Writing with a friend
I’ve been having a difficult time. I don’t entirely know what’s going on for me. I do get occasional hits of fear, and if they last a little I can stand back from myself and give me a comforting hug. Gosh, I wonder if it’s possible that I’m working out a relationship between my “I” and my “self.” My self, for some reason is scared, disoriented, afraid she’s doing everything wrong — or there’s something she’s supposed to be doing and she’s not doing it. I looked at trying to read more in ’96 but I just couldn’t do it. It’s so bad — I’m having a really rough time, actually the most recent, starting September 1, I’m taking some medication — didn’t recognize it — not able to go back and read pages and pages looking for it — the medication stops the fear, but I still feel miserable. I suppose the fear is just distracting me from the depression and I’m still depressed. I’m also dealing with intense hot flashes. Not sure if it’s menopause or if I’m still dealing with the fallout from the Paxil Episode.
I’m sitting outside with Sharon, under the big umbrella. I hear two blowers — nearby air conditioning — one just went off. I wish I wasn’t so sensitive to sound. There goes something else…
Now what am I feeling. A kind of pain and tension in my chest. It could be my heart. Depression, sadness, grief? If I could get to the grief, if I could only cry. Why is the grieving so hard? Because I’m not grieving for something I had and lost — then you know what you’ve lost and what you’re grieving for. But when it’s something you should have had and didn’t get, like caring and support from your parents, then you don’t know what you didn’t get. You only know that there’s a big hole in your life.
I think about Mama Greene. She gave me love and support. But by the time she came, I had already been traumatized. And somehow I knew that if I got too close to Mama Greene Mother would be jealous and that would be really bad. “Let’s call Mama Greene and tell her we don’t need her tomorrow.” At least I went upstairs, out of mother’s hearing, called her and told her I loved her.
Love. That’s always been such a difficult word. I’m not sure what it means, or what it’s supposed to feel like. I’m not sure if I’m capable of love. Tenderness. I remember when I came across that word and realized it was something else I never experienced.
Note: the “I” and “self” designations are from The Web of Meaning, by Jeffrey Lent. He calls the “I” the “conceptual intelligence” and the “self” is the “animate intelligence.”