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nebris~When I got up around 8pm I took a shit. It was the first solid shit I'd taken since at least 2am Thursday. It's not that I had diarrhea pre se, just that my shit ranged in texture and exiting from runny pudding casually plopping out to pure liquid spraying as from a soda fountain. Nasty to be sure, but En Excreta Veritas, eh?
Anyway, I took this change of texture to be a good sign, one meaning that I'm finally recovering.
I'm still obsessing of course, though now about finding a rental.
That is at the core of my issues, my Disability, my Damage. I have a vivid imagination and a negative attitude. This tends to equal Depression, PTSD, OCD and a whole host of other delightful conditions.
And yes, this all stems from my insane childhood. One depressive alcoholic mother, one control freak ragaholic step-father. That they are both charming and brilliant and attractive simply makes matters worse as how could such lovely people really be that fucking abusive.
The two key elements of that abuse were One: I never knew when shit would hit the fan and Two: whatever I loved or valued would always be taken away. And this in the midst of a lot of money. [step-father made his first million dollars in 1961]
Yeah, yeah, poor me. 'Get over it'. 'Plenty of others had it worse'. Etc. for those thinking all that, trust me, that type of thinking is also abusive. Like telling someone who just had a pet die, “What are you crying about? I just lost my mother,” as if there is some value hierarchy of pain.
All that is pure shaming and is telling that person that their feelings do not really matter simply because there is greater pain in the world. That breeds mental illness and is a Spiritual Crime.
I say this with such vehemence because as I typed out those words about my issues, I could hear that shaming in my head. And in the back, the ever popular, “I'll give you something to really cry about.”
When we have no mechanism to acknowledge our pain and release it, it festers and poisons us. Every one of my addictive behaviors was pain management, pure and simple. Many of those I have met in Recovery have said the same about their 'adventures' as well.
I suppose all this is pouring out, like my liquid shit, because of the confluence of Lawfare Phase One ending and Father's Day.
I few years ago I had the good fortune to be able to resolve things with my father. It took a fucking half a century to happen, but it did happen. Not many get to do that in my experience. That he himself did a lot of inner work is what made that possible, too. It wasn't all me by any means. Largely what I did was merely to affirm the correctness of his path.
The unhappy colliery to this is that my mother has not done any of that work and I suspect she shall go to her grave with our relationship unresolved. That is pretty painful, truth be told.
My step-father...? I have a Google Alert for his name, waiting to hear that he has died. I then plan to piss upon his grave at the first opportune moment. I'll post a pic, too.
Okay, I really didn't expect all that to come bubbling up. Guess I am feeling better if I can face that nasty shit, all puns intended.
Think Good Thoughts about rentals for us, boys and girls. And so it is...
Anyway, I took this change of texture to be a good sign, one meaning that I'm finally recovering.
I'm still obsessing of course, though now about finding a rental.
That is at the core of my issues, my Disability, my Damage. I have a vivid imagination and a negative attitude. This tends to equal Depression, PTSD, OCD and a whole host of other delightful conditions.
And yes, this all stems from my insane childhood. One depressive alcoholic mother, one control freak ragaholic step-father. That they are both charming and brilliant and attractive simply makes matters worse as how could such lovely people really be that fucking abusive.
The two key elements of that abuse were One: I never knew when shit would hit the fan and Two: whatever I loved or valued would always be taken away. And this in the midst of a lot of money. [step-father made his first million dollars in 1961]
Yeah, yeah, poor me. 'Get over it'. 'Plenty of others had it worse'. Etc. for those thinking all that, trust me, that type of thinking is also abusive. Like telling someone who just had a pet die, “What are you crying about? I just lost my mother,” as if there is some value hierarchy of pain.
All that is pure shaming and is telling that person that their feelings do not really matter simply because there is greater pain in the world. That breeds mental illness and is a Spiritual Crime.
I say this with such vehemence because as I typed out those words about my issues, I could hear that shaming in my head. And in the back, the ever popular, “I'll give you something to really cry about.”
When we have no mechanism to acknowledge our pain and release it, it festers and poisons us. Every one of my addictive behaviors was pain management, pure and simple. Many of those I have met in Recovery have said the same about their 'adventures' as well.
I suppose all this is pouring out, like my liquid shit, because of the confluence of Lawfare Phase One ending and Father's Day.
I few years ago I had the good fortune to be able to resolve things with my father. It took a fucking half a century to happen, but it did happen. Not many get to do that in my experience. That he himself did a lot of inner work is what made that possible, too. It wasn't all me by any means. Largely what I did was merely to affirm the correctness of his path.
The unhappy colliery to this is that my mother has not done any of that work and I suspect she shall go to her grave with our relationship unresolved. That is pretty painful, truth be told.
My step-father...? I have a Google Alert for his name, waiting to hear that he has died. I then plan to piss upon his grave at the first opportune moment. I'll post a pic, too.
Okay, I really didn't expect all that to come bubbling up. Guess I am feeling better if I can face that nasty shit, all puns intended.
Think Good Thoughts about rentals for us, boys and girls. And so it is...
