Justifing Myself

Blegh, y’all. It’s been a hard lunch hour. I feel like a shitty friend. It’s not important why except to note that I don’t normally feel like the most fucked up person on the block and then something will happen, like someone will be all “Why don’t we have peanut butter and jelly for lunch?” and I’m all “My grandma did too love me” and… I don’t know… it’s just hard.

I know we all drag our shit around behind us;–speaking of Scrooge–we wear the chains we forged in life. But I find those moments really hard. I explain myself. The person clearly wants to move on. I feel compelled to explain myself again. They clearly, more than ever, want to move on. And I want… I don’t know what I want. I guess to feel like the choices I’ve made are the best choices I could have made, given the circumstances.

And I get really difficult to deal with when I feel that that’s threatened–my belief that I’m making the best choices I can.

And I feel bad about inflicting that on people.

I don’t know.

It’s fine. It’s just some shit I’ve got to work through.

Edited to add: See?!  Even now.  I’m still upset about it and am trying to justify to myself why I’m upset about it.  It’s like never-ending circular stupidity.

8 thoughts on “Justifing Myself

  1. I can’t speak for you, Aunt B. (because if I did, it would be so A) not polite; and B) not requested; and C) not appropriate), but when I do that – and I do – I think it’s in the hope that if I explain it enough, that maybe it will give me some control over it; that I can explain it enough to make it the right decision, or, I don’t know, magically backspace the need for the decision out of existence.

    That wasn’t a fog machine, folks. That was me trying to explain something, and the more I tried, the more obscure it got, I think.

    Aunt B.? It’s not just you. I don’t know if that’s any kind of comfort or not. But you’re not alone.

  2. I agree that it isn’t just you – there are any number of days and there will be any number of days when I could say the exact same things about myself.

    For what my opinion is worth – you are a very good friend. I knew that by intuition when I met you and you’ve shown that to me and other people so many ways since then.

    And were I anywhere near you, I’d insist that we spend the rest of the day driving the backroads and stopping to see weird stuff and eat bad gas station snacks until all the found and inherited uneasiness went back in the cage for a while.

    I would also insist that we invent new plot lines for that movie empire we planned in the days of yore, but only once we had a good sugar high going. :)

  3. Did I mean in so many ways up there? Yes, I did. Clearly I need some state highway adventures to clear my brain.

  4. It sounds trite, but go ahead and dump it out. You have the Constitutionally guaranteed right to get pissed off now and then. So do we all. Dump it. Get over it. Kwitcherbitchin’ and get on with it…

    Well, I said it would sound trite, but what do you expect from an old phart dude like me?

  5. Besides, how can we even be sure what a “best choice” is? It’s not like their is some rule book to go by is there?

  6. I’ll throw my 2 cents in. Like La BellaDonna, this is just me speaking from personal experience. I’ve beaten myself up about things over the years, sometimes like a broken record. I finally replaced one of those old records about 6 months ago, and here’s how I did it.

    I find I have narratives that help me explain the patterns in my life. There is one particular story that I related to strongly for about 15 years. It happened to be a tragic one. Whenever events in my life echoed it, the story would come up, and subsequent events would be interpreted in its context. Just like looking into the headlights of the oncoming car, I’d be drawn to its tragic conclusion. I was never consciously aware of the influence of the story/viewpoint (call it what you want); at the time it just seemed a truth re-emerging.

    Several months ago I recognized that in my current situation, driving towards those headlights could be catastrophic. That fear was enough to interrupt the narrative and notice its mental pull. I sat down and spent hours tracing the emotions it took me through, recognizing their transitions… well-worn mental trails… I came to see what the story was doing. I outlined the major plot points. I thought about where I wanted to go (focus on the white stripe on the right side of your own lane) and added that to the plot.

    I was fortunate and/or diligent and/or scared enough to find an alternate story, one with a similar start and middle, but a different ending. I invested myself into the story by rewriting it (literally) as my own. I felt a greater identity with the new one than the old tragic one.

    And I for once I steered away from the oncoming traffic.

    I don’t have good perspective on the whole thing, waaay to far inside it, but I imagine there is something in the pattern that is universal. Perhaps, translated to your story, it will mean something.

    I hope so. :-)

  7. This is the type of post that continues to draw me to TCP. Not everyone can do it and not sound all whiny. Look at the comments you receive! None of the usual, lazy “Oh, things will get better” type of comments, no, B, you are blessed with some engaged readers. I wonder how many others here feel somewhat invested in your well-being? This alone should keep you in good cheer.

    I am of the belief that almost everybody feels this way from time to time, precious few will admit it on a world-wide scale. Years of conditioning have taught me to play my cards close to the vest, as they say, but I admire transparency in all human interaction. I am amazed that not only do you do this, but your readers do as well.

    This pleases me.

  8. Damn it, Mack, how can I come in here all loving on my commentors, if you’ve already done it? No, I tease, just because you’re right. I am very lucky to have readers who are engaged and who get that what’s useful to me is not “oh, it’ll be okay” but “Yeah, there is something funky going on here, how do we know what to make of it?”

    Those kinds of responses mean a lot to me.

    I don’t know. It’s weird and nice. I blog, I think, because I was taught, like you, to keep things close and not share them. Couple that with being taught to not stand out and you have a recipe for misery.

    I feel like this is a space where I can get all of the stuff that is stuck in my head, that I mull over until it eats me up, out and in a size and shape I can see and measure and decide how to live with.

    I was taught to keep a great deal of myself isolated from others.

    One of the best things about blogging, for me, has been the reward of learning the benefits of living another way, that sharing yourself, even in this weird way, has great benefits.

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