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.

Death, secularism, and the depths

Did I wait too long to cry for my friend Kishi? Did I not give myself emotional space to really feel Kishi’s … death, not “passing”? I wonder. I’d like to feel … to express … to cry 10 percent of the tears that Melly has. Will I? Will I ever?

She is the first person besides mom and dad, and an AA guy I knew more in passing than knew, since I got sober. And, she’s the first — no, not secularist — atheist friend I’ve had die since I’ve reaccepted my own secularism.

And, it makes me mad. There is no god to be mad to. Unlike gratitude, anger feels better, I think, when expressed at someone. And, I won’t “see her again.” I see no heaven, no paradise existing for a future spiritual life, certainly not on the “orthodox” Christian model that’s metaphysical, yet not. I was imagining Marie offering me some sort of consolation along that line, without even first pausing to say, “I know you don’t believe that.” And I’m angry about that … I think. 

Though I haven’t given myself “space” there either.

It almost feels like the distressing from moving out of Marble Falls has gone too far. As though it’s sucked emotionality out of me in general.

Missing Kishi … maybe it will be more a dull, aching pain than something about tears, something that gradually sinks in with the lack of a Yahoo Messenger late-night conversation time any more. And, yes, I already miss that.

And, feel guilty about not trying to look for her online sooner after I moved.

Three weeks later, it still hasn't totally sunk in ... but I still am angry, as well as sad, as well as guilty.

You were gentle and sweet beneath your hard-shelled exterior. You were a beautiful person, even if you often didn't feel that way about yourself.

Do New Age techniques and rituals help 'manage' PTSD?

A good Facebook friend of mine, Karla McLaren, who came out of a New Age "professional" background, says the answer can be yes.

Why? The repetitiveness of the rituals combined with the smorgasbord of different "modalities" is the key, she says.

My houseguests showed me something I really hadn’t been able to see before – and strangely, my despair lifted that weekend as my curiosity returned. I had always known that the New Age attracts a very large number of traumatized and dissociative people (that’s actually one of the central premises of my books and tapes). However, I had never been separate from New Age beliefs, rituals, and paraphernalia long enough to observe how these rituals help people manage their post-traumatic anxieties, depressions, dissociative tendencies, and other troubling symptoms.

Throughout my life, I had noticed that the New Age population was in large part a very sensitive group of people. In conventional medicine or psychotherapy, the level of awareness and sensitivity these people struggle with has been characterized as a form of pathology. However, sensitive people like my friends and me are made very comfortable in the New Age. With the endless treatment choices offered in the New Age, sensitive people can find an abundance of ever-changing supports, crutches, or remedies for just about anything they suffer, think, feel, or imagine. All of these New Age remedies and paraphernalia are quite soothing – and yet I finally saw during my friends’ weekend visit that the soothing had no lasting effect.

Very, very interesting.

That said, no, this doesn't really "manage" PTSD at all.  Note again her last words: "(T)he soothing had no lasting effect."

Even some of the latest neuroscience-driven treatments, with the best of science behind them, from what I have read, on a matter vaguely related, from a book about introversion, may be less lasting, in terms of long-term help, than doctors would like to believe. How much more something that's not scientific.

Anyway, Karla's whole series of articles is worth a read.

Gratitude without god

When I first heard of this idea, a decade or more ago, I was in a psychological place where I was learning more and more about the idea of gratitude.

But, at the same time, I was pretty well down the road to my secularist, contra-metaphysical philosophical naturalist stance of today. I had tried “working with” ideas of “spirituality” but found what I was seeing promoted under that guise was New Agey-type metaphysics that, even if technically not religious, was indeed metaphysical and impossible to square with my re-emerging philosophical naturalism.

But, I was still trying to wrestle with this issue.

Having heard the phrase “an attitude of gratitude” in both New Age-type settings and from traditional ministers, and it being, for various reasons, an idea that I agreed with, I was trying to figure out how to be grateful if there wasn’t anyone to whom to be grateful.

Finally, I realized that I was mentally enshackled by the New Agey “present situations” that I had recently been in, plus my childhood religious preacher’s kid background.

Instead, why couldn’t I simply have an “attitude of gratitude” without a personal object for my gratitude?

And, so I do today. Little mental tools such as reminding myself of three good things that have happened for/to me today, especially if I had an active part in any of them, help this process.

Good-bye, Kishi

A good, good sobriety friend of mine, Kat Wyke, aka Kishimojun, died Wednesday. It's hard to believe, in one sense, yet, on non-sobriety related health issues, she had already beaten the odds, otherwise.

Kishi was about my age. She had Crohn's disease. If you're familiar with it, that alone is why I say she beat the health odds.

She also had ahd bladder cancer about 18 months ago. It appeared to have been caught quickly enough and "beaten," but such was not the case. It came back with a vengeance within the last two months or so. Just under a month ago, all of a sudden, he had bad stomach pains, as the recurring cancer seems to have been virulent and fast spreading.

I had been negligent in trying to stay in touch with her online with me recent move, and yes, I'm kicking myself for that. She had told me about the stomach pains before I moved, but still sounded positive about her prognosis. Alas, it was not to be. She was in a coma two weeks later, at the start of this week, with kidney failure following quickly.

Kishi, often being semi-homebound when her Crohn's flared up, became active in learning, and progressing in, the ancient Japanese stitching art of temari.

For a picture of her, and some of her temari work, please see this photo album.

Changes, transitions, fears, anxieties, the future

Well, I have escaped a newspaper job that wasn’t right, not just as a newspaper job, but as a job, period. That said, I’m now in a smaller, and poorer, locale, in Texas and still in the newspaper biz.

I think my sister somewhat understands my economic and employment fears for the future, and certainly my larger psychological ones. I’m not sure even she totally gets them, though.

My three brothers don’t, at all, I think. That’s in fair part because of their conservative to ultraconservative political stances.

The oldest, a former (for now) minister who got pushed out of his last church, should understand. Older than me, the last I heard, he was working as a bank teller, which is nowhere near the job it was 20-30 years ago, and teaching driver’s ed on the side.

Brother No. 2 has had the same employer, on a smooth career track, his entire life. He’s not a full tea partier type like Bro. 1 (and 3) but, he’s conservative enough.

Brother 3? Blue/gray collar white … outdoor field sales in the oil patch. Fits well in tea partier demographics. Called Obama a “blackie” once, and who knows what he’s said when I’m not around.

Well, given the current energy exploration situation, his job is as safe until retirement until that of Bro. 2. Of course, he overworks himself, in part out of hyperactivity … he, like me, could do “more” with his workaday life, probably. He gives himself away too much, which I still stay stuck in fear.

All I can do is do my best at detaching from anxiety, and living in today while hoping for tomorrow. It does sound trite at times. But, it is what it is.

And, I turn 50 in little over a year. Supposedly, by the time most ppl get to their mid-50s, they start getting happier again, after a dip in the 30s and 40s.

Of course, those studies are largely based on families with kids, and 50-something parents largely enjoying the empty nest. I’ve not seen breakouts for childless adults.

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.

Work-related ... and the dreams get weirder

I've been having more vivid, to much more vivid, and more remembered, dreams again the past couple of weeks. Only problem? They're generally not pleasant.

They're not nightmares, exactly, but they're all about work.

But, only in a general sense.

They're about working at my current job, but the actual day-to-day events have zip, zero,  bupkis to do with my normal work.

I don't know if part of it is summer heat (we're not scorching, but we're a few degrees above normal for this part of the world and I'm very sparing on AC use) or what. But, it's making sleep less restful, that's for sure. And, since I had an earlier, but less vivid and less work/but not work bout of this ... wondering why it's back, and back in worse condition.

Could it be the recent loss of our one staff writer?

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

I hurt my thumb

I HURT MY THUMB

For perhaps the first time today,

Something usually semi-conscious

Became fully conscious.

Something usually a free-floating reaction

Was done in response to a specific situation.

I hurt my thumb today.

No, not in the sense of banging a knuckle,

Or something like that.

Rather, this was totally self-inflicted.

I pick at myself.

Call it a milder version of “cutting.”

I bite my fingernails the quick,

And occasionally below.

And when I go that far

(I would say “too far,” but it obviously isn’t,

To at least a part of “me,”

Because “I” keep doing it)

I hurt. And I bleed.

If it’s not biting nails that deeply

It’s picking at the skin around those nails,

Eventually, with the same result.

Why?

Is it a genetic predisposition to anxiety?

Or various abuses of childhood?

Obviously, it’s a mix of both,

And, even on a case-by-case basis,

Who knows which predominates, and when?

I don’t, because I usually

Not fully conscious of this.

Today, at least as to the moment, though,

I was.

I was being yelled at by my boss

For something that was a complex mix

Of who was wrong, or not, and why,

And what background there was.

And I picked.

And then I hurt, and bled,

Even more than normal picking.

No, it didn’t feel “good.”

But, it “felt.”

I “felt.”

I felt the pain of suppressed anger,

Of feeling that whatever I might say

Would only make things worse,

That because of the background there was

Of him, his boss, of me,

Of their perceptions of me,

Of my perceptions of them,

And of my knowledge

Of my coworkers’ perception of them,

That whatever I might say,

Would only make things worse.

He would get angrier yet,

Making me more afraid, more on edge,

More anxious,

More suppressed-angry.

And, given the situation, the relationships,

And the power dynamics,

That, if not even that,

That what I might say

Wouldn’t change things anyway.

So, I picked.

A small psychological victory, perhaps,

To be fully conscious, fully in the moment,

Of why I was doing it, when I was.

And, another small victory, perhaps,

To see that I had done it worse than usual,

And to make me wonder

If I really, really, feel that way.

– Feb 28, 2012

He died at fifty

HE DIED AT FIFTY

That’s what a memorial said aboard the old-time train.

No cause of death listed.

Just that he died at fifty.

Did he feel old? Worn-out?

Or did he just … die unexpectedly?

Sometimes, at age forty-eight

I feel “older,” at least,

And definitely worn-out on occasion.

Especially recently.

Internalizing criticism,

When it’s not totally valid

Or overblown relative to the situation,

Can do that to a person,

Especially one sensitive in general

(Though not perfect

About being sensitive to others)

And sensitive to yelling in particular,

As well as sensitive to crazy-making.

What if he, too, finally just wore out?

It’s one thing to die young, or younger,

It’s another yet to die younger

With the end of one’s life

Becoming one massive burden.

And nobody noticed, and he said nothing

Until too late.

What if that’s me?

– Feb. 26, 2012

Opinions, passive-aggressiveness and more

First, passive-aggressiveness isn't necessarily a bad thing. Often, it's the personal relationship psychology equivalent of asymmetric warfare. People lower on a power scale fight with the weapons they have.


No, passive-aggressiveness isn't good in a more equal relationship, like an intimate one. And counselors are right to point that out. But, something like an employee vs. employer situation, especially if the employer is putting the energy in the "versus"?


And, isn't it passive-aggressive of an employer to berate an employee for not being able to do something that was at least partially beyond his control, then admit to a third employee just that difficulty with the issue while never fully apologizing to the original employee?


Specifically, the issue of photography.


No, I'm not Ansel Adams. But, I can't make silk purses out of sow's ears. And, I know enough about photography to know when I'm faced with little more than a sow's ear to work with. And, if not a total sow's ear, at least, no better than synthetic velour -- and an employer who should know that in advance, from having been around a while.



That, then, gets to the issue of opinions.


Is it passive-aggressive, even, to not bother offering opinions, or, a better word, ideas, in the first place, if you know they're going to be ignored, rejected, or not listened to?

And, is it really people pleasing to not speak up more, either? Might it rather be an acceptance of reality, or how reality is perceived at the lower end of the stick by someone who's not a stereotypical Type A male?



Of course, from my point of view, these are offered up as largely rhetorical questions.


But, they reflect larger societal issues related to income disparity, job outsourcing, and, some industries (creative-type ones) becoming ever tighter with the dollar and expecting more for less.

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.

Did I make a mistake?

Three weeks into a new job and relocation, I feel like I'm in a PTSD shellshock free-fire zone.

I'm making mistakes at work, and getting yelled at, and this past week, have made more. And, a couple of them have been kind of big. And have had domino effects.

I knew, when I was considering coming here, that my ambivalence was in part not due to fear of change but due to past perceptions of the place when I interviewed for anther job with this group of small papers in 2009 and for this job.

But, wanting to get near a big city, having fears of being "stuck" where I was and other things ... led me to think that some of my ambiguity was other things, like general fear of change.

And, some of it was fear of getting more and more stuck back in Odessa the longer I was there as I got ... older.

But, I'm awake, alive, reasonably sane ... and sober. And ... I still have a reasonable possibility of saving my hide, if I don't let the stress get to me any more, or the idea of stress.

Sometimes the 'trouble' does never happen

Mark Twain has a famous quote, which has been botched a bit here and there, but which I believe is authoritatively rendered as, "I am an old man and have known a great many troubles, but most of them have never happened."

Well, I can personally relate to that.


I had a notice from the Postal Service in my box Tuesday night, to sign for a certified letter at the post office. My mind was racing.


Did my old apartment complex suddenly decide it wanted additional money from me somehow? (Even as I have two noncertified letters, one from the complex, one from the parent company, both of which came in the last week, on my table. But, I know what I signed, and signed for, when I moved.)


Did that traffic ticket I got lawyered out of two of three counts, but paid the remaining one, have the money order incorrect? 


Something worse?


Well, it was from the Dallas County Sheriff's Office, which made me more nervous at first, since they're the folks who pulled me over in 2009.


What was it actually for?


I had a applied for a PR job, public information officer, with the office. I was being notified I didn't make the final cut - notified by certified letter.


I've played Twain's quote in my head many a time, but never before have I had this concrete of confirmation.

Poem: Too soon to tell

TOO SOON TO TELL

A new job.

New bosses. New responsibilities.

Not-so-new computers.

Anger. Antsiness. Impatience. Control issues.

Was this the right decision?

Did I choose wisely in coming here?

Per Zhou Enlai,

When he was asked about the success

Of the French Revolution:

“It’s too soon to tell.”

It’s too soon to tell.

My mind will be a jumble

And even a bit shell-shocked

For more than a month.

Will weekend visits to Austin help?

To the degree they do,will they be worth the price?

It’s too soon to tell.

Was it just fear of change?

Or was my intuition correctly ringing out

A blaze of three alarms or more?

Should I have suffered

Through yet more feelings of being trapped,

Through low-grade ongoing anxieties,

Rather than the potential of high-voltage unknowns?

It’s too soon to tell.

When I left Dallas for Odessa,

The first domino of moving to fall in this chain,

After two months of unemployment,

Anxious over job hunting,

And recognizing the severity of the recession,

Yet loath to move

And depressed as I drove across the Permian,

Was it good or bad?

It’s too soon to tell.

Good and bad are relative, and utilitarian;

I did nothing “wrong” any of these times.

But I made decisions

In uncertainty, without knowing even

Rough percentages on outcomes.

And, so, in that utilitarian sense,

As to whether these choices were good or bad?

It’s too soon to tell.

December 26, 1963 – was it good or bad?

It’s too soon to tell.

            Jan. 3, 2012