I’m feeling much less angry today. Nothing’s changed (other
than the passage of time), I just feel less angry.
Those times when I am feeling completely powerless and
trapped are some of the most difficult times to get through. They used to be
the times I would drink a fifth of vodka, or eat a dinner for two from Chin
Chin, or throw things, or just generally become hysterical, or any combination
of those things.
None of those things are options for me anymore. Well,
except the eating, but I have so many allergies all I can binge on are rice
cakes and bananas and stupid shit like that. I fantasize about sticking my
entire face into a double thick, extra, extra cheese pizza – my husband used to
make those for me, and OH MY GOD could they take the edge off.
My primary tool for remaining sane these days is straight-up
distraction. Watch a movie, read in the news about other people’s problems and
the horrible state of the world, play word games online, read fiction – I do
still have reading, my first and most reliable way to get out of my own mind. It
has saved me over and over and over throughout my entire life. It’s one of the
reasons I love writing, because knowing I can give someone else something to
read that takes them out of their stress, even if only for a few minutes, makes
me feel very happy about myself.
One of my most useful and effective ways of getting out of
the trapped-in-a-corner-hysterical-rage times was to go on walks. I’m sure I’ve
mentioned it on here before, but I just really do miss my walks. Usually basic,
generalized anxiety will prevent me from leaving my house on foot by myself,
and often from just leaving the house altogether. It really sucks to be paranoid
when there is an actual, logical basis for that fear. Would that make it not
paranoia then? I don’t know.
The car is a much easier way to get out – I just park in the
garage and don’t open the garage door until the engine is running and I’m in
reverse. When I get home, I hit the button for the garage door opener and inch
my way back into the garage before the door is all the way up. Then I close the
door, and I’m back in my house again, and I feel a lot better.
I’ve noticed that I will sit in my car for long periods of
time after getting home, or if I’m in a parking garage and I don’t have
anywhere to be in any hurry. I don’t know what it is about being in a car. It’s
one of the most dangerous places to be at any given moment, when I’m out
driving. You know, statistics.
But a parked car feels really safe. Not always, but enough
that I notice I stay in the car for long periods of time after I get to where I’m
going and turn the engine off. I just kind of slump and rest my head on the
steering wheel for a second, and then I probably do some trance-like staring
into nothing.
I like when I am in a parking garage and can see other
people come and go. Strangers who have their own lives and their own problems,
and I look at them and how they walk, and what they are wearing, and what they
are carrying (like a bag or something), and if they are on the phone or walking
with someone else, I also listen to their conversations.
I pretend that I am that person in that moment, and think
about what it is like to be that person. Why do I wear these clothes? Why do I listen
to such shitty music? What kind of person am I that I would actually wear a
sweater over my shoulders as an accessory? Do I think I’m beautiful? Do I hate
my face? Do I look at other people and feel resentful because they are skinny,
or muscular, or they have a chin, or they have no idea how much it means to be
able to walk around wearing shorts or a skirt because they don’t have kankles?
Then they are on their way, and I stare off until someone
else comes by. I would be remarkably effective at surveillance, like the kind
cops and private investigators do on TV and in the movies. I suppose they do it
in real life, too, but I’ve never personally witnessed anything like that, at
least not that I am aware of, but I assume it really does happen and that I would
be remarkably effective at it.
I would also be a good racecar driver. Not the kind that
goes around in circles for five hours, but long distance or street-circuit races,
like the Gumball or what they do on all of the Fast and Furious movies. I love
a good high-speed chase – not to be in one, but to see one happening on TV or
in a movie. I’ve never been in a high-speed chase personally, and it is kind of
a sketchy thing to do just so I could see what it was like, but if the time ever
comes for me to be in a high speed chase, I will be ready.
I would also love to be a criminal profiler. I think all of
the evil and violence and mind-fucking I’ve been exposed to has given me the
ability to see it in other people. You know, kind of like it takes one to know
one. Its strange, though, being so familiar with the potential for violence and
harm and seeing it all over the place, but not actually being a criminal. It’s
kind of lonely and stressful.
I would be a horrible criminal, though, especially after
these past years in therapy and recovery and stuff. For one thing, I am largely
incapable of lying. Not necessarily out of a sense of righteousness, but
because mixing what is real with what is not real can give me a nervous
breakdown all in itself.
Another reason is my overwhelming belief in Karma. I know
very well how much it hurts someone to hurt someone else. They might not notice
it, they might feel strong and righteous and whatever, but it takes away from
them. Hurting people kills the soul, and the soul is not nearly as resilient as
anyone might want to believe.
Sigh.
Life can be so philosophical – it drives me crazy.
Anyway, I’m definitely feeling less angry today.
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