tinhuviel | Entries tagged with emotions

Over the past couple of months, I've been trying to make sense of why I tend to rapidly bounce between agony and rage. And I have decided that the rage is a side-effect of the agony. It is an act of self-preservation.

All my life, I've been able to sense the feelings around me, and when I was introduced to TV, that sense extended to the people and animals I saw in shows and news stories. I emotionally participated in the joys and sorrows that were brought to my attention, and it was usually a good experience. Sometimes, though, an indefinable ache would impose itself on me when I would see people or animals suffering in some way, if only emotionally. And that ache tended to linger long after the experience itself. It never truly left, but it would just get bigger and stronger with subsequent events that added to it.

This ache would also impose itself on the more positive feelings I tried to enjoy when emotionally linked into my environment. After the nasty break-up of the Parental Units, which kept me in a kind of limbo, both physically and mentally, it became harder for me to grasp onto the good feelings and embrace them simply for what they were, without the ache encroaching on them.

So, around the age of 7, I began to avoid anything that might pique an emotional response. It would be a few years later when I'd learn the word stoic, but that was exactly what I was striving for, a sublime state of stoicism. To a certain degree, I was rather quite successful in my efforts. I avoided anything that might threaten too much emotion, and I sought out people, situations, books, art - anything - that would encourage nothing but positive reactions.

But, with the death of the Paternal Grandmother Unit in 1993, a crippling blow to my stoic defense left me exposed in a way I had not been since 1974. I was still young in my Wiccan Tradition, and had been regularly opening myself up to psychic possibilities, especially when participating in Circles. That combination threw me deeper in the emotional experience than I had ever been. I found myself struggling to read news stories of what was going on in the world. And many accounts of animal abuse I might accidentally stumble across on TV or in the press would leave me incapable of function on any level. I'm not exaggerating. There were times when I was physically violently ill, trapped in the bathroom, repeatedly vomiting.

Since then, it's only gotten worse, and my practice of stoicism has been, and continues to be, lacking merit in fortifying my emotional keep. In 1999, I gave myself the permission to get angry. And I've never looked back. If there's such a thing as stoic anger, I have it. In spades. It could be described as a cat in self-defense mode: standing still, muscles clenched, puffed out to look bigger, and vocalising her displeasure. A lot of it is false bravado, but some of it can only be described as an assurance that, if pushed too far, she will take an eye out with her claws.

Since 2011, though, I've had to step up my objections to the pain and suffering in the world. Instead of enjoying a little bit of "down time" with stoicism, I find I have to maintain a low level of anger just to be able to function. My default setting is seething, and it can be exhausting. Fortunately, humour can come to the rescue, and often does! But, when I open up my newsfeed on Google or Yahoo, simple headlines can throw me into despair. I can't watch shows or movies that even hint at animal abuse or atrocities inflicted upon a human or humans by other humans. The ache never fully goes away and the seething is there to keep me from losing what little mind I have left.

I often find myself wishing I were a full-blown sociopath or a psychopath, because I envy their inability to empathize. When people wonder why I rage against so much, I hope they realise that the rage is a side effect of empathy, a defense mechanism.

Sometimes, anger is the only thing that keeps me from killing myself.

Mood: contemplative
Where? Home
Music: Beats Antique - Spider Bite

Is it a good sign when you can turn your emotions off more easily and quickly with each wound, or is it a bad one? Or is it just an unfortunate circumstance that you're having to do it again because you've yet to learn your bloody lesson?

Mood: sick
Where? home
Music: Rose Red on TV

I do not feel the way others apparently do. When there's a death, I don't cry, I don't feel anything. When there's a major surgery in the family coming up, everyone is so concerned and they gather at the hospital to show their support for one another. But I feel peripheral to all of that. I always have. I just don't understand it at all. What's going to happen will happen despite everyone wasting their time in a place filled with all manner of pestilence.

Even the loss of pets now does not affect me in the way it used to. I would grieve deeply for my animal companions, more than any human; however, that's changed somehow too. I often just feel...numb these days. I wonder if it's a by-product of being so closely bound to the character of Cadmus, who is wholly emotionless, or at least mostly so. His lack of...anything...may have been seeping into my psyche without my knowing it. But this has been going on for a while now. And, to be honest, I can't muster up enough concern to worry about what it may mean.

Mood: numb
Where? home
Music: Rob Dougan - Clubbed To Death (Kurayamino Mix)

I don't think I've been in this foul a mood since..... since..... since before I left The Pit! I've been having to chew on my tongue to keep from biting Aunt Tudi's head clean off. Everything just irritates the holy crap out of me and I find myself scanning the skies for a merciful nyoo-keee-lurr missile.

The only thing I saw were contrails. Contrails contrails contrails every-damned-where! Before 9-11, you'd see the occasional contrail and go "meh....contrail." Now, they often outnumber the clouds. They're all over the place. There's not a place in the sky that you can't not see a contrail. I hate them. They're ugly, unnatural, and they scream "police state" to me. Damned contrails....

Mood: bitchy
Music: King of Queens

This really has nothing to do with birds or farmers. It is, instead, a random post with no strong subject to merit it being made the subject line.

First off, I would like to state for the record that I am both terrified of and appalled with the Burger King King. He's pretty much the creepiest thing on TV now, only because the scary Six Flags dude isn't currently in rotation, and I want him to go away.

The owl icon I'm using is from a picture of an owl that lives in the Wild Animal Park, which is a free range animal sanctuary in cahoots with the San Diego zoo. The Mother Unit took that picture and it's completely untouched. I just love how the black pupils turned out to be red. It is a great horned owl and one of the most beautiful creatures I've ever had the honour of encountering. But I'm a sucker for owls, any kind of owl. I think that's the one thing that sealed a bond between the Grandmother Unit and me. We barely knew each other when we were reunited, but the one thing we had in common was an uncanny adoration of owls. When she passed away, the Mother Unit passed her owl collection on to me.

My loose modem connection is swiftly driving me quite mad. I really need to get the fucker fixed before I snap and scamper through the neighbourhood offing yokels with an air rifle. What happened a few weeks ago is Aunt Tudi got her foot caught in my phone cord and jerked it really hard. Thankfully, she didn't fall or hurt herself, but she did a number on my computer. It's been a nightmare ever since and it's getting worse with every passing day. Must.Get.It.Fixed..... Ideally what I'd like to do is get the new lappie, transfer all my stuff over to the new one, wipe this one clean, then get it repaired without any of my personal stuff being on it. Then it'd be like new for Aunt Tudi to use and drive herself like a herd of wombats into the 21st Century.

I'm supposed to go see Llew around 7 tonight, but I've already told him I have to leave by 8:45 to be home in time enough for LOST. Since I've had to go out every day this week so far, I'm really not keen on going anywhere. But a promise is a promise. I just don't feel like doing anything but vegging online and giving the animals and Aunt Tudi the hairy eyeball.

After Judge Judy, I've got to shave my legs, which is a monumental task since I am Sasquatch. I need to make the legs at least marginally decent-looking for the doctor tomorrow, so he won't have to dip his fingers in an inch of fur just to get to my kneecap. I have a 10:15 appointment tomorrow morning for Dr. Yost to hopefully give my left knee an injection. He may not do stuff like that, though, and will have to refer me to an orthopaedic doctor. I had a doc for that, but he stopped taking my insurance so..... there you go.

Speaking of insurance, I need to start paying for my Cobra this month. I've decided to do the 12 month extension just in case one of my eyeballs falls out or something equally as gruesome. Perhaps by next year I'll have insurance with a new job working with animals whilst going to school.

Here is where I get to really complain: I miss having a crush on someone. Not a particular person, mind, just the crush itself. The last really strong crush was on Darth Maul. Such obsessions are very inspiring and uplifting for me. I feel kind of empty when I'm not swept along by uncontrollable feelings which I can explore and expand. No one really captures my fancy, though, so I just drift aimlessly wishing for that powerful feeling to return. I hate that.

Mood: cranky
Music: Judge Judy

So here I sit with a small red bow affixed to my head and grin plastered across my face. It's not necessarily Krimmus spirit, but I am in a fantabulous mood. I feel all warm and gooey inside, and I'm ready to bounce about and titter with glee.

I feel so good, I wouldn't even punch

clauderainsrm in the face if he were close! I'm afraid that Palpy will barge in any minute and take away my Sith membership card, slowly ripping it up in front of me and tossing the pieces in the air like so much confetti.

Tonight is the Evans family brouhaha. It used to be held at my house when Granny was still alive. After she died, though, we started having it at Uncle Michael and Janice's abode. This year will be different. Little Michael finished his and Jenni's new home and, as a result, they wanted to host the shindig there. So we're off to Campobello around 6 PM. I thought they lived in Boiling Springs, but I was mistaken.

Aunt Tudi has asked me not to be too critical of Colby tonight. I'll do my level best to honour her wishes even though he deserves to be beaten with a large spiked club. He sure as hell doesn't deserve to be visited by Santa Claus because he's an unruly little bat-faced reprobate. I'm the only one who lets him know that too. I make him and everyone around him aware that I know he's a criminal in the making.

BUT!! I feel too good to let that speck of bad behaviour ruin my day. I'm gonna have at the good times and enjoy myself to the max. And then I'm gonna come home and stay up 'til shortly after Midnight, like I always do on Krimmus Eve, hoping that one or all of the animals will speak. If nothing happens, I'll retire for the evening. If one of them does start speaking, you'll hear my YAAAAHOOOOOOOOOOOO!! echoing around the globe. Yea and verily.

Mood: fantastic!
Music: Laverne & Shirley

I'm itching for romance.

I want to be in Barnes & Noble, sipping an espresso and perusing various enthralling tomes of enlightenment, when dude approaches me. He would be in his 30s but still very keen on comfort and dressing like a ragamuffin. Maybe he'd dress like a Dead Head. And he'd be large and totally non-buffed. He'd have dark hair, preferably long, or he'd be bald, a very pleasant lyrical voice, and he'd have soft hands to the touch, but they would carry more power than one would think by mere observation. Facial hair and eyeglasses would be definite plus.

He'd ask me if I'd like a cup of coffee (the potential dating version of this question, not the president of Burundi version) and we'd sit together discussing books and science fiction.

He'd have a wry sense of humour and would see the humour in every situation.

And he'd buy my coffee before he left the store. A couple of days later, I would receive flowers and a formal request that we go on a date. And our dates would be comfortable, full of laughter and philosophy, and hopelessly awash in Uber-Geekery.

He'd be an exceptional and patient lover and would want to dress me up like his own personal doll. He'd be vocal in his love of me, the kind that shouts to the world about his newfound love. He'd be the one quite intent on maintaining my safety and well-being. He wouldn't just be my lover, he'd be my best friend.

I would love to feel utterly overwhelming surrender when he wraps his large arms around me, enclosing me in his abundant body. He would send me cards, candy, flowers, what have you. He'd alway be touching me through the night, just to affirm his presence and make certain of mine.

With this dream man, I'd be unconditionally safe, loved, and brought high before onlookers. He'd make music for me and nurture me without smothering. He'd be the kind of man who places his arm around me in stores. And he'd shower me with gifts, just because. He would want a handfasting outdoors before the witness of the trees.

He'd have a Celtic soul and Sci-Fi spirit.

I have never been romanced. I've never been approached by a man. What little experience I have in relationships leaves me very unsure as to whether or not I'll ever manifest such a beautiful, romantic male as described above. Despite the fact that I've lost hope of this happening, I still sometimes long for it. I'm not sure if I'm melancholy about all the time I've lost or if I'm subconsciously babying a seed of hope that, someday, my prince will come.

Mood: romantic
Music: The Nanny on Lifetime

I slept late today. Like really late. What woke me up? Dumb and Dumber on the telly. This put me in an instant good mood, which is a miracle, 'cos I never wake up in a good mood. This miracle indicates to me that I need a Farrelly Brothers alarm clock. That would be fantabulous.

I took quizzes. ( here )

I may have to drag out My, Myself, and Irene here in a little while. Nothing thrills me more than a schizophrenic motorcycle cop shooting a prize-winning bovine repeatedly. No, really!

Mood: chipper
Music: The TV, but I know not what is on

Just heard back from him. A "pair of bollocks and a gurt great dong. Graphically abstracted as it were. Ah me..."

Okay.

As always, I have issues with this response.

First off, I never thought I'd ever receive anything by way of communication from Barry Andrews that involved the word "dong." I don't know whether to scratch or whine.

Secondly, thanks to my love affair with the Mighty Darth Maul, I could never quite get around the line "two red circles and a thick black spine" without thinking of Maul's balls. In fact, that line inspired my only Nude Maul picture. I drew him with literally "two red circles and a thick black spine." But I was always rather ashamed to take this portion of the song "Lined Up" so literally, forever assuming it carried a loftier meaning. I was both right and wrong.

Again...scratch or whine?

I don't think I've been this embarrassed since I introduced myself to B on the phone as Ms. Andrews.

If anyone needs me, I'll be under that rock over there.

Mood: indescribable
Music: The Weather Channel

I need a Valium. A gigantic Valium the size of a small pony. I'd gnaw on it until I passed out, then wake up and gnaw on it some more. Was going to fly with the Green Fairy tonight, but I'm a bit too wound up and floating on my personal pool of abject fright, so having Absinthe dreams may not be the best idea. Visions of Jack the Ripper (and Tinkerbell) may very well plague my dreams and I'd wake up looking like Nadine Cross.

Yes, I've whipped myself into a right old lather, I have. Captain Cook and the Buddha are my companions right now. And the Pariah is perched upon my shoulder, whispering into my ear, "Surely you didn't honestly believe I would let you lie comforted in your slumber without my cold presence to tantalise your imagination in the abyss of night?"

Actually, you beastly animus, I did...and don't call me Shirley.

The best kind of friend is like iron sharpening iron, by only its claw we may judge of the lion, truth hurts but it stands, I cannot tell a lie: that was our Wisdom, the Reptiles and I....

Mood: Uhm....see the subject line!
Music: Shriekback "Feelers"

I just heard the strains of the Titanic score on TV and my heart welled up in my throat. Needless to say, this pissed me right the hell off.

Picture it:
It was 1998. I was still in the throes of severe heartbreak. No. It wasn't heartbreak, it was heartshatter. And this movie had come out from one of my favourite directors, James Cameron. Aunt Tudi wanted to see it for dramatic reasons and the whole splendour of the movie. I wanted to see it because of the killer special effects and, when I'm down, I like to see large numbers of humans perish. It's a thing with me. Besides, I desperately needed a diversion from my current state of mind.

So off we went to see Titanic in the late afternoon. It was a pretty Spring day. The sun was up. It's important that I stress that the sun was up.

The movie began and Aunt Tudi and I were swept away by the story. I was particularly swept away by the music. James Horner floats my boat, fries my onions, twists my Twizzlers, and other sundry actions that ought not be mentioned. I forgot my woes and enjoyed the movie...until the last hour. When I saw the old couple on the bed and especially the young Irish woman trying to comfort her little girl, accompanied with the heart-rending Celtic-themed score, I fucking lost it. LOST...IT...

Now, I hate to cry when watching a movie or a TV show. It makes me feel weak and worthy of a swift beheading. I had to choke back tears last night watching Battlestar Galactica which, by the by, featured Uilleann Pipes during the more poignant moments. During Titanic, I lost all control. I boo-hooed like Ren Hoek. I was tilting back my head and squalling like a piece of shit girly girl. The emotion and the music was all too much for me. I had a complete cinematic break down. I hated the movie for doing that to me and I hated myself for allowing such hijacking of my emotions. My only saving grace was that I could wear my sunglasses on the way out so Aunt Tudi nor anyone else would know that I'd cried so hard, I was snubbing and hiccuping.

I was wrong. Absolutely fucking wrong. See, I didn't stop to think that Titanic was 5 hours long and that, when we exited the theatre, the sun would be down. There I was doing my bad Cory Hart impression and everyone knew why: I was trying to hide the fact that I was a complete ninny. So I left the Hollywood 20 more miserable than when I arrived and I've hated Titanic ever since.

I will break my boycott of the film if I tune in right around the time the boat goes vertical 'cos I just love getting to see Propeller Man. He's the epitome of bad luck. I mean, it's bad enough that you're on a sinking ship and you're falling into the freezing water, but to smack right into a gigantic propeller on the way down is really over the top. Not only do I laugh at Propeller Man's plight, I also empathise with him. Shit like that would happen to me.

Mood: cranky
Music: AFI's 100 Years...100 Quotes

I have zero motivation.

Nothing has been done today.

I don't even care enough to be ashamed of myself.

Mood: blah
Music: Judge Judy

I'm still in a really weird mood. Slept way too late and feel like I could go right back to sleep if given have the chance. For the first time in years I'm not dreading work tomorrow. It's like, now that we're really going to be winding down, I fully realise that my horror is almost over. I haven't heard from Llew since yesterday afternoon. This has got to be the most random, disjointed post I've ever made. How about a meme?