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.