o/~ I stare into this darkened mirror... o/~
o/~ ...and see the eyes of a stranger. o/~
A bit of Queensryche, this morning. Something to ensure the blood is coursing through the veins. Part of me feels like it's on fire, the other part feels as cold as ice. I'm looking at how I'm acting lately, drawing away from those online, and even irl, again... sometimes by choice, other times by the need to try to get more things done around here or just to try to save myself from getting into a more frustrated state than I am, already.
There's still a lot to work to do around here. We've gotten the closet nearly cleared out, now. There are boxes stacked in the living room and our bedroom, while we still sort through the file cabinets and desk drawers of the office, tend to things in the kitchen cupboards and drawers, and just try to make some headway with all the stuff we've got and ensure we're not getting rid of things we are likely to need later.
Purr and I argued for a good two hours last night, she nearly came to tears at one point, mostly because (I'm realising) I'm a minimalist and try to cut down more than we really need to, while she's a packrat and tries to latch onto things of even minute sentimentality. Last night, I realised I don't care about the things that remind me of someone. I have my memories, my music, and drawings (if not the person, directly) and that's enough. It's how I've always had to be... packing and moving, re-packing and moving again. This house we've been in is the first home I've lived in for longer than any other place in my life.
Purr didn't go into work today. She's dealing with an upset stomach and dizziness. I'm starting to think she might be dealing more with a depression than anything else, though. It's raining lightly; so the pollens are down, but the skies are incredibly dark. We've had the windows open for fresh air for the last month. She doesn't have any bug bites, and hasn't eaten anything even remotely bad. But what's making me think it's more of a depression is how emotional she's getting, her stress levels are elevating my own; and I don't like what her attitude is doing to me... how I'm reacting to and because of her own attitude.
Self-analysis is good... to a point. But when I analyze myself so much that I begin to think I'm a "rotten person", I really have to stop and think on what's really going on. I can still hear my parents yelling that at me, from when I was small, as I deal with Purr and her issues. So, seeing that it's just self-inflicted abuse that stems from how I was treated as a child, I have to stop myself... I look deep within and see what I can do to change my behavior. I find that deep inner spark that my grandfather would try to nurture and get to grow, pointing out my strengths instead of telling me how evil and horrible I am. We all possess the sides of an angel and a demon; but at the same time, I realise that the only ones who act despotic (like Mousallini) or beatific (like Gandhi) are actually fractured souls... they are broken inside somewhere, and so they react through one extreme or another... the victim or the predator.
Sitting in a darkened room looking into a mirror, or even delving deep into my own soul, I look into the eyes of a stranger. I see someone I don't know, and yet the same shine of acknowledgement is there... they're my own eyes; mine, me! Rediscovery after such a long state of depression has opened these eyes of mine, this inner mechanism that allows me to analyze myself; but I am beginning to see (again) why I would caution myself in the past, why I was so desperate to distance myself from my biological family. They might treat me well on the surface, offer me what I need bodily... but emotionally, mentally, their words are the worst poison I could ever be subjected to. I'm not broken, I'm not a monster, beast or worthless; it's not that I don't care about what Purr, or anyone else, is going through. I just have to find my center again... stop letting her and others get me to react, and begin to respond as I choose. Soon, I will look into that darkened mirror and the eyes that gaze back will be those of someone I know... someone I've always known quite intimately.
Today, I'll continue my course of packing and tending to getting things set for our move. But today is different, because I'm ready for Purr's tirade for the odd cookie cutter to be thrown into the 'give away box' instead of the box marked 'Kitchen' that goes with us.
A bit of Queensryche, this morning. Something to ensure the blood is coursing through the veins. Part of me feels like it's on fire, the other part feels as cold as ice. I'm looking at how I'm acting lately, drawing away from those online, and even irl, again... sometimes by choice, other times by the need to try to get more things done around here or just to try to save myself from getting into a more frustrated state than I am, already.
There's still a lot to work to do around here. We've gotten the closet nearly cleared out, now. There are boxes stacked in the living room and our bedroom, while we still sort through the file cabinets and desk drawers of the office, tend to things in the kitchen cupboards and drawers, and just try to make some headway with all the stuff we've got and ensure we're not getting rid of things we are likely to need later.
Purr and I argued for a good two hours last night, she nearly came to tears at one point, mostly because (I'm realising) I'm a minimalist and try to cut down more than we really need to, while she's a packrat and tries to latch onto things of even minute sentimentality. Last night, I realised I don't care about the things that remind me of someone. I have my memories, my music, and drawings (if not the person, directly) and that's enough. It's how I've always had to be... packing and moving, re-packing and moving again. This house we've been in is the first home I've lived in for longer than any other place in my life.
Purr didn't go into work today. She's dealing with an upset stomach and dizziness. I'm starting to think she might be dealing more with a depression than anything else, though. It's raining lightly; so the pollens are down, but the skies are incredibly dark. We've had the windows open for fresh air for the last month. She doesn't have any bug bites, and hasn't eaten anything even remotely bad. But what's making me think it's more of a depression is how emotional she's getting, her stress levels are elevating my own; and I don't like what her attitude is doing to me... how I'm reacting to and because of her own attitude.
Self-analysis is good... to a point. But when I analyze myself so much that I begin to think I'm a "rotten person", I really have to stop and think on what's really going on. I can still hear my parents yelling that at me, from when I was small, as I deal with Purr and her issues. So, seeing that it's just self-inflicted abuse that stems from how I was treated as a child, I have to stop myself... I look deep within and see what I can do to change my behavior. I find that deep inner spark that my grandfather would try to nurture and get to grow, pointing out my strengths instead of telling me how evil and horrible I am. We all possess the sides of an angel and a demon; but at the same time, I realise that the only ones who act despotic (like Mousallini) or beatific (like Gandhi) are actually fractured souls... they are broken inside somewhere, and so they react through one extreme or another... the victim or the predator.
Sitting in a darkened room looking into a mirror, or even delving deep into my own soul, I look into the eyes of a stranger. I see someone I don't know, and yet the same shine of acknowledgement is there... they're my own eyes; mine, me! Rediscovery after such a long state of depression has opened these eyes of mine, this inner mechanism that allows me to analyze myself; but I am beginning to see (again) why I would caution myself in the past, why I was so desperate to distance myself from my biological family. They might treat me well on the surface, offer me what I need bodily... but emotionally, mentally, their words are the worst poison I could ever be subjected to. I'm not broken, I'm not a monster, beast or worthless; it's not that I don't care about what Purr, or anyone else, is going through. I just have to find my center again... stop letting her and others get me to react, and begin to respond as I choose. Soon, I will look into that darkened mirror and the eyes that gaze back will be those of someone I know... someone I've always known quite intimately.
Today, I'll continue my course of packing and tending to getting things set for our move. But today is different, because I'm ready for Purr's tirade for the odd cookie cutter to be thrown into the 'give away box' instead of the box marked 'Kitchen' that goes with us.