they see me then? Was it even in their minds to think about, the now growing (taller), curley haired kid, with crooked teeth/braces (5th to end of 7th), and (later learned) bad eyesight. I was never a class all-star when it came to grades, and it was not until 8th grade that it was realized that I really needed glasses.
There were a few that I could call friends, at the time, and those few helped me get through those years.
One afternoon I was in a study hall with an elderly Math teacher, when she fell ill and collapsed in her chair in the front of the class. I thought to run for help to the front office, and ran down the back stairs, the shortest distance to get to the back door of the school's office, but found it locked, from the outside, the next few doors I tried were also locked, and I had to run around the entire wing of the school before I could get back in. By that time others had been able to go for help (through the building) and an ambulance was called. The teacher, died, there in the classroom, though we really did not know it that day and not until the next. She was the first person I had ever seen die. I was a kid, I didn't know what to do, but run for help. (...this is before the advent of cellphones, yes I am that old...)
The day I tried to go for help, I cannot remember much beyond wandering the grounds of the school after I knew that my efforts were futile... I cannot remember what I did the rest of that day at all... I do remember how somber I felt, and how useless. I tried and had failed.
It was not my fault, I didn't even think in those terms, but I did go to my first memorial service for someone I knew. To this day I will occasionally pass the church where it was held and wonder.
Turning inwards and shy came naturally to me, and there is no specific place and time that I could pinpoint as the start, for sure, but I feel it had much to do with being an outsider in my own home country. I did not have the same continuity as a lot of the others had, growing up with their friends at that age. It was adults that made sense to me, I could relate better to them. Adults and animals. I guess that both adults and animals have certain expectations of you and they are far more predictable, less hyper and perhaps didn't seem to judge a kid as anything other than just that. A kid.
The happier side of the story (if you have read this far) is that with each successive move, to California, and New Jersey (when my Dad taught there for a Summer) and from middle school to high school, and then on to College, I was able to become more of the person that I wanted to be; A more an idealized self. "These people don't know my past shyness, my sensitivity to criticism, my need for invisibility."
I still remember that [ugly] little British/American/(Argentinian) mutt of a boy trying to find his way, without a clue, without a guide, or big brother to point me in the right direction. I just made it up as I went along.
There is only to wonder what might have happened if... but there is no reason in that, as that, "what if" is now past, and I must now rely today/now on my own best guesses. [It wouldn't hurt to have a little more confidence though...]
I was not always painfully shy. At least I can remember a time as what I thought was normal...
Between the ages of three and five years old, I lived in England. Being American, by birth, though later in my childhood I was to find out I was adopted; I never met my "British" (biological) Mother and "Argentinian (bio) Father. I really had no clue that I was any different than any other little boy. I guess we just do not have that worldly a perspective at that age...
I went to a Public School, uniforms and all, figgy pudding at Christmas time, English lavender growing up to my waist in the gardens, Flake bars in my ice cream, a nanny, Matchbox and Corgi cars in the toy box, the whole nine yards...
The others seemed to accept me, we'd play, imagine, create, sing and run around the neighborhood, as that is what kids did back then. I vaguely remember that baseball, football and basketball were not part of my experience. Then everything changed...
My family came back to the States, and I was virtually a British kid. I sounded, thought and politely interacted with the adults, all with an unconsciously adopted British accent. The new places, faces, customs, games, etc. I do not specifically remember any of them putting me off... I went to a local school with virtually no solid internal walls, all were accordion fabric and plastic on tracks. There were no uniforms, I brought a lunch everyday to an unfamiliar, loud and boisterous cafeteria. Then I started to just notice that I really did not know how to play with these kids. I didn't know their games, I sounded different to them at first (I eventually lost the accent when my parents left me with some relatives in Georgia while they finalized stuff with our house. (They still live there to this day...) but it was that I was like a stranger in a strange land, to borrow the cliche.
Anyway, I tried to figure out what to do, but fell into my old ways (Yeah, I was 5-6 years old, so how old could "old ways" be.) I'd play, pretend, interact like I knew how. It really didn't work that well, so I kept to myself. I believe that it was at this time that Iwas forever changed by the playground hierarchy, (bullies and the bullied) along with how easily the environment distracted me with all of the noise and other classes around me. (Yes, I was one of the bullied, as I was a little husky and had big ears even then.)
I was rarely included (in the reindeer games) and did not know to make the effort beyond the first try. Resigned to playing alone at six years of age... I did not speak up, to me, that was not polite; I could not keep up and talk as fast or as forcefully, and more often than not got drowned out. Smothered by many more dominant personalities around me.
This lead me to books and something I knew how to do, read, and play on my own. I was happy to play on my own. I was really never lonely or bored. Just shy.
The distractions of the American "open design" public school proved to be to much for me, according to my parents, and I was sent to a private school. Walls, traditions, formal education, and it looked much like what I had left behind in England, except for one thing. I was now quiet and some might say visibly introverted. I was not a fighter, I never knew how (except later when frustrated with my younger sister, and Yes that is another story...) I got picked on, and I withdrew further, crying, hiding and running away to the library, where I would sit in a sunny window seat and read books the Librarian would suggest to me. [Mrs. Coates was really great.]
I was a push over, and would learn to play invisible, unnoticed by others (as far as I could tell) as they seem to have enough on their minds thinking of themselves. I played team sports, because that is what we were supposed to do. Soccer, Lacrosse, kick ball, Basketball, even pick up games of ice hockey, etc. I was never really a competitive kid, but I'd try my best. (All through Elementary and Middle school never really comfortable with Offense, I played Defense).
I often wonder what my classmates remember about me at that time, how did they see me then? Was it even in their minds to think about, the now growing (taller), curley haired kid, with crooked teeth/braces (5th to end of 7th), and (later learned) bad eyesight. I was never a class all-star when it came to grades, and it was not until 8th grade that it was realized that I really needed glasses.
There were a few that I could call friends, at the time, and those few helped me get through those years.
One afternoon I was in a study hall with an elderly Math teacher, when she fell ill and collapsed in her chair in the front of the class. I thought to run for help to the front office, and ran down the back stairs, the shortest distance to get to the back door of the school's office, but found it locked, from the outside, the next few doors I tried were also locked, and I had to run around the entire wing of the school before I could get back in. By that time others had been able to go for help (through the building) and an ambulance was called. The teacher, died, there in the classroom, though we really did not know it that day and not until the next. She was the first person I had ever seen die. I was a kid, I didn't know what to do, but run for help. (...this is before the advent of cellphones, yes I am that old...)
The day I tried to go for help, I cannot remember much beyond wandering the grounds of the school after I knew that my efforts were futile... I cannot remember what I did the rest of that day at all... I do remember how somber I felt, and how useless. I tried and had failed.
It was not my fault, I didn't even think in those terms, but I did go to my first memorial service for someone I knew. To this day I will occasionally pass the church where it was held and wonder.
Turning inwards and shy came naturally to me, and there is no specific place and time that I could pinpoint as the start, for sure, but I feel it had much to do with being an outsider in my own home country. I did not have the same continuity as a lot of the others had, growing up with their friends at that age. It was adults that made sense to me, I could relate better to them. Adults and animals. I guess that both adults and animals have certain expectations of you and they are far more predictable, less hyper and perhaps didn't seem to judge a kid as anything other than just that. A kid.
The happier side of the story (if you have read this far) is that with each successive move, to California, and New Jersey (when my Dad taught there for a Summer) and from middle school to high school, and then on to College, I was able to become more of the person that I wanted to be; A more an idealized self. "These people don't know my past shyness, my sensitivity to criticism, my need for invisibility."
I still remember that [ugly] little British/American/(Argentinian) mutt of a boy trying to find his way, without a clue, without a guide, or big brother to point me in the right direction. I just made it up as I went along.
There is only to wonder what might have happened if... but there is no reason in that, as that, "what if" is now past, and I must now rely today/now on my own best guesses. [It wouldn't hurt to have a little more confidence though...]
Saturday, October 13, 2012
Another type of adrenaline junkie...
After searching for "excessive apologizing" I came across the following (which I have edited only slightly from the original http://www.socialanxietysupport.com/disorder/
And No, I am not a hypochondriac...
Social Anxiety Disorder
Social anxiety is a feeling of discomfort, fear, or worry that is centered on our interactions with other people and involves a concern with being judged negatively, evaluated, or looked down upon by others. While it can often happen during the social exchange itself, it may also pop up in anticipation of a social occasion, or afterward when we review our performance in a given situation.
Because social anxiety can often seem unwieldy or even overwhelming to understand as a single concept, it is often helpful to view it in terms of three separate components that are interrelated and can strengthen one another, leading to a cycle of anxiety:
Anxious sensations in our bodies, such as:
Apologies used to flow quite easily from my lips; there were never any qualms about taking responsibility for mistakes, thinking that I had upset others, or just looking for reasons to get down on myself.
Today - I do not apologize if I do not have to... But...
My present philosophy is to just accept responsibility for mistakes, regardless of whether they were mine or not. It just makes it easier for everybody, all round. It is as if I am smugly taking credit for everything, but in the negative. The blame will only hurt for a moment and if it keeps the peace to just 'suck-it-up' and 'bite-the-bullet' I'll do it. If I am questioned as to why... the answer... "Just because".
Occasionally I will still fall into my old, childhood, ways, and apologize for the slightest infraction, almost as a preemptive reflex...
I hear again and again, "Never say you're sorry", and I just pull out my mental thesaurus and find other word equivalents:
I beg your pardon...
My apologies...
I regret that I have failed you...
It was not my intention to /piss you off/ make such a mistake/f-this up
Yes, I F-'ed up...
It is/was all my fault...
I regret to inform you that my track record has again proven reliable in predicitng present and likely future events, failure is not uncommon...
So. What can I do to make it up to you?
How much will it cost to replace?
There is a good way and a bad way to do this, and apparently I have chosen to do the latter.
I believe that to say "I am Sorry" is just not sufficient; I would like to express my regret for having been born, in that this disaster would have been otherwise averted.
...and so on
versus
... and so it goes.
- K. Vonnegut.
And No, I am not a hypochondriac...
Social Anxiety Disorder
Social anxiety is a feeling of discomfort, fear, or worry that is centered on our interactions with other people and involves a concern with being judged negatively, evaluated, or looked down upon by others. While it can often happen during the social exchange itself, it may also pop up in anticipation of a social occasion, or afterward when we review our performance in a given situation.
Because social anxiety can often seem unwieldy or even overwhelming to understand as a single concept, it is often helpful to view it in terms of three separate components that are interrelated and can strengthen one another, leading to a cycle of anxiety:
Anxious sensations in our bodies, such as:
- Blushing - (Not so much)
- Sweating - (Definitely)
- Racing heart - (Sometimes)
- Shaking or tremor - (Nope)
- Dry mouth - (hmm, no)
- Shortness of breath - (Nope)
- Feeling faint - (No)
- "Everyone is staring at me." - (It happens, and I deal with it)
- "They'll think I'm a loser." - (I just assume this from the start)
- "I don't belong here." - (I try to ignore this feeling)
- "I won't have anything to say." - (I usually think of something, [it comes with practice])
- "People will see how nervous I am." - (Learned to hide this for the most part)
- "They won't want to talk to me again." - (Resigned to this . . .)
- "I will keep looking more and more foolish." - (...and?)
- Avoiding entering social situations - (I don't see it as avoidance, it is just a matter of staying to myself, on account that I have a difficult time getting together with friends...)
- Leaving situations - (Don't do much arriving, to do any 'leaving')
- Only entering "safe" places or with "safe" people - (see above)
- Using mobile phones, MP3 players, or other devices to avoid being in conversations - (N/A)
- Apologizing excessively - (This is a habit I have tried/been forced to correct)
- Asking for reassurance from others - (Perhaps passively, which means I really never ask...)
- Preparing excessively (memorizing what to say, extreme grooming) - (Not excessive)
- Trying to direct people's attention away from one's performance (e.g., by making jokes, dressing in a particular way, etc.) - (No. I believe it is better to be stealthy/quiet, so as to avoid attention in the first place)
- Watching for signs that people are judging us - (Do you watch when it is assumed they are judging regardless?)
Apologies used to flow quite easily from my lips; there were never any qualms about taking responsibility for mistakes, thinking that I had upset others, or just looking for reasons to get down on myself.
Today - I do not apologize if I do not have to... But...
My present philosophy is to just accept responsibility for mistakes, regardless of whether they were mine or not. It just makes it easier for everybody, all round. It is as if I am smugly taking credit for everything, but in the negative. The blame will only hurt for a moment and if it keeps the peace to just 'suck-it-up' and 'bite-the-bullet' I'll do it. If I am questioned as to why... the answer... "Just because".
Occasionally I will still fall into my old, childhood, ways, and apologize for the slightest infraction, almost as a preemptive reflex...
I hear again and again, "Never say you're sorry", and I just pull out my mental thesaurus and find other word equivalents:
I beg your pardon...
My apologies...
I regret that I have failed you...
It was not my intention to /piss you off/ make such a mistake/f-this up
Yes, I F-'ed up...
It is/was all my fault...
I regret to inform you that my track record has again proven reliable in predicitng present and likely future events, failure is not uncommon...
So. What can I do to make it up to you?
How much will it cost to replace?
There is a good way and a bad way to do this, and apparently I have chosen to do the latter.
I believe that to say "I am Sorry" is just not sufficient; I would like to express my regret for having been born, in that this disaster would have been otherwise averted.
...and so on
versus
... and so it goes.
- K. Vonnegut.
Friday, October 12, 2012
Death... What is it good for?
Man, oh man. There have been a number of deaths in the lives of friends recently, mostly parents and grandparents that have lead fairly long and productive lives, but there are occasional exceptions.
I should think logically that "at my age" I will see a lot of "stuff" and there is a certain timing to it all. Graduations, Marriages, children, divorces, taxes and death. Hmm. . . Perhaps a little morbid, if thought about one way, but another person might just shrug and think... That is just the way things are. (That is the person that is either emotionally distant from the immediate event, i.e. not themselves, an immediate friend or close relative involved or they are just biologically distant (have little feelings of empathy for anything...)
We can only find the words though practice and heartfelt reaction to the events that come before us...
Congratulations!
Happy Birthday.
Mazel Tov!
My condolences to...
I am sorry to hear that...
I am so happy for you...
They will be ______ missed.
It is as if I do not feel comfortable repeating myself, saying the same words the same way each time. I would be a terrible chef/musician/actor, as I would have a very difficult time repeating the same thing again and again. To literally say what I am thinking doesn't always work either.
My thought process is not always linear, usually very visual and the 1000 words is just a start in trying to describe the thoughts...
To say: The thoughts/feelings I have can hardly be expressed, yet I fumble through, with these words, in the hope that you can read and understand some small part of what I happened to be thinking at the time that I wrote this...[and what is unsaid is that I hope that I was able to convey clearly, hardly ever concisely, my genuine/goofy/sincere/happy/sad/glad/confused/helpful/creative/loving/elipsis...]
It is hard to have Laurie Anderson and the Talking Head's David Byrne and his lyrics bounce through my head, as guidance "...said something once,...Why say it again?"
Is it worth repeating?
Aside: In my shy youth, I would almost intentionally mumble, and may still resort to mumbling, as I "knew" that people really weren't listening to me, so why speak up, or speak clearly, as they would innevitably just say,"What? Hunh?" and I would then, with a little more volume and annunciate my words, repeat what I had just said through a rehearsed mumble. What I mean, as I think of it now, the inital mumble was almost a rehearsal, a dry run, a way to start to organize my thoughts, out loud, before their public debut. (sp?)
Many times, I could stop myself and respond to the what(?) or hunh(?) with a "no, nothing." or "it wasn't important, you go on, sorry" The apology (that is fodder for an entirely different Blog entry...)
Ugh. I should get a little sleep, and return to this later. {sure Mike, just throw out this roughest of drafts, off the top of my head, rambling. Un-edited.}
- M.O.
I should think logically that "at my age" I will see a lot of "stuff" and there is a certain timing to it all. Graduations, Marriages, children, divorces, taxes and death. Hmm. . . Perhaps a little morbid, if thought about one way, but another person might just shrug and think... That is just the way things are. (That is the person that is either emotionally distant from the immediate event, i.e. not themselves, an immediate friend or close relative involved or they are just biologically distant (have little feelings of empathy for anything...)
We can only find the words though practice and heartfelt reaction to the events that come before us...
Congratulations!
Happy Birthday.
Mazel Tov!
My condolences to...
I am sorry to hear that...
I am so happy for you...
They will be ______ missed.
It is as if I do not feel comfortable repeating myself, saying the same words the same way each time. I would be a terrible chef/musician/actor, as I would have a very difficult time repeating the same thing again and again. To literally say what I am thinking doesn't always work either.
My thought process is not always linear, usually very visual and the 1000 words is just a start in trying to describe the thoughts...
To say: The thoughts/feelings I have can hardly be expressed, yet I fumble through, with these words, in the hope that you can read and understand some small part of what I happened to be thinking at the time that I wrote this...[and what is unsaid is that I hope that I was able to convey clearly, hardly ever concisely, my genuine/goofy/sincere/happy/sad/glad/confused/helpful/creative/loving/elipsis...]
It is hard to have Laurie Anderson and the Talking Head's David Byrne and his lyrics bounce through my head, as guidance "...said something once,...Why say it again?"
Is it worth repeating?
Aside: In my shy youth, I would almost intentionally mumble, and may still resort to mumbling, as I "knew" that people really weren't listening to me, so why speak up, or speak clearly, as they would innevitably just say,"What? Hunh?" and I would then, with a little more volume and annunciate my words, repeat what I had just said through a rehearsed mumble. What I mean, as I think of it now, the inital mumble was almost a rehearsal, a dry run, a way to start to organize my thoughts, out loud, before their public debut. (sp?)
Many times, I could stop myself and respond to the what(?) or hunh(?) with a "no, nothing." or "it wasn't important, you go on, sorry" The apology (that is fodder for an entirely different Blog entry...)
Ugh. I should get a little sleep, and return to this later. {sure Mike, just throw out this roughest of drafts, off the top of my head, rambling. Un-edited.}
- M.O.
Thursday, September 27, 2012
What difference a day makes
After a long and semi-productive day at work, an evening of class lecture, and an uneventful commute to and from each, I called home to speak with my wife.
We had a normal conversation, I listened to the events of her day and as I listened and responded and asked questions... everything seemed so normal. Positive. I asked if she was in a good mood. She responded with, "an Okay mood."
I even took out a list of questions that I had written the other day, when I was feeling self-piteous and a bit depressed. None of the questions seemed apropos and there was no good segue to be made.
Oh and looking at the clock, it was a few minutes after 11 pm when we started talking and by the time I thought I could have transitioned into other, more personal, subjects it was 11:30 pm. There is no way that I was going to delve into emotional issues after 11:30 on a weeknight.
One would think that a conversation such as the one that I had intended should be in person. The strange thing is that she and I have longer conversations on Skype or the telephone in the last 13 years than we have ever had in person.
I will have to re-write some of these questions, and consider more fully her position.
Strange, to think that I would need to prepare for a conversation with my wife, but to be unprepared, or less prepared, I will certainly forget something I wanted to ask or work on with her...
Till tomorrow then.
We had a normal conversation, I listened to the events of her day and as I listened and responded and asked questions... everything seemed so normal. Positive. I asked if she was in a good mood. She responded with, "an Okay mood."
I even took out a list of questions that I had written the other day, when I was feeling self-piteous and a bit depressed. None of the questions seemed apropos and there was no good segue to be made.
Oh and looking at the clock, it was a few minutes after 11 pm when we started talking and by the time I thought I could have transitioned into other, more personal, subjects it was 11:30 pm. There is no way that I was going to delve into emotional issues after 11:30 on a weeknight.
One would think that a conversation such as the one that I had intended should be in person. The strange thing is that she and I have longer conversations on Skype or the telephone in the last 13 years than we have ever had in person.
I will have to re-write some of these questions, and consider more fully her position.
Strange, to think that I would need to prepare for a conversation with my wife, but to be unprepared, or less prepared, I will certainly forget something I wanted to ask or work on with her...
Till tomorrow then.
Tuesday, September 25, 2012
Falling apart again
To forsee ones own death at the hands of some random (terrible) driver, three times over, while traveling my weekly miles from home to my little rented hovel, my base camp to get to work during the week, made me very sad. It was a feeling that washed over me similar to resignation in the face of death. It was then that I heard my internal dialogue say, "Well, what can I do. How will I survive, where can I anticipate and attempt to avoid the seemingly inevitable." And then I lived. The terrible driver moved on, or stopped being terrible for an instant, long enough to prevent my demise.
To look at the failure of a relationship, if there was ever sincere effort put in, has no one reason. Too many of us are so rigid and habituated to the status quo, that change, which may be, no, IS inevitable comes as a surprise or an irritant or just that thing that we don't want to deal with, "Because it's to hard..." I recognize this in myself, and wonder if I could fight for a relationship that may not have failed, but reverted to something completely different. (Fw/oB)
This is my thought, my dilema, to be brutally honest; I really do not know whether I am strong enough to stand up and ask, make, or force some change. To be married to one's best friend is a great thing, to spend more than a 1/3 of a marriage geographically apart from one another kinda prevents the intimate part of a marriage to remain. We live as "geographic bachelors" the both of us.
In an aside: There are so many military members that return from deployment and 10 months to a year later a child is born. The return, the happy reunion, the readjustment of roles in the household is a constant issue. Put on top of that any other stressors, moving, job stressors, PTSD/TBI, a child or children, finances, and so many other things... and it is a wonder that the military divorce rate is not higher.
To live as a father, loving, with warmth, encouragement, enthusiasm and kindness toward his children has been a desire, a dream of mine since, high school, and I wonder to this day whether I will ever have that chance. It hurts my heart right now to think of it. What is to become of me. Am I to old, damaged goods, incapable, a dreamer that missed his chance? ... I suppose I could arrive at that pretty easily. But I do not want to. Right now I just want to better myself academically, and find work helping others, perhaps as an Occupational Therapist or something... similar.
The other element to this dream is my spouse, my wife, my friend, my partner, my better half. Does she want the same anymore. We had dreams together of becoming parents, and we are quietly reminded of our failure. (In so many ways, on a daily basis) We could not make a child, it matters not why, but we couldn't. There has been a lot of time to think about this. I have had some hard times and have shed many tears at the missed chances. I could reel off reasons, we didn't do IT enough, I was not home enough to even try. My depression got in the way, there was infertility and medical intervention did not work. We married to late, maybe the surgery from years ago affected something... There was not enough time that I felt 'manly', in charge, powerful, intelligent, happy, sexy, loveable, desirable, etc. Monkey wrench of monkey wrenches, I join the Military, and end up away for years at a time. "We'll make the best of it," we say, "We aren't ready yet, you have to finish school and get established, you have this next deployment, we cant sell this house and move together, as that would again take you away from a stable well paying career job. We can live apart. It'll be okay...
Perhaps I am afraid to ask her anymore. I do not want to play a blame game; make anyone angry.
"Adoption is still out?" I want to ask. Yet, I already know the answer, I could literally finish her sentences by now. So, what changes? Do I resign myself to what is? What do I stand up for, as there is no guarantee that I will not produce a rift, animosity, and stir up old feelings. [End a marriage]
Politicians are great at giving safe, intelligent non-answers; How will the silence ever answer the unasked questions.
o Since we still love each other, yet may not be "In love" with one another, what do we do about it?
o Sex three times a year, or less, is that not unusual for a married couple?
o Why don't you ask me... tell me... show me that you want more, or something different? (You shoud know by now that I suck at reading minds.)
o Why do I keep making mistakes that make you angry?
o Why do you make me feel very small, emasculated, at times when I fail your expectations? and then receive an apology... as the damage is already done.
o How can we love and be so far apart, geographically, physically, at times in the same room, on the same sofa?
o Why do you not want to be near me, hold me, cuddle and just be in close contact? I miss that, a lot.
o Why do I live in fear of what you might think of. . . sometimes, I really do not know what... I am just fearful (anxious) of something I have done, or will do. (A cabinet door open, a car alarm not set, something left home that I meant to bring... I pick up, re arrange or move something that when discovered to be missing was the wrong thing to do)
o Can't we find time to do more together? (I tried a "Date Night" and that fell apart.)
o With my self esteem down the crapper at times, I know that I do not appear to be an appealing choice in a mate. Do you see it as rarely "for better and more often "for worse?"
o What do you need me for? What good am I to your life? I have to ask the same of myself.
o Is there any potential you see on some horizon, some wish that you hope comes true? For us? For you?
o Why do you ask my opinion and get upset when I do not answer as you thought I should? There are many times that I do not know an answer, or have no opinion on the subject...
o Can you ask questions, more simply, directly, without passive aggressive manipulation? (When you are miffed with me.)
We sure have a lot of stuff, junk, and 'shit' that I am a bit overwhelmed about what to do with. You have a very hard time letting things go and defer to me. I have so little time to set aside to give to the overwhelming number of small household projects, requiring tools, materials and planning.
I wish I was brave enough to have you read this... and hope that you might understand and answer me honestly. Ask, if you do not understand a question, or require clarification...
- M.O.
To look at the failure of a relationship, if there was ever sincere effort put in, has no one reason. Too many of us are so rigid and habituated to the status quo, that change, which may be, no, IS inevitable comes as a surprise or an irritant or just that thing that we don't want to deal with, "Because it's to hard..." I recognize this in myself, and wonder if I could fight for a relationship that may not have failed, but reverted to something completely different. (Fw/oB)
This is my thought, my dilema, to be brutally honest; I really do not know whether I am strong enough to stand up and ask, make, or force some change. To be married to one's best friend is a great thing, to spend more than a 1/3 of a marriage geographically apart from one another kinda prevents the intimate part of a marriage to remain. We live as "geographic bachelors" the both of us.
In an aside: There are so many military members that return from deployment and 10 months to a year later a child is born. The return, the happy reunion, the readjustment of roles in the household is a constant issue. Put on top of that any other stressors, moving, job stressors, PTSD/TBI, a child or children, finances, and so many other things... and it is a wonder that the military divorce rate is not higher.
To live as a father, loving, with warmth, encouragement, enthusiasm and kindness toward his children has been a desire, a dream of mine since, high school, and I wonder to this day whether I will ever have that chance. It hurts my heart right now to think of it. What is to become of me. Am I to old, damaged goods, incapable, a dreamer that missed his chance? ... I suppose I could arrive at that pretty easily. But I do not want to. Right now I just want to better myself academically, and find work helping others, perhaps as an Occupational Therapist or something... similar.
The other element to this dream is my spouse, my wife, my friend, my partner, my better half. Does she want the same anymore. We had dreams together of becoming parents, and we are quietly reminded of our failure. (In so many ways, on a daily basis) We could not make a child, it matters not why, but we couldn't. There has been a lot of time to think about this. I have had some hard times and have shed many tears at the missed chances. I could reel off reasons, we didn't do IT enough, I was not home enough to even try. My depression got in the way, there was infertility and medical intervention did not work. We married to late, maybe the surgery from years ago affected something... There was not enough time that I felt 'manly', in charge, powerful, intelligent, happy, sexy, loveable, desirable, etc. Monkey wrench of monkey wrenches, I join the Military, and end up away for years at a time. "We'll make the best of it," we say, "We aren't ready yet, you have to finish school and get established, you have this next deployment, we cant sell this house and move together, as that would again take you away from a stable well paying career job. We can live apart. It'll be okay...
Perhaps I am afraid to ask her anymore. I do not want to play a blame game; make anyone angry.
"Adoption is still out?" I want to ask. Yet, I already know the answer, I could literally finish her sentences by now. So, what changes? Do I resign myself to what is? What do I stand up for, as there is no guarantee that I will not produce a rift, animosity, and stir up old feelings. [End a marriage]
Politicians are great at giving safe, intelligent non-answers; How will the silence ever answer the unasked questions.
o Since we still love each other, yet may not be "In love" with one another, what do we do about it?
o Sex three times a year, or less, is that not unusual for a married couple?
o Why don't you ask me... tell me... show me that you want more, or something different? (You shoud know by now that I suck at reading minds.)
o Why do I keep making mistakes that make you angry?
o Why do you make me feel very small, emasculated, at times when I fail your expectations? and then receive an apology... as the damage is already done.
o How can we love and be so far apart, geographically, physically, at times in the same room, on the same sofa?
o Why do you not want to be near me, hold me, cuddle and just be in close contact? I miss that, a lot.
o Why do I live in fear of what you might think of. . . sometimes, I really do not know what... I am just fearful (anxious) of something I have done, or will do. (A cabinet door open, a car alarm not set, something left home that I meant to bring... I pick up, re arrange or move something that when discovered to be missing was the wrong thing to do)
o Can't we find time to do more together? (I tried a "Date Night" and that fell apart.)
o With my self esteem down the crapper at times, I know that I do not appear to be an appealing choice in a mate. Do you see it as rarely "for better and more often "for worse?"
o What do you need me for? What good am I to your life? I have to ask the same of myself.
o Is there any potential you see on some horizon, some wish that you hope comes true? For us? For you?
o Why do you ask my opinion and get upset when I do not answer as you thought I should? There are many times that I do not know an answer, or have no opinion on the subject...
o Can you ask questions, more simply, directly, without passive aggressive manipulation? (When you are miffed with me.)
We sure have a lot of stuff, junk, and 'shit' that I am a bit overwhelmed about what to do with. You have a very hard time letting things go and defer to me. I have so little time to set aside to give to the overwhelming number of small household projects, requiring tools, materials and planning.
I wish I was brave enough to have you read this... and hope that you might understand and answer me honestly. Ask, if you do not understand a question, or require clarification...
- M.O.
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