It has been a while since I wrote. My life has been another (?) roller coaster of emotions with the new job and working 45-50 hours a week. 2 Weeks ago I had another one of those immense panick attacks where my legs gave in, my heart raced through my body, faltering ever so now and then and I had this continuous feeling of fainting. It was at my work so I asked help from a co-worker. She was really nice and understanding. Even though I have been writing posts since the last one but never pushed the publish button. Did not want things to be real I guess. 🙂
Edit: this is a post which could be renamed; ‘moaning’. Not upset if you don’t read. 🙂
The job I have is the toughest one I ever had. I am exactly where I need to be to learn what I need to learn but shit, it is tough. The pressure with the upcoming company audit is high and eventhough I have been in this company for 3 months ‘already’ there have not been 5 minutes the same. Well, obviously there have been some repetitive things but most of it is new, new, new, new, new, new, new. Should I be there? I guess I should. My boss guesses I should. His admiration of my is lessening – thank God, it was starting to become unbearable, I feel locked up in this glass house, in stardom and people around me seemed to start to wonder what is going on. I want things to be normal. I want to be able to fail and still be carried by the organisation and my boss. We had a talk about perfectionism. I need it for my job because that we are looking to get certified for a system of gazillion details. If I had the time it would be perfect. I don’t have the time. The company does not have the time. We don’t have the time. So I need to move quicker. My solution to receiving criticism was to be ‘even more perfect’. Perfection is such a trap. 🙂
I remember this moment when I was about 4 years old and saw a beautiful, very fashionable woman who, with her appearance held power over people. I wanted to be as perfect and powerful as she was so nobody would ever hurt me again. Perfection for me serves two purposes: one is being untouchable and safe. The other drive is me wanting to be part of something and thinking this can only happen if I am flawless. I notice now in my work and personal life that being untouchable does not make people trust or like me – I am learning that over the years I have never showed them me. I have showed the world an outwardly projected image of what I wanted to be. A mask. I need show who and what I am for people to be able to live. I suffocate myself if I don’t.
Anyway, what I wanted to write about is NOT my struggle with being in love with yet another person in my life. Somehow I do not feel safe anymore to be discussing this. It is a big one. I don’t even think it is personal, just a biological response to feeling unsafe.
We regularly meet through work. Most of the time I am ok, but whenever he is in an agreeable mode and very positive about and towards me it is hard not to be touched by his energy. At one point I felt so locked up in the situation that I threw a Tarot on it and well, the explanation of the situation was the intense meeting of male and female energy and the solution was Love. I thought: I can do the Love bit, it does not have to be lust. It can be Universal Love and appreciation of life’s energy. Gonna try to stick to that.
Other subject, or possibly the same, or at least related. The memories of my womb-brother dying next to me keep on hitting me at all moments. Little logic to the timing. It is very hard, sitting at my desk, filling in a spreadsheet and suddenly being overwhelmed with grieve over somebody who I regarded as my other self dying next to me. I think it has to do with the phase of discovery of this subject of womb-twin syndrome I am in, also I assume that the stress I am under attacks my life force and makes me believe my life is in danger. Well, I guess that is how I roll. Always have. I have no way of coping other than accepting that this is happening, feeling through, realising how this experience has shaped me. I guess one day all things will fall into place. I realise that I, with some of the men I meet, want to recreate that womb feeling of him being me and I being him. The bookstore guy was one of them.
Well, loads of the usual moaning. What I really want to write about is how, how, how…. I forget to take care of myself easily. I do not think I have cleaned my house more than once in 3 months. (Yuck!) I do clean my bed every week, do the dishes, I do change into new undies and a T-shirt every day, jeans get washed every 3 days but the house is a mess. Under all the bravado of ‘being so fantastic’ at my job I am scared to death that I will fail and somehow, well, am ashamed upfront so badly that I do not care for me anymore. Why is it that I do not even remember to ask myself ‘What would a woman who loves herself do?’ Why don’t I write here? What, after all the shameful shamelessness I turned digital here, do I hesitate now to be here and write, sort stuff out?
Looking back I over the past 2,5 years (yes! :-)) I had/have (?) a strong thing going for myself. Being happy that I quit, always a reminder for me to feel gratitude for quitting, to check in on me. And now? I scorn myself, I berate myself, I dislike myself, feeling so inadequate, thinking I should be ‘further along the growth line of sobriety’, I hate my lonely heart which flies out to meet this new (married!!) man in my life. I look down on myself because I am ashamed of AGAIN falling for some guy even though he himself really is trying to show off his charm.
Not sure what is happening. I’m thinking if I am not perfect I do not have the right to exist. Today I tried tapping (EFT) on the subject. That actually really helps. The thing that pops up after layers of layers of layers of disliking myself is “Mama why don’t you love me?” Somehow now I prefer to punish myself for being unloveable (let’s say, fall in love with the worst man possible, can cost me my job, my income, my pride) instead of dealing with the immense loneliness of realising that my mother was had a dislike towards me. Only in the last 1,5 years of her life this changed into like and love. Well, realising this actually does make me feel better. So it is either loneliness or berating myself and selfdestructing. Trying to sit with it.
If you would ask me what I love in life, I would not be on the list I guess. I find it amazing how long this struggle takes. Guessing that it took me 44 years to get addicted, it will take at least one month for every year to reverse things and still: that might be true if I were working on it day and night. I’m not. I don’t even ask myself what a woman who loves herself would do.
I went to the hairdresser today. Scared to cut off the last bit of old dyed hair. My going grey is directly and strongly related to the decission to quit drinking. I feel I am not ready to let go of the last old dyed bit because I have not done what it takes yet in order to be sober / clear. I have transferred my alcohol addiction to work addiction, Netflix, chocolate, cheese and chips. I still feel ashamed of what I have destructed in my life with booze, ashamed because I squandered my mothers inherritance.
It is evening now, reading back what I wrote (pretty much against my own rules but hey… my blog 🙂 🙂 🙂 ) I did change some stuff
A woman who loves herself would actually start to work on being more positive. And if it does not come from the inside, getting it from the outsid by Bach remedies would be a good idea. This moaning is soooo boring. But first she would sleep. 🙂
I am happy that I quit though at work some people referred to it as ‘ridiculous’ that I did not want to eat tiramisu dessert which has some kind of alcohol in it. Not nice. I am happy that I quit, if only because I don’t want to have to do it all over again. 🙂 I am happy that I quit because I feel like my life is now leading me to places where I can learn instead. And I do learn and I do not drink and that intensifies the learning. And the pain. But the pain is optional. ‘Just’ have to learn not to walk that path of preferring self destruction over Life. Life was never meant to suffer. If anything Life is meant to be lived. And from Life comes the wish to learn and proceed, that is just within our genes; look at kids, babies already want to get ahead, do stuff just because it is fun. And somehow when we (i!) become (became) adult this all changed. Then I got sober and the joy came back. Then I got hooked on sugar and the joy disappeard. I know what I should do and somehow I can not seem to let go of the chocolate because it is my friend. 😉
Awfull post. Too much moaning. I’m off to bed.
I hope you are happy too that you quit and (un)like me does what a woman who loves herself does.