Saturday, June 12, 2010

it's a cycle. it's cyclical!

I have discovered that I am a person who needs to be constantly occupied and moving forward-- if I pause for the rest and comfort that I long for it ends up biting me in the end. When I'm busy I want nothing more than to curl up and be away from things, but once I am I become all the more anxious, which apparently makes me depressed. I guess. I try very hard to see myself from the outside in times like this, to see how unreasonable I must seem, how overly sensitive I am to things. Not outwardly, usually, I now have a handle on that, but when I'm alone all I can do is focus and fixate on all of the rejection I suddenly feel from the world, and all I want to do is flail for somebody, or get a post-it from God reminding me that I'm doing everything right. I know the weird rejection I feel is mostly in my head, and that my reactions to it are unhealthy, but I don't know how I SEEM when I'm like this. I don't know how these things effect my life exactly, or if I'm even making any sense at the moment. It just feels like paralyzing anxiety, a hyper-self-consciousness.

I was muttering to myself today about how some people I know are terribly moody, but that I'm not moody. I'm emotional, which is quite different from moody. My emotions are intense, they do not change rapidly and with no provocation. So perhaps that intensity can be called sensitivity-- however, this conclusion does confuse me as I feel like I know and understand many sensitive and overly sensitive people, but that I do not identify with that. Sensitive people like a number of my friends usually react at the drop of a hat and feel insulted to their core if a word comes out wrong. I am usually maternal towards those of my loved ones that are this type, and love them because, like me, their emotions are heightened, but nevertheless there is at times the nagging, somewhat exhausting feeling of eggshells beneath my feet-- beneath everyone's feet-- around people like that. That, for the most part, is not me. If there is one thing I know about me it is that I am an incredibly flexible person-- to schedule, mood, atmosphere. Though I feel that I care passionately about important things, and am actually quite opinionated, I can roll with anything and care very little about having anything "just so." I gave up on control and most means of self-promotion a long time ago. It is one of my strengths, and one that allows me to be able to build friendships with many different types-- I attribute it to my family life.

Anyway. So I keep coming back to these defining words and becoming more tired with every examination-- am I emotional AND sensitive? Am I really just sensitive? Is that what's making me suddenly question everything, sitting up late at night with a fast-beating heart and a deep sense of loneliness that I reserve for these hours? Or am I anxious? Too self-conscious? Crazy? Bipolar? Whatever it is, it's all part of the stupid cycle for me-- I'll be rolling along productively just to stop in my tracks and become consumed by my thoughts-- brain cannibalism of the self, haha. I don't like it. But the only thing I can do is yield to it, and know that bizarre urgency-- the destructive, erratic me-- is followed by imagined rejection-- lonely, penitent me-- followed by gloomy me, followed by the me that wakes up tomorrow afternoon in a scatterbrained state, with the weight of weird pain generally evaporated. Still, even with the comfort of that future state I get so tired of this lack of progress, this tiresome cycle.

Perhaps if I continue to write about it I will be able to pinpoint it further, and therefore harnass and bend it to my will.

Time to watch some Netflix sweetness and wallow until sleep comes.

1 comment:

Sonja said...

Brain cannibalism of the self -- nice -- in a purely wordy way of course.

And wallow is a good word too. People should use it morel