anger and chainsaws

February 16, 2020
3:28pm cabin

Struggling. Raw. Thoughts of suicide waft through my mind like a thin wisp of smoke, leaving me wonder, “did I actually just think that?” Have I sunk so far down that I’m thinking of death again? When, how did that happen? Why? Perhaps, I just should. Indulge once. Forever be done with life. Done with the people. Done with the pain. Done with the dysfunction. Just fucking done. Fanciful thinking.

So much of my life doesnt work. It doesn’t flow. I’m not living any sort of life I want to be living. I work at being engaged with my reality, but it’s not a reality that works for me. I am trying to make the most of what is happening, but it’s hard. I’m stuck in a city. I’m stuck in house that I need to get out of every single day because the grey walls, and modern conviences suck my soul dry. I feel really, really stuck. Between my living situation and my financial lack, I’m surprised at how well I have been coping.

My heart is beyond raw and I have a deep need to be alone. Kind of ironic seeing as how Dad just got home from Mexico two days ago after being gone for 2 weeks. Since moving in with him, I’ve been somewhat trying to live around his schedule. But I’m getting close to saying fuck that. How many times have I left the bush early to be home when he is home, only to find that he is working late, or going to a hockey game, or going out for supper? I’m done with sitting across from him while he is on his phone. I’m angry and dissalusioned with him. Angry at the patriarchal society that says that women are worthless. We don’t have a say because we don’t have penises. Do they ever stop to think about how absurd that is?

I want intentional relationships. I am so, so tired of all this bullshit. I want more. I want to have honest conversations. I want the phones off while we are sitting together. I want to make supper for him on a regular basis. I have no interest in fluff. I resent him asking me to do his laundry. I resent the constant feeling like I’m not a good enough housekeeper. Always seeing dishes on the counter, always seeing hairballs in the corners, always coming up short. Dad isn’t saying anything, which is very surprising. But I’m constantly berating myself. The bathroom is untidy, my bedroom is a mess. My one and only burning desire is to get out of the house every single day and go to the bush. I desire an interest in my life. I need support. I’ve never gotten that from him. Yes, we have healed a lot over the past few months, but it’s getting hard. He is a deeply hurting man who rarely faces his pain. He is not able to give me more, I need to stop wishing for more.

It’s so hard not having a purpose. Not having work to go to. Not having any sort of set schedule. I’ve been living in this emptiness for most of my adult life. I do what feeds my soul. I’m not glued to the tv, phone or computer. I’m doing what I need to do to be a better person, but it’s brutally hard watching my Dad go to work every day, and I just “sit” around and do nothing. It’s not a recipe for feeling good. I’m so limited in what I can do. I’ve really got to get over the guilt I feel for not being a self-reliant member of society. The shame eats at me. Most days I go off to the bush, while society goes to work. He is addicted to work. Always put it first. Anything short of working full time equates laziness in his eyes.

I’m feeling ugly. Alone. Maybe I’ve been around too many people lately. Little things are hurting badly. Me and a couple of family members were together for supper yesterday. I said something about shopping in the healthy aisle in Sobey’s, to which an aunt replied, “I avoid that aisle like the plague.” I wanted to call her a bitch and rip her eyes out. Why would she say that? Why does she say the things she says to me? Why does she dig at me? Why does she have this need to always be right, to always have the last word? I don’t like her, I don’t want to hang out with her, but I feel obligated because I know she loves me. Should I not be able to put aside a mere 2 hours for her a week?

Obligation. I fucking detest obligation.

I’ve been on a self-distructive bent this week. With food particularly. I’ve had so many cravings, so many times when I’ve said, fuck it, I don’t give a shit, I’m going to stuff my face with garbage. I deserve to feel like shit. The very interesting thing is, I’ve stopped myself a lot of times. That is something I have never been able to before, food has ruled me. So even in the face of a really shitty week, I’ve still managed to exert some self-control for the first time ever.

My frustration is rising. I did not get a quiet winter alone in my house. It seems I will not get a spring in my house either. This is all sort of crashing in on me. The days are getting longer, the sun has been shining more. I’m going stir crazy, and it’s going to get worse and worse. The let’s sit and wait is getting real old. I’m tired of the fear Dad has. But there isn’t much I can do about it. I’m not in charge of my house project. I would not have done things this way. I’ve been shocked, dismayed and angered by the way my Dad has handled a lot of the shit that is being thrown our way. He did not ask for this project. He’s not the right person for it. But now we are stuck in the middle of it, and I remain homeless.

I want to be alone so I don’t have to deal with the perceived judgements. I want to be free to be who I am. Jeeze, writing this is just making me realize how triggered I am this week. I’m not sure when things snowballed out of control like this. I’m who I want to be when I am in the bush. When I’m with family, I’m relegated to the sick one, the weird one, the one who makes no sense. I have nothing to contribute to conversations. There is no respect, no honor. No sharing of my life. They have no respect or honor for each other, so….. I need a new family.

5:56pm
I felt worse and worse writing, so I lay down to explore the blockages and see if I could shift them. Me being angry helps no one. I feel badly, Dad feels badly, and it gets worse from there. I’ve been working on stablility and keeping my vibrations up. This week, I have not managed to do that. The only image I got while laying down was that of a person smashing against a really thick rubber wall, bouncing off of it and crashing into the ground. Over and over and over. Which is how I happen to be feeling. In frustration, I asked Joshua, what should I do, this isn’t working. I heard, “go outside.” With pleasure, I headed out.

I got a chainsaw for christmas, and I got a 101 lesson yesterday. I hauled it to the cabin today, and with considerable effort, I managed to get it started. By the time I was halfway through the first tree, I was feeling so refreshed. The angry was flowing through me instead of staying trapped. Hope was replacing it.

Two thoughts came through. What can I do to keep this anger flowing instead of making itself at home inside of me? And what it the root of all this angst I am going through this week?

All of January I tracked a bunch of things. Anxiety, depression, aches and pains, contentedness, my sleep, etc. I found that very useful when I did have a bad day or two or three. I’m still not quite at a place where I trust that I will feel better again. I get into a dark place, and I immediately panic. February rolled around, and I didn’t bother to make up a fresh batch of charts, even though I had wanted to. When I’m in a dark place, it’s a really good tool for me to use. It’s black and white. I can look at it and say, 3 days ago, I had a really good day. My days all bleed into on another. I often don’t remember anything from the day before, so I for sure would not remember a good day a few days back.

Tracking things also gives me a sense of control. If I have a really dark day, I ask why. A lot of the time, it comes after an errand day, or being around people to much.

As to what is the root of the pain? I have been thinking a lot about honesty, communication, being true to myself, respect, and freindships. From my perspective, I have not experienced such a thing as honest communication. Heart felt, loving honesty. If there is no honesty, there is nothing to build a relationship on. Whether if it’s with my Dad, an aunt, an aquaintaince, a close friend, or my doctor. Honesty is really important to me. I’ve been truth seeking for a good 7 years now. It’s been a conscious journey I’ve embarked on. Let me tell you, it’s been a lonely one. I found the truth about food, about big pharma, a lot about the government….. I have dug down deep to find out truths about myself. I have not had an opportunity to practice honest communication as of yet.

A couple of weeks ago, I heard that we train others how to treat us. That hit hard. For the most part, I let people walk over me. If there can’t be honesty, if they aren’t in a place to hear my truth (even a simple, ouch, that hurts,) it they can’t be rational about it, then I always wonder, what’s the use? So my family keeps taking potshots at me because I let them. I do not know how to stop this.

Dad thinks I’m a crackpot. It doesn’t matter that I’ve transformed my mind and my body. I really think that if I was a fully functioning, “normal” woman, earning my keep, Dad would think differently. According to him, my methods are extreme and based on lies. It doesn’t matter that I’ve done my research, years and years of research and have solid evidence.

What I’m trying to say, (I think) is that I cannot be truthful with my family. They cannot hear it, they get defensive, they make the experience ugly. So that leaves me constantly getting hurt. I cannot be myself around them. I have to hide. I have to make myself small. It leaves me feeling hopeless, and not wanting to have much to do with my family. I would be fine with never seeing them again. They don’t fill many needs in my life. Out in Thelma, I hardly ever saw them. Here in Shittown, they are around, and Dad is constantly having meals with them. I’m lonely, they are lonely. And so I get sucked in. And occasionally, I reach out.

It also comes down to boundaries. Another area I am not very skilled at. I would classify myself as completely non-confrontational. I often enjoy being a wall flower. I listen, occasionally putting in a word here and there. On the rare days when I’m chatty, I can definetely chatter your ear off, but I’ve got to be feeling pretty damn good and really safe. I’m a people pleaser who says yes. Saying no stresses me out to the point of feeling ill. Sigh, so much work yet to be done.

Seeing as how I took the name Nayelli Aleathia, and Aleathia is the Goddess of Truth, the chance to engage in honest communication must be coming my way. Nayelli means I love you, so it will be loving coming from me. It’s the other people’s version of truth that scares me shitless. So much of it comes from a place of pain and woundedness.

I’m feeling so much better. Calmer, the anger is gone. I’m ready to move on to the start of another week.