Be the change

Dangerous territory, what a hormone storm looks like…

Suddenly I burst into tears, reading the news.  It was about the State of the Union address.  I am watching it right now on PBS, but not really listening.  I don’t have the attention for that.  Scouser is laying down in the bedroom.  He pretty much disappeared after eating supper.  My two male cats are still woozy from getting neutered today.  They don’t want to be touched.  Yes, even my cats are rejecting me.

It is because of these hormone storms that I know that fear of rejection is my Achilles heel.  It is getting to the point that whenever I am overwhelmed by such thoughts, it is probably hormonal - if I just check the calendar I am probably in range.  My heart feels squeezed. I panic.  I really don’t have any friends.  And that is not true.  I know that is not true.  I have awesome and wonderful friends.  There are people who truly, deeply love me.  I KNOW this, but right now, I can’t feel it.  I feel abandoned and lost. If people try to reassure me, I’m certain to interpret it as pity, as the kinds of things people just say and don’t mean, because crazy makes people uncomfortable and they want it to stop.

Copper forgot to tell Meximom that I ordered Girl Scout Cookies.  She’s already put in the order with the company.  I know that it was an incidental thing, and yet, in my head, I am broken hearted that he forgot.  I instantly translate that to mean that anything I say to him has no meaning.  It’s irrational, I know.  That’s the point.  It doesn’t make any sense whatsoever, and it is applied to everything.

On the social networking stuff, there is rejection in how people respond to me, rejection in not responding to me.  There’s no winning on either side. I have to pull in and stop, stop reaching out.  Right now, the only place suitable to the likes of me is the lovely cool mud under a rock because I am so liable to strike out and actually express my hurt.  The hurt which is based on the barest threads of unintentioned slights.  Left unchecked, I’d go on a bridge-burning rampage.

None of it is important.  I don’t mean that in a martyrish way, what I mean is that none of it is real, none of it is based on anything real or patterns of behavior of other people that have any indication that what I am thinking in my head right now is accurate.  It is passing.  I will remember the strength of these emotions, but I won’t remember the details of how I got here. I will remind myself that I am just crazy, and live in fear that someone else will find out just how crazy I can be.  I am afraid of losing the ability to reality-check, to reign it in.   The kind of self-destruction I am capable of is not physical - it is more social.  I work really hard at not taking it out on the girls, and I usually, most often, succeed.   When this sort of thing happens, I try to find ways to limit access, sequester myself.  Yeah, blogging is not exactly that, but I am hoping that by putting this out there,  those close to me might be able to recognize that it’s not them, and it’s not me, not the real me, anyway.  I feel invaded, that my mind has been hijacked, and while I can’t see the hijacker, I can see the effects in my emotional landscape and I am trying to conceal, mitigate, camouflage.  I’m getting better at forming the mask when this happens.