(no subject)
I feel older than I should be today. Maybe it's the weather. One thing is for sure, I have a little too much on my mind.
Anyway, I've moved into my own place. Just me and three cats for now. Makes it a little lonely some times. Mostly I keep busy and try not to think about it. I'm not worried about living alone though my dad is. He brought over a shotgun the other day. I learned to shoot when I was twelve... or maybe younger? I don't rightly remember, it's been a long time. Which goes back into what I was saying about feeling older than I should. The house here is old and small, half of it built by my grandfather during WWII while the original portions were built in 1903. It's slowly settling and will need work if we want to keep it. It'll be expensive... around 33,000 dollars. For now, the place has 5-10 years left.
I am eternally pissed at my cousin's family who used this place the last three summers. They left it in shambles and I had to clean it up. Repair things. My grandma isn't allowed to know about the state I found it in. She's 97 and doesn't need the shock.
I might start to write more here just so I feel like I have an outlet. There are a lot of pressures right now and one of them is the circumstances of my moving out. I realized today I'm still upset. I know her words and actions were beyond her control but it hurt. I was shaking the night we moved. Jordan was with me... so was Milo. We took more than one car over. To move in the middle of the night. I had Milo in my car. I think I cried the whole way while Milo kept trying to sit in my lap.
When we got here, I was still shaking. I held my cat while Mom and Jordan brought things in. I cried some more. Shook some more. I spent the rest of the night crying off and on and pushing aside hateful thoughts. It was funny, I tried to hate but I couldn't... I only felt sad, upset and drained. It took me two days before I was able to even talk to my sister again. There were more tears then too. When someone so close to you, someone who had been your best on only friend for years, says what she did that night... If it wasn't for my mother I would have hit my own sister. Mom held something between us like she was breaking up a cat fight. The funny thing is it worked.
You know as angry as I was at her that night, when I saw her storm out, all I could think is she was going to get herself killed on the roads.
A few days later my sister went back to the hospital.
She's on the same medication I'm on now. The miracle drug from hell. I love the stupid thing even if I get violently ill sometimes.
I can't even begin to explain the amount of verbal abuse I was getting leading up to the move. It wore on me. I was trying so hard to keep it together because I knew it never was her intention to hurt me but in the end I couldn't. I don't feel guilty for losing control. It needed to happen.
Then today, while going through my grandma's bookshelf... I found this book. A book about guilt. It looks at the psychological causes of guilt. How in many cases society causes you to be guilty when you are not the one at fault and conversely, when one feels nothing when they should in fact feel something. You wouldn't think a book like this would make me feel better but it does.
I just read a section on judgment and how it still creeps in even if we're trying to avoid it. The example given is one where he thought he had been open and as nonjudgemental as possible but eventually the relationship lost it's luster. Then he realized he had racked up a list of small judgments on the other person and it was that brought about the trouble. As they both were unconsciously doing it. It reminded me of an old habit of mine that I might restart... I would wright down what worried me, what scared me, anything that troubled me, on a little slip of paper(usually horribly misspelled) and put it under my pillow. I would literally sleep on it. Before going to sleep I would ask for help, out loud, to no one in particular, with whatever the problem was. Then I would sleep. In the morning... it never seemed like it was as big a deal as it was when I went to bed.
I know it's a mental trick... but God it works. I feel so silly doing it now but I'm doing it again. Before I could write? I had a little Worryman who I told my troubles to. It was my psychologist that suggested it. I noticed, the past few nights I've been using Milo as my worryman. Only he sleeps on my head and not under my pillow...
My cat, Milo, he's deaf, you know. I know he can't hear me when I tell him these things but that isn't the point. It's about the release. It's also knowing he won't hate me for what I say to him. If we want to talk free of judgment, a deaf cat is the way to go. The other two cats I brought with me can hear, and are affectionate regardless. Lucky is two years younger than Milo, she's sleeping on the couch next to me as I write this. She lives up to her name. Her sister died only a month before we moved. Her brother has an on going illness... while she is... healthy aside from weak lungs. She sneezes when she gets into dust. She's my cat... her, like Milo, I raised from a kitten. I was there when she was born. I was only a little kid. Then there is Calico, I also raised her... she's the last of her litter. She lame in one leg from an old injury that never healed right.
It's funny to think about it, the cats I choose to bring are as broken as I am. There were healthy cats with no problems at all I could have taken but I didn't. Milo would come regardless, there is no question, he has been my best friend of nearly 18 years. But I didn't have to bring old and broken cats.
I realize I've deviated off topic here but that is the point. I needed a place to talk this out at my own speed with no one asking questions or making remarks. This is therapy.
I was close to returning to a therapist or a psychologist before I left. It had worn on me that much. I felt useless and horrible. Battered and bruised and bloody. And I felt guilty. For the first time in a long time my confidence was shot.
It still sort of is...
I've taken to worrying more than I should but... I've decided to stop that. There is no point. Worrying does not change the outcome. Courage places me where I need to be and puts me where I want to be. I didn't run away and I never have.
Anyway, I've moved into my own place. Just me and three cats for now. Makes it a little lonely some times. Mostly I keep busy and try not to think about it. I'm not worried about living alone though my dad is. He brought over a shotgun the other day. I learned to shoot when I was twelve... or maybe younger? I don't rightly remember, it's been a long time. Which goes back into what I was saying about feeling older than I should. The house here is old and small, half of it built by my grandfather during WWII while the original portions were built in 1903. It's slowly settling and will need work if we want to keep it. It'll be expensive... around 33,000 dollars. For now, the place has 5-10 years left.
I am eternally pissed at my cousin's family who used this place the last three summers. They left it in shambles and I had to clean it up. Repair things. My grandma isn't allowed to know about the state I found it in. She's 97 and doesn't need the shock.
I might start to write more here just so I feel like I have an outlet. There are a lot of pressures right now and one of them is the circumstances of my moving out. I realized today I'm still upset. I know her words and actions were beyond her control but it hurt. I was shaking the night we moved. Jordan was with me... so was Milo. We took more than one car over. To move in the middle of the night. I had Milo in my car. I think I cried the whole way while Milo kept trying to sit in my lap.
When we got here, I was still shaking. I held my cat while Mom and Jordan brought things in. I cried some more. Shook some more. I spent the rest of the night crying off and on and pushing aside hateful thoughts. It was funny, I tried to hate but I couldn't... I only felt sad, upset and drained. It took me two days before I was able to even talk to my sister again. There were more tears then too. When someone so close to you, someone who had been your best on only friend for years, says what she did that night... If it wasn't for my mother I would have hit my own sister. Mom held something between us like she was breaking up a cat fight. The funny thing is it worked.
You know as angry as I was at her that night, when I saw her storm out, all I could think is she was going to get herself killed on the roads.
A few days later my sister went back to the hospital.
She's on the same medication I'm on now. The miracle drug from hell. I love the stupid thing even if I get violently ill sometimes.
I can't even begin to explain the amount of verbal abuse I was getting leading up to the move. It wore on me. I was trying so hard to keep it together because I knew it never was her intention to hurt me but in the end I couldn't. I don't feel guilty for losing control. It needed to happen.
Then today, while going through my grandma's bookshelf... I found this book. A book about guilt. It looks at the psychological causes of guilt. How in many cases society causes you to be guilty when you are not the one at fault and conversely, when one feels nothing when they should in fact feel something. You wouldn't think a book like this would make me feel better but it does.
I just read a section on judgment and how it still creeps in even if we're trying to avoid it. The example given is one where he thought he had been open and as nonjudgemental as possible but eventually the relationship lost it's luster. Then he realized he had racked up a list of small judgments on the other person and it was that brought about the trouble. As they both were unconsciously doing it. It reminded me of an old habit of mine that I might restart... I would wright down what worried me, what scared me, anything that troubled me, on a little slip of paper(usually horribly misspelled) and put it under my pillow. I would literally sleep on it. Before going to sleep I would ask for help, out loud, to no one in particular, with whatever the problem was. Then I would sleep. In the morning... it never seemed like it was as big a deal as it was when I went to bed.
I know it's a mental trick... but God it works. I feel so silly doing it now but I'm doing it again. Before I could write? I had a little Worryman who I told my troubles to. It was my psychologist that suggested it. I noticed, the past few nights I've been using Milo as my worryman. Only he sleeps on my head and not under my pillow...
My cat, Milo, he's deaf, you know. I know he can't hear me when I tell him these things but that isn't the point. It's about the release. It's also knowing he won't hate me for what I say to him. If we want to talk free of judgment, a deaf cat is the way to go. The other two cats I brought with me can hear, and are affectionate regardless. Lucky is two years younger than Milo, she's sleeping on the couch next to me as I write this. She lives up to her name. Her sister died only a month before we moved. Her brother has an on going illness... while she is... healthy aside from weak lungs. She sneezes when she gets into dust. She's my cat... her, like Milo, I raised from a kitten. I was there when she was born. I was only a little kid. Then there is Calico, I also raised her... she's the last of her litter. She lame in one leg from an old injury that never healed right.
It's funny to think about it, the cats I choose to bring are as broken as I am. There were healthy cats with no problems at all I could have taken but I didn't. Milo would come regardless, there is no question, he has been my best friend of nearly 18 years. But I didn't have to bring old and broken cats.
I realize I've deviated off topic here but that is the point. I needed a place to talk this out at my own speed with no one asking questions or making remarks. This is therapy.
I was close to returning to a therapist or a psychologist before I left. It had worn on me that much. I felt useless and horrible. Battered and bruised and bloody. And I felt guilty. For the first time in a long time my confidence was shot.
It still sort of is...
I've taken to worrying more than I should but... I've decided to stop that. There is no point. Worrying does not change the outcome. Courage places me where I need to be and puts me where I want to be. I didn't run away and I never have.