Frustration freedom, maybe?

I just did something I've not done for many years.

I left my online sobriety support group's meeting and chat room without saying good-nights to those there. I just clicked the X and shut the tab.

I had had enough, for tonight at least, of another person there.

He knows a lot about his subject field, which has everyday applications to just about everybody, but can be overbearing in saying do this, don't do that. Buy this, not that. Etc.

He can also at times go too far on light-hearted bantering type insults to sticking the needle. The latter, he seems to like to do to me.

Regular readers here know I'm a non-confrontational person. So, and figuring anyway that, he being my age, somebody in life has surely? maybe not? he's a boss, so could be hard to do at work? called him out on this, I just left.

I am not going to change him. The only thing to do is change myself, and without confrontation, simply state why I left if he asks me.

This had kind of been building on my side. On music, which kind of relates to his expertise, he's one of these people that claim vintage vinyl is oh so much better than CDs when blind tests prove otherwise. I dropped some brief comments on that once, quickly went nowhere. That was, I think, after I found out this person is a conspiracy theorist on a few issues, so I didn't push the scientific research too far in front of him in part for that reason.

Not in every way, but in some ways, perhaps I'm being reminded of family of origin stuff, too.

Between that and my recent post about resentment, maybe I need to dip into another non-AA sobriety forum more for a while. Kind of detox.

Update, July 25, 2020: Out in my apartment swimming pool, I realized that he reminded me of Mel Birge from Clayton High.

Glad I'm single

Yeah, I may die alone, but so have many people with partners and even marriages.

I may enter the realm of dying without them or without kids to look out for me, but, I'm not alone there, again.

I have no attachments. No hostages to fortune.

No wading through relationships only to hit booby-traps years, even decades, later.

The sexual, emotional and physical abuse made me learn aloneness, and an acceptance, even a sometime embrace of it.

Looking back over decades, at women in whom I had some interest at times, and it didn't work out?

I'm OK with that.

Looks like it's moving time

And, back to an old position, at an old paper, but under new ownership.

Back to the town where I found this hat on the road.

The working out of the kinks on this has led me to some free association type thinking about previous cities I've lived in or at least visited regularly.

One-word/phrase word associations with various cities:

Flint — GM. Specifically, the town GM built and GM let die.

Bonham — Transitioning. Did it ever finish that? What’s the town like today? Why couldn’t things have been different when I was there? Before CNHI bought?

Honey Grove — silently dying. Like we all are. Sad.

Hobbs — Why? Why didn’t I see Mary Bearden’s manipulations better? Hah! Remembered her name. Why do other people advance and I don’t?

Jacksboro — Sorry. Sorry I screwed up with Roy. Sorry I didn’t look at good side. Sorry I didn’t do more with sports. Sorry it wasn’t 5 years later in terms of Internet. Sorry for all sorts of stuff. Town sorry too. Struggling. Oil not helping it. Only further east in county, with workers in Wise County.

Mineral Wells — Hypergritty. What will turn it around?

Lancaster — Bypassed. Bypassed by most white and much of the better black migration out of city of Dallas. Kicked? Failed city-state, with Chamber implosion?

Navasota — Depressing. Literally, for me, and thank doorknobs I got past that. Ugh. Sweaty. Missing its chances?

Cedar Hill — Boomtown-bust. The desert mall. Hypocrisy alert on Franke et al.

Odessa — Trying. Oil. Climate change looming as it gets hoist by its oil petard. Denialism.

This is from Dripping Springs, near
Marble Falls, where it eventually
was the perfect time to move.

Marble Falls — Gaslighting. That’s the way I felt with Schock. Really? That’s the way I felt with Roy’s wife. As Chuck said: “Marble Falls is not Fredericksburg, it never has been Fredericksburg and it never will be Fredricksburg.”

Marlin — Gritty. And, I guess, about to become home again.

Center — Clusterfuck. Brandi bought the Light and Champion out of nostalgia. Didn’t do due diligence with the presence and strength of the other folks and didn’t have a real plan. Clusterfucks on publishers, there and Mount Pleasant alike.

Sulphur Springs — Pretentious. In several different ways. More details later. Kind of like a bigger Marble Falls but with less reason.

==

I"m going to write more about these cities.

I lived in Flint two summers home from college in the mid-80s, half a year, again with dad while working in the late 80s, a couple of summers home during seminary time, then 18 months moved in after that.

"GM"? If you've seen Roger and Me, you get it. I saw a fair chunk. AC-Delco started there. Half its manufacturing now gone. Fisher Body of old GM cars, closed. GM Truck and Bus plant, closed. Other GM plants closed or cut back. That was before Rick Snyder's lead-laden pile-on. It's a shell of what it was 30 years ago, and pretty much a shell of 20 years ago, though changes were starting already then.

Bonham? My first newspaper job. I think my dad was right — I moved down with him, nothing keeping me in Michigan, to the nearby town of Honey Grove. To some degree, the town was living off old largess of Sam Rayburn, though Mr. Sam really wasn't that big a pork-barreler. It's gotten new life since I left, primarily being an exurb commuter town for the northeastern sprawl of the Dallas-Fort Worth Metroplex. Neighboring Honey Grove, aka "the sweetest town in Texas"? Dying town, as I could tell in person recently. The 2010 Census declined almost one-third from 2000. Members of dad's church dying; saw one's grave at an old country cemetery.

These sentiments are still true, even though in my return, I found out the previous publisher, and still publisher of the next paper down the road, had been committing seemingly unethical and possibly illegal predatory sales actions on advertising customers, along with other issues. So, I'm back to pretentious Sulphur Springs, and still wanting the fuck out of a dying newspaper industry

Emotional ups and downs, continued

Talked with the publisher of the newspaper in Center after my going to my new place to see the gas getting turned on. As I talked with her, and she listened, and talked back, I realized "all of it" was hitting me. The move ... two shifts in my landing place for my move ... my sister-in-law's death (which I hadn't yet told her about). I need to be kinder to myself. And, I'm kind of drained. I'll be glad when the move is done, when I get on vacation, and then just relax, and come back invigorated. I've been a bit lackadaisical on some aspects of planning this move. I suspect that's delayed bits of apprehension.

Feeling a bit empty

It's been a week since my sister-in-law died. I cried a week ago Saturday, when I got the news. Pinch-hitting at a temporary job, on the road, that turns out will become permanent, I didn't have much time, or mental energy, through last Friday.

I thought that, when I got back to what's "home" for one last week now, that maybe that would change. But, for a variety of reasons, like worried about getting the first edition of the paper out on my own on time, with it being paginated at corporate HQ (the whole process is new for me) and other things, I've been a bundle of nervous energy and other things.

Plus, there's worries about the move itself, getting ready to go on vacation not too long after that, and more.

I otherwise simply feel empty. Maybe I'm just a little emotionally fried, and friable.

That may change, soon enough. Let's hope so, and that it's for the better.

It may take a while, though. As I blogged a few weeks ago, May was the 10th anniversary of my dad's death. Brenda's death and, especially in the early years of her marriage to my brother Tim, her almost adoring take on my dad, has brought that to mind again too.

Death, life, memories, changes and contingencies

Right now, I'm kind of angry at American hypercapitalism, the continuing decline of the American newspaper business, and the backwardness of America with no official national vacation policy and, in general, much less vacation than other civilized countries.

I've long been politically, and professionally, angry about this. But now, it's personal.

I just found out my sister-in-law died early this morning. Brenda had inoperable cancer ... well, inoperable after previous operations, radiation and chemo had all been tried. By this spring, she and Tim knew that, barring a "miracle," it was a matter of time — likely a year.

Before she got too sick, with the help of a crowdfunder, the two of them went to Florida, to the beaches, Disney World and more. I'm glad they had that last time together.

I may have known Brenda, growing up, before Tim did. At any rate, it was probably at about the same time. She was two grades ahead of me, and two grades behind Tim, in high school. Before I moved away from New Mexico with my dad, I had her in my PE class when I was a sophomore, along with her sister. About that same time, near the end of that school year, the two of them started going out. A little over two years later, they got married.

I remember learning the tip of the iceberg already at that time over the pettiness of divorced parents (mine — Brenda's mom was a widow) as to whether the two of them were "suitable" (as in, Brenda might not be), whether one or both were too long, both mom and dad "projecting" some of their thoughts onto the other and more. As I got older and older, I learned more and more, especially about dad's attitudes. And, was less and less surprised, the more and more I learned, sadly.

Josh and Jason were my first nephews. As they grew, they were in some ways alike, others hugely different. Why, I don't know. I know that Tim and Brenda didn't, either.

This April, I took off a whole two-and-a-half days ... first time I'd had more than two weekdays off in 3.5 years. Maybe I should have burned the whole third day, and flown out to New Mexico rather than driving out to the Texas Panhandle.

I thought there would be more "later" time, and I wanted some "me" time as soon as possible.

And, now she's gone.

I've already gotten OK for taking off the second week in August, as I prepare to  move to a new job. If they have an official memorial, I'll be there for that. If not, I'll just be there.

Funerals, and memorials, are for the living. Unfortunately, I didn't see Brenda one last time while she was still in the living.

And, everybody in the family knows I'm some type of non-believer, even if they don't know the full details, anyway

So, if funerals are for the living, my mourning is better done alone, at least to start. And start I have.

I think this has also brought other families, with this being the 10-year anniversary of my dad's death, to mind, too.

Don't Forgive

DON'T FORGIVE

Don't forgive
Be angry.
You were hurt
And toyed with
Maipulated and domineered.
Don't forgive that.
And don't forgive
Any person who did that
As long as they
Remain unforgiveable.
Don't forgive
And don't forget
Until you're ready to.
And then,
Dunk his head
Into oblivion.
Give him that
Over and over again
As often as you need,
As often as his memory needs.
Drown him,
As dead as you are
As long as he remains unforgiveable.
And drown his accomplices
And his abettors
And his deniers
Just as much.

I think I have a resentment

I'm not sure how "real" the resentment is, in terms of how accurate my perception is vs. momentary emotions, but, for right now, it is what it is.

As to what I'm going to do about it? Let the same situation play out once or twice more, to see if the same results happen or not, first of all.

And, after that, go from there.

And, it's in part my fault, and it seems better now.

Beyond "fault," my emotional state is still less than perfect. My new job has eased me from emotional burdens of the previous one, but it's put me in an even smaller town, and it's kept me in newspaper journalism.

Good-better-best haiku

Sometimes the good is

Enemy of the better;

An impatient move.

Sometimes better is

The enemy of the best

Also impatient

But at other times

Rather than wait, strike quickly

While iron is hot.

Wisdom is knowing

What is impatient, what is

Prudent and timely

Or foot-dragging fear,

Perfectionism, or just

Procrastination.

Wise self-honesty

After that, we may never know

What the best move is.

Procrastination

Is still a move, anyway

And so we move, move.

Fear the enemy

Of good, better and best all

But it cuts both ways.

Fear of sitting still

And waiting in the silence

Is just as deadly.

Mistakes were made ...

And they were made by me in coming to Marble Falls, Texas, last December.

Yes, I didn't know how crazymaking my current job would be.

But, some other things I perhaps could have investigated better, and had a rethink about coming here.

Driving around a couple of the dammed lakes of the Highland Lakes today, I saw how many gated communities there are here, out in unincorporated areas. That said, when I was here, I saw the numbers of rich houses in incorporated places.

I knew this place was pretty conservative, but had hoped that the money factor might make more of the conservatives at least relatively enlightened. I don't think that's the case, though, and the number of private communities seems to underline that.

I had that knowledge, plus some demographic information, that said, already back then, maybe I shouldn't go.

But, I wanted out of Odessa. And my psychological, PTSD-related fear of being "trapped" was still running. And, I thought this place was close enough to Austin, as well as perhaps more non-parochial, to be OK. And, I told myself that my intuitional fears were just fears of change.

I blame nobody but me for not explaining that to support group friends and others better.

That said, I hope to listen to those intuitions better.

Failure is an option, and not necessarily an orphan

Some poetic thoughts after reading this very interesting column.

Failure IS an option

I am not a failure,

And I am not the sum of my failures

But I am a person who has failed, and will fail,

Many, many times.

I am also anxious, fretful, and pessimistic –

A toxic brew.

Accepting that failures are not moral faults

Is not always easy to do;

Even harder to accept

Is that because of luck and the actions of others

Failure says little about my skills in many cases.

But self-flagellation

Is a means of trying to assert control

Rather than feeling powerless from its lack.

But that’s not reality.

The truth?

Many of my actions

Have countless outside tangential influences.

But even that is not all of reality.

Even my most important actions, most consciously decided

Have many subconscious influences

From chaotically driven, chaotically competing subselves.

Kennedy and others were all wrong here.

Failure has just as many fathers as victory,

Even if they scurry for dark corners

After the lights of the mind are turned on.

Emotions - the iron mask, part 1

THE MAN IN THE IRON MASK PART I

I hate myself,

I tell myself at times,

But do I really?

I hate who I am,

I hate some of who I’ve become,

That much is true.

I feel a failure,

Lazy, weak, spineless, empty

A faker, to boot.

No adult inside;

Rather, a 16-year-old

Who’s not yet grown up.

And doesn’t want to be

So he says, “Leave me alone,”

Even to his ego-self.

He hates adult life;

Duties, decisions, stances,

And hates even more

Missed teenage life,

No wild oats sown, no fearless fun,

No adventurousness.

No bits of playboy

For the man in the iron mask

Of caged emotions.

Of course he’s angry

And angry beyond that, too

For all those reasons.

And now? He’s at

His emotional break point

Sans guarantees.

In the iron mask.

April 28, 2012

Anger, parents, and emotions

I'm in the middle of reading the book "Obama on the Couch." While I disagree with the author's neo-Freudian psychiatric stance, I do think he has some valid, very valid insights insights on dissociated emotions, especially anger.

To be honest, I'm realizing now just how dissociated I still am from a fair amount of anger toward my parents.

And I am realizing how much I may be like Obama in "swallowing" anger, avoiding conflict, etc. as part of the fallout from this.

Meanwhile, last week, I had another insight about emotions in general.

Long ago, in my early days in AA, I heard about an "attitude of gratitude." I eventually realized one did not have to be grateful TO anyone, including not needing to be grateful to a divinity.

Last week, I realized that's true of other emotions, but not necessarily in just a "free floating" way.

I can have anger at my current state in life, without it being "free floating," yet without it being directed at some particular person. I hope to let this sink in more in the days, weeks and months ahead.

And, to let myself feel more fully more of this deeper anger at my parents, without getting fixated on it.

Maybe it's time to start being kinder to ourselves

My first 18 months of sobriety, I was quiet active in AA. I was fairly active for the next 18 months after that.

So, I heard plenty of admonitions, chidings and warnings, rarely directed at me in person, usually as part of general meeting talk, about "pity parties" and "pity pots."

Even today, years later, I know what those phrases mean. And, I still hear on occasion the phrases, and more often the ideas, in Lifering meetings.

But, some new psychological research says that maybe we need to stop worrying so much about "pity parties" and instead have more concern about how kind we are to ourselves.

A LOT more concern, including learning it as a top-level life skill.

This is NOT the "give every kid an A to boost self esteem," the study makes clear. In fact, it notes that that technique often backfires, and can lead to neuroticism, emotional fragility and narcissism.

"It is not this nimby, bimby stuff," said Paul Gilbert, a researcher at Kingsway Hospital in the United Kingdom. "Compassion is sensitivity to the suffering of self and others and a commitment to do something about it."

Kristin Neff, an associate professor of psychology and the mother of an autistic child, writes about cultivating self-compassion from her own parenting experience as well as her professional background, in the just-published book, "Self-Compassion."

She lists three aspects to it: mindfulness, common humanity and kindness.

Mindfulness, whether done as a full meditative practice or not, is as Neff describes it, accepting emotions without either suppressing/blocking them OR fixating on/attaching to them.

Common humanity is, to riff on another old phrase from "the other folks," recognizing that our hurts and pains aren't "terminally unique" either.

And, kindness is kindness to ourselves as well as others.

The LiveScience authors go on to note that self-esteem of the type I stereotypically mentioned above still have a competitive and comparative element to it. Self-kindness does not.

And, speaking of competitiveness, other researchers, the story notes, believe that as the pace of modern Western life accelerates, self-punishment will likely increase.

But, won't being kind to ourselves a lot lead to a temptation to "let ourselves off the hook"? No, but that's been anticipated too:

(A)ccording to Neff, the most common fear about becoming self-compassionate is that it will lower performance standards and encourage laziness. But researchers have found that self-compassionate people are actually less likely to sit on the couch all day eating bonbons.

So, lighten up. Especially on yourself. And let's encourage each other on this.

Anticipation, anger, anxiety and frustration-fear

What a mix of emotions, eh? But, it's where I'm at right now. Hoping for something to change externally within 24 hour, or I'll likely be dropping an email hint to that end.

Yes, yes, CBD and Buddhism ... the emotional control is all within.

Nonetheless, it's easier with certain external circumstances in play.

More later.

That said, it's better than feeling nothing, or than not recognizing what I am feeling.

===

One day later, having sent my email hint, I've received a response that the process on which I am waiting is muddling along. Well, I can only wait and try to control my impatience, since I can't figure why the hell the process is taking this long.

ANGER IN THE KEY OF C-SHARP MINOR

Minor keys often have melancholy, plaintive laments,
More so than jarring stridency,
Unless a sudden dissonance intrudes;
And, so it is with my anger.
Slow to form, with an undercurrent of counterpoint,
Spoken and developed in individual voices,
Like a late Beethoven quartet,
Or, maybe, even more, one by Shostakovich.
I don’t even realize that I am angry until the score plays out,
Usually about halfway through the third movement.
Then, a diminished seventh lingers, a four-part pedal point, if you will,
Until the cello transitions out, into a growling presto ostinato,
And I can no longer deny to my conscious self that I am angered,
As my emotions now move attacca, without pause,
Into a final movement,
Where resolution is supposed to be found,
But, per the style of musica moderna,
Is not guaranteed.
— Dec. 14, 2010

Love after lovelessness

LOVE AFTER LOVELESSNESS

Love
Was a word rarely heard
Rarely used, rarely spoken,
And certainly, rarely remembered
In one aching, yearning man’s
Childhood household.

Combine sexual abuse
And exhibitionism with twists;
Add in religious fundamentalism
About human sexuality
In this childless household.

Finally, take emotional coldness
Anger, controlling, and
Distancing both physical and emotional,
And you have a childhood household
That rarely modeled love
As well as rarely speaking of it.

Sex was seen as not just dirty
But also controlling and manipulative.
However, with love largely absent,
Sex filled a gap.

And the word ‘love,’
When spoken to me post-sobriety
On the phone by a once-raging father,
Seemed as manipulative as
A mom’s sexual exposure and spoken delusions
Had to a teenaged, hurting child.

I am more than my story.
I have grown beyond it, at least in bits,
But it would be a lie
To simply say, ‘I am not my story,’
Though I need to detach yet more.

If you know me well, as you do,
You know that. And I know you do.
Something can be both true and excuse-making.
I recognize more who and what I want,
If but in fits and spurts, too.

And I know that life isn’t always perfect,
Especially in its timing.

The Donner Party, struggle and motivation

California was a land of lore and lure even before John Marshall found gold traces in 1848.

Farming, ranching, mild climate and vast unclaimed, untamed acres all called across the Sierras to Americans, even before the land had been wrested from Mexico.
Among those listening?

Jacob Breen and family. George Keseberg. And, the eponymous Donner family.

Unlike the Founding Fathers, these people had no fortunes to give. But they did give most of what money they had to make the trip. And, they certainly, in cases such as Jacob Breen, had honor, whether sacred or not, to pledge to their fellow travelers.
While on vacation recently, I visited some Donner Party sites. Though I had driven I-80 before through the area, I had never gotten off the freeway at the Donner State Party site. And, since I had come from the north, on a California state highway site, about 7-8 miles north of the interstate, I saw the Donner Meadows, where the Donners themselves wintered in 1846-47.

I asked myself, rhetorically, what would I be willing to do to get to California today? How much work would I be willing to expend? How much of my current “baggage” would I be willing to discard? What is my goal in getting to California — am I moving to something or just away from something?

I haven’t pondered those questions too much yet. Maybe I’m deliberately avoiding them a little bit. Maybe, like many other things in life, I want a surer goal before committing to them more.

That said, let me look at the Donners more. Yes, they knew about California the potential agricultural paradise. But, gold had not yet been discovered. They were simply looking for a better life, not to get rich.

Beyond that, how much am I willing to surrender of my old self for change today, in general? As I get older, do I get more attached to what I already have? Less willing to take risks?

How much is pain in my current life, combined with hope for the future, going to be a motivator?
And, by the time I had gotten back home, or soon afterward, I had at least one additional question for myself.

Is the desire to move to California a search for a “geographic cure” for issues that need help in other ways?

All good questions. To some of them, I don’t yet consciously know the answers, though I may have partial answers in my subconscious. Others I can answer more fully right now.

As for a geographic cure? No. I’ve been interested in moving to California for years.
As for pain as a motivator? It may continue to grow, and maybe I need that.

And, “surrender,” or another term? How much am I willing to let go of old attachments, such as what job or career path I should or should not follow, how much anxiety I can tolerate in daily life and more? At least at the conscious level, I don’t have answers here, though I suspect that I have more letting go to do — letting go of preconceptions about myself, letting go of attachments to old emotional patters, and things like that.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Donner_party

Boundaries and others, growth and relationships

I've upset someone. I've more than just "upset" this person; they are angry/sad, and say they have lost trust in me.

Then, after being chewed out strongly, very strongly, over this ... I argued back.

I'll admit (as this person said) that I "fired back" in part out of defensiveness. Entirely so, though? No.

I raised some real issues, which I had been holding on to for a while, and said I had some real anger myself.

Relationships are real ... and I hate using the word "practice" as part of growth.

At the same time, this person knows I have trouble expressing anger, especially.

Anyway, I have apologized since then. And, said I'd like to talk more about the emotions I triggered, and some fears this person has related to that. Right now, though, I appear to be getting the cold shoulder.

At the same time, this person has heard me say, and I believe more than once, "I don't play games, and I don't chase." I have dropped a follow-up "Hi, how are you e-mail," but, am not sure how much more I should say, and with what timing, without risk of violating what is a major boundary issue for me. I'm not sure what I should say without risk of being thought a game-player myself.

Life hurts at times, it is true.

Obviously, some ongoing patience here is part of the situation. But, when does patience become "drift"?

That said, back to revealing boundaries.

I know I absolutely stunned my dad when, after I had a bit of sobriety time, I told him, albeit by mail, not on the phone, let alone in person, how much I feared him as a child, just what was happening under his roof and nose in terms of sexual abuse and other things, and more. "Passive, pliable Steve" suddenly had a bit of backbone and a bit of self.

Throwing out the defensiveness/attacking part of my response to my friend, I do wonder if there's a bit of shock with this person, too. And, beyond that, how much we may be able to talk about these issues without a fair amount of time-water under the bridge, for a number of reasons.

I still don't know that one, either. But, an intuitive suspicion says it could be some time ... and I'm talking months, not weeks. And, that assumes this person will want to talk to me on that level at that time.

Meanwhile, back on "my side of the street." Part of my is sad, part is lonely, part is anxious, part is frustrated, part is a bit apathetic or "drifting" already. Because I've been single all my life, and not just in the sense of "unmarried," but without much real, longer-term relationships, and careful with close friends of either sex, it's kind of "easy" for me to drift like that.

That said, is my not wanting to "chase," and not telling more about my feelings as part of that, itself a form of games-playing? It's complicated.

I care

I CARE

I care;
I care when I say “I don’t care”;
I care that I say “I don’t care”;
I care when I think I actually mean that I don’t care;
I care that a defense mechanism may be too imbedded.

Why would I not care?
Lots of reasons.
Seeing other people not care about me.
Feeling other people not care about me.
Feeling powerless to care about myself.
Seeing no guarantees results when I tried to care about myself.
Feeling hopeless about the result of asking for care from others.

So, I didn’t care.
Or acted like I didn’t.
Meanwhile, buried with repressed anger
Against both myself and others,
Repressed anxiety, and other repressed emotions,
Was repressed care.
For myself, above all else.
But for other people, too.
I hope.

June 30, 2010