There is something stirring, something stirred up about how I feel lately. I know that age and meds are both wielding wooden spoons upon the emotional contents of my cauldron. I wish there were some way, tho, to sort out the sources of my sporadically savage reactions to the minutia of my life. I was able, in the past, to do a bit of sleuthing and identify which of my angry eruptions were based on real affront and which on the flashbacks from previous wars, but that was pre-med, as it were. Now I feel as though I have a kind of emotional ADD, an inability to focus on what I feel long enough to sort it out. Granted, I no longer spend lots of time planning my disappearance, but at the same time, I am made painfully uncomfortable at the idea of directing anger or other negative emotions at anyone but myself.
Sorry for all the whining, but I can’t seem to handle myself today, nor can I handle anyone else. I desperately want a small hut, or even a box, somewhere near a clear stream and between trees, with lots of blankets and a stack of books and crickets and birds and a breeze.
Tell me about it — I“m so sick of a house full of testosterone I’m ready to go insane, too.
Yergh. I had a med increase on Christmas (ahh, the joys of moronic timing). Starting about the Monday thereafter, I alternated between determinedly comotose (I think one day I slept for about 20 hours) and insanely cranky at EVERYTHING (the fact that my electronica had cables which made clusters *behind my desk where I couldn’t see them* made me almost homocidal). Eventually tumbling to the fact that I felt just fine when I woke up, and turned into the Killer Zombie Queen Lady about 30 minutes after I took my meds, I decreased right back down again, and am now more or less human, but rather less medicated than I probably should be. Onward, I suppose, is the only possible path.
I, too, am uncomfortable with directing negative emotions at anyone but myself, for a variety of reasons. Mostly, I think, I’m just the only target that’s unlikely to either get away or punch me in the nose. I remind myself that this is… pretty evil, really.
I’m not always sure, for myself, that the *source* of anger matters — I have plenty of good reasons to be mad. I try to separate being angry, feeling that anger, even finding some way to express it (my sweetie has suggested that we go to a thrift store and buy some horrendous old plates for me to smash… so far, I haven’t had the courage) from identifying issues I may have with the people in my life now. I wait until I’m not angry, and can articulate what I’m unhappy with, before I try to deal with stuff. Because, really, Ranty the Wild-hair Howler-Monkey Woman of the West… not so helpful in domestic discussions, really.
Er… that was rather a lot of blathering; I hope it’s okay.
:)