B) Let's talk about crying. I've had one therapy consultation so far but before I got there I did a little amateur delving into the past, hit a little trauma, and arrived at good old-fashioned sobbing. This happened vis a vis my mother a couple years ago and vis a vis having my heart broken many many years ago, this time. It's pretty complex, wasn't any old heart break, but I won't bother with the story too much here... I guess the pertinent fact is only that both things constitute what I've experienced of traumatic emotional situations. Both times I seem to arrive at the uncontrollable crying from first thinking I can just, stylistically frankly, lay out what the trauma was, and tell the other person what it was and do so coolly, only to realize a few hours later that I'm feeling the same things I was feeling in the past which I had thought I could so cooly describe, effectively *get rid of* by remembering, laying out, sending away.
(This time as I walked home from errands at night, I was suddenly sobbing in the street, oh New York, I turned toward a building and just sobbed and sobbed and a woman - she is named Wanda, asked if I was alright. I pulled myself together. We talked a long time.
Wanda: Are you alright?
Me: Oh, yes. Yes I really am. (heaving breath) I really am.
Wanda: Are you sure?
Me: Yeah, it's just a memory. This isn't - yes, I'm really okay. I know it doesn't look like it.
Wanda: Well, where are you going? Can I walk with you?
Me: (actually composing myself somewhat) Yes. I'm, um, well I'm sorry. Thanks for stopping me.
Wanda: See these tears in my eyes? I know what you're feeling. I'm going through it too.
Me: I'm not even going though it -- this is like old stuff. Is yours, is it a love thing? That's usually it.
Wanda commenced to tell me what she's going through, in the present [which makes her seem like less of a lunatic than me to me] which is horribly difficult. Part of her problem today involves seeing her ex's family at Church a lot so I told her I'm Jewish but maybe we can do some kind of volunteering together some time. I hope we do it. She suggested Thanksgiving, but I won't be around here then so, I don't know, please remind me to call Wanda. )
I came home to continue crying, got a hug from my roommate who is no stranger to needing therapy to deal with the past. And thank God she was around to tell me not to drink, to just drink water, which I did and gradually stopped crying, watched some something or other and went to bed. I didn't cry myself to sleep... and YET. And yet my eyes in the morning when I had some place to be. Puffed so they were barely possible to open. I would like to tell my body that if it's going to be so inclined to gush tears, reduce me to sobs, and keep 'em coming, then it would really be nice if my face could fucking handle that. But why even bother with the things you'd like to tell your body, right? Hello pine nuts? Hello pine nuts aren't poison but HISTAMINES actually might be hello? and etc. for everybody out there, and all that kind of stuff, yeah, right?
Then I go to therapy, or in this case just my consultation, and, of course I wasn't done with this crying jag yet so at the least my therapist must think I do need the therapy... so that's good. I told her how I almost thought in the weeks between writing my bio in order to get the consultation and the consultation that I became worried that she might think I was *too happy* to qualify. Like just thinking about my life so much with the anticipation of therapy was making me feel so great that it would seem like I didn't really need it. I told her this through tears. And then I told her about how I've always sort of had this problem that crying makes me feel like I'm crazy.
I know just how this conversation goes because I've had it every time I've started therapy (not many times, but enough) I'm always a sobbing mess by the time I've gotten myself to their office. I tell them, either "sorry" or "I have sort of a problem where crying like this makes me feel crazy."
and he/she says: What's crazy about crying?
And we could start right there if we wanted to, because I could tell her that when I'd cry growing up, my mother would say I was "emotionally disturbed" and look to psychologists for answers with what was wrong with me (which whenever I saw an actual psychologist was HER, but I'm digressing- not to mention seriously turning my blog into my issues with my mother, barf, but moving on...)
But we don't start there because I don't want to start there yet so I mention, through my tears, mopping up some more snot, that yeah yeah yeah, there are old reasons I feel that way but let's be serious- you don't want to feel out of control. You don't want to be crying. You're not supposed to be crying on the street. And especially about a memory, right? That is what we sometimes, in shorthand, call crazy behavior.
I don't know why I'm blogging this besides that I sort of want to.
Crying has just been a thing that I don't usually do, well -- empathetically for great theater I do, totally controllably, but not usually, not since a long time ago (in high school I was often a sobbing mess), but, now, I don't usually and when I do cry for myself, it feels sudden and I do it uncontrollably, frighteningly, can't stop once it's started, start feeling crazy for doing it. Crying. I wanted to write about crying.
I've stopped crying and am feeling better now for what it's worth. And it may be very worth noting that. You know, for the next time. It makes me feel crazy but I do stop. I can't stop it so should do it without the belaboring the feeling nuts about it. It's sort of a one way trip, a deep dive and then a re-emergence. I should probably eliminate to the degree that I can the part of the dive that's considering myself a total fucking lunatic but it also isn't too important to because I do stop. I guess I'm just saying that I should start to feel some safety about it. The people you encounter don't think you're "crazy" - they just think you're crying. You can't go out dancing or anything but you will live. You're just crying, a lot.
Am I saying anything here?
XOXO
C) When Hurricane Irene was coming I was doing a million things, a last push of compulsive anit bed-bug cleaning, rearranging all the furniture in the house, storm preparations, and finally sitting in bed eating bon bons, drinking Lindemans and watching Funny Face. But I've been saving notes by my bed since then that I jotted down that I wanted to blog about the hurricane. I was going to put them here, but I guess I'll just save them some more because, ha, there's nothing interesting about them not in the immediate. Sort of an interesting blog writing experiment whose answer may disturb us who blog, no?
XOXO
Alexis
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