Is there an antidote Dr Bruce Banner?

As a young kid, I was incomprehensibly afraid of The Incredible Hulk. The show starred a local hero, Lou Ferigno, who resided just outside of my hometown. For years, every time the show came on, I hid in fear. My father and brother took sadistic delight in tearing off their worn undershirts by flexing and growling, tearing the worn cotten into shreds while chasing me around the house. It threw me into panic attacks for years. Green giants hunted me in the night, ready to turn me into an abomination.

It was only recently, after a particurly intense energy session and a fortuitous watching of the remake of The Hulk (I do love me some Edward Norton), that I seemed to put a bunch of stuff togehter.

The basic premise of The Hulk is that he has all this stuff inside of him that, literally, is too big.

The basic premise of how my parents treated me as a kid is that I had all this stuff inside of me that was too big, too much, and couldn't be handled. Thus, mytemper tantrums. Thus my temper tantrums being subdued with a wooden spoon, a turn in the shower with a freezing cold spray, a hearty spanking or a faked heart attack. No one thinks at the time that they're abusing their child, but who pays for the therapy?

In many way, lately, I've felt like GoodBuddy felt the same way about me. He wasn't interested or couldn't hear what I had to say - he was just going to tell me the what's what. Because taking in my side of things was really just too much. Too big. Too intense. I honestly don't think that was his intention, but that was the result I walked away with. It's the difference between what is said and what is heard.

GB told me that I don't get to get upset at anything he says because I should know he unconditionally loves me. My response was to point out that when I mock his mumbling (he oftentimes speaks too quickly or too near/far from his cellphone and is unintelligable) he gets pissed. Wicked pissed. His mother used to mock him that way and it triggers his anger. So - HELLO - Mr Pot, please meet Ms Kettle. We all react to people in our lives the way we've been conditioned to from childhood. When he disregarded my feelings - valid or not - I flashed right back to being chased by an older brother embodying The Hulk or a father who wouldn't listen to my pleas as he grabbed the wooden spoon from th kitchen drawer. And, that, my dear readers, is some powerful recall.

As you can tell, I've been doing a lot of thinking about this. Thinking that maybe it was time for me - GB and I - to redefine our parts in one anothers' life. If I am trying to heal, to get centered, to become comfortable with who I am, does it make sense for me to be expending all this energy, all this love, on someone who can't seem to allow the reality of who I am to evolve...?

Then...

Tonight, I was leaving him a VM. It was nothing really. Watching a movie. Going to bed soon. Had a good day, hope you did too." In the midst of it, he beeped in. Somehow (technologically ignorant as I am) I managed to switch over.

"Just leaving you a message."

"I saw. Can we can call it a night?"

"Um, yea. Sure. Everything OK?"

"Yeah. I was getting some texts from someone and they really pissed me off and I'm raging and I don't wan't - should't - take this out on you. Cuz I'm fuckin angry and frustrated and I really don't want you to get caught up in that. And even if we try to talk normal, I'll bring it out on you. So, can we talk tomorrow or something?"

Wow. How decent. Seriously. How thoughtful and kind. Just when I really wanted to tell him to take along walk off a short pier, he reminds me of one of the reasons I love him. Of course, he spent a bunch of time in the water today and that probably helped a lot. But I'm wicked glad to see shadows of Dr. Jekyll in lieu of Mr. Hyde.

So, as many conclusions as I come to, alone in my bed on a Saturday night, maybe, just maybe, I shouldn't take any definitive action. Because our past isn't always our present, and definitely doesn't have to be our future. Maybe things - people - evolve.

Sweet dreams, good buddy. I'll think good thoughts.

Irony

Due to the political situation in Mexico (read: drug cartels firing bullets in any public street at any given time of day), shipments and deliveries are being delayed.

So, despite the fact that I got to spend six hours putting together folders of informational materials whilst CBL watched, she will now have to put together her own packets of materials.

Take that Bi-Otch!

Part Two, which is less amusing

So, I am having a good laugh about my Losers' Club day. One must realize, at this point, that I kind of revel in Losers' Club stories. They're Seinfeld-esque, they're David Sedaris-esque, they give me fodder for which I can utter the words (in true sincerity) "...mynovel's gonna be great!"

So, I relate the story to BFF, she loves it. I relate it to ChirpBoy, he loves it. We laugh, we share. Alls good. I get home, I get settled, I'm about to go to sleep and realize my brain is racing. No biggie - I just so happen to be in the middle of a trashy, vampire smut novel. (I alternate, thought-provoking book/junkfood book/thought-provoking book/junkfood book. Keeps me balanced.)

I'm in bed, quietly reading, when my roomie decides to start having sex with his "not girlfriend." I kid you not. Ever seen Secret of My Success?

Amidst all of this, GoodBuddy texts me. He's in "a mood." There's been a lot of this lately. I know he reads my blog and he's sure to argue, but it's true. Whereas he used to be mostly carefree and happy-go, now he's mostly serious, pensive and, above all, domineering. No more the silly laughter, now it's all "this is how it is and this is what I'm planning and you need to do this and you should feel this and this or that needs to happen." It really does make me sad sometimes.

So, yes, I was tired and cranky and probably a little ticked that my roommate was having sex and the last time I'd had sex was a long time ago (sorry, TMI but still). In the interest of full disclosure, I was also a bit ... tipsy. During the conversatin, I began to relate my Losers' Club story. I'll admit I could have been sounding bitchy to the outside ear - but boy oh boy did GB get all up in my grill.

In short: I'm better than that. I still have a job. I'm not stuck in Haiti. I'm above this bitching and whining. I need to get over myself.You don't get to feel sorry for yourself. Fucking man up.

Basically telling me the exact same message that I've been dealing with my whole life: my feelings aren't valid, they're "too much", my experience of the world isn't legit and I should feel shame for that.

(Thank you, yes, I did have therapy today. I heart it.)

So, I got upset. No. Strike that. I got fucking pissed off as shit. I wanted a friend. Someone to commiserate with, to laugh with. To understand that, yes, I'd had a shitty day. No, it wasn't the worst day in the world and I realized I wasn't dying of cancer or getting fired or living through devastation or elsewise having a life-shattering event. But, it had in fact been garden variety shitty day. And, geez, only me...

The net/net is that I'm still thinking he and I are not on the same page about this, or to be honest, much, these days. And as much as he wants to protest, I think a large part of it is the place he's in and not the place I'm in. Although, yes, of course, everything is in mutuality and relation. But I think that the path I'm on - and have been working towards - is telling me that voice inside my head that says, "fuck you, my feelings count" is the right voice to listen to. Because I am NOT striving to be some superhuman-Buddha-Guru-Englightened-Omniscient Being. I just want to BE. Utterly and essentially, be a human being. A me-flavored human popsicle. I'd be perfectly and amazingly content with that.

So there.

A Tale in Two Parts

So, I have yet another tale to tell. This one will be in two parts. One happy. One not so much. Such is life.

So, yesterday, I had a total Losers' Club day.

Started off with a 7:30 am conference call, taken on the 7:33 train into Boston (express from Salem!).

Two hour meeting with CBL to go through budgets, punctuated about every 20 minutes with her telling me wildly inappropriate stories about my coworkers and her boss.

Then, the fit really hit the shan. We - make that I - needed to pull together materials for an upcoming "train the trainers" event happening in Mexico next week. Basically, we need to teach people how to teach people who teach people. There will be 20 of these "Master Trainers" in attendance. I had to create ONE folder for all of the trainers to use during their training and ONE sample folder of all of the materials they would be handing out when they actually started training people themselves. The problem is, a lot of the documents were duplicates. And some looked only very slightly different. It has to get to MX by Saturday so it HAD to leave yesterday. It was an operational nightmare.

So, I'm in the midst of all of this chaos, documents piling up around me, the phone ringing off the hook, me walking miles in circles around my cube (in heels because "sneakers are inappropriate workplace attire) putting together packets of information... At one point CBL comes in to ask me, "um, what's the name of the marketing platform we use again?" I was at that very moment on the phone with one of my copy/print companies telling them they produced 2x as many of one doc we needed and none of another doc we needed. I looked at ye olde CBL and nearly screamed. "Um. Can't do this now. Sorry. No." And turned back to my phonecall.

Later, I did actually her office, armpit sweat-stained and hair disheveled to answer her question (whilst waiting for alluded to document arriving). This must have kicked in the guilt genome because a few minutes later, she came over to my office, leaned in the doorway and casually asked (as I wore treads into the carpet) "anything I can do to help?" Um, yea. Join the assembly line, bitch.

OK, so, finally I get it all done, boxed up and ready to go. Oh yea - the mailroom guys are all new so I have absolutely no confidence at all that it's going to get there on time. But que sera sera.

I missed the 6:30 train, no matter, I'll catch up on email. Ten minutes to 7 - before the lights go out and the cockroaches come out - I left the building. I hoof it to the train station, stopping in at a nearby burrito joint on the way to get a veggie burrito to go.

The guy behind me orders a chicken burrito and we kill the more than 10 minutes waiting making small talk about the crazy weather, the election, and the earthquake relief efforts.

I get to the train station, tired, cranky, dissheveled and hungry. I unwrap my burrito and take a huge, honkin bite.

It's the chicken burrito.

I barely make it to the public bathroom in time to vomit and then begin dry heaving. Have I mentioned, the last time I ate meat was almost 20 years ago and the meal that turned me was chicken?

So, yes, folks, that was my day. I finally made it home, 14 and a half hours after leaving it. I was cranky, I was clammy, I was hungry, I was tired, and I was sore. But, it also gave me the best line of the year.

Me to BFF: "I have to tell you my Losers' Club story. I swear, I think I had a worse day than Martha Coakley."

BFF to me: "Niiiiiiiice!"

Eye Opening

Heya.

It's been long time 'twixt posts. Which, of course, makes me think of Twix. Which makes me think of YUM.

I've been on the road a lot. And, granted, some of this was nominally "for fun" but much of it was for work. And due to current emotional/mental climates, none of it really did me any good.

I got to see GoodBuddy. And this was good. And Bad. I'm not in the best place emotionally and clearly neither is he. (He'd argue that, but fuck you). So, yes, there were the best of times and there were the worst of times. I still truly believe that this move is not in his best interest, but I understand why he needs to give it his all and how many positive things can come from it.

I am also feeling - shocking enough - like I might be rounding a corner in my own well being. Yes, I'm still finding it hard to get up in the monings, much less get out to work, pressed and dressed, and actually care about what I'm doing. But, I can remember what it was like to care and I am experiencing the desire to go back there, so that is good.

I'm reading Mary Forsberg's Fall to Pieces (link at later date) and finding it very compelling. Even laughable how fucking similar our situations can be - her an LA model marroied to an international movie star, me a nobody from nowhere - but still....

I need to get some rest tonight because part of my new years resolution was to make the most of my mental health efforts. And I get to see Awesome Therapist tomorrow. In a few weeks I will visit London and that will no doubt do me a world of good.

I will try to update soon with more. Sorry I've been so MIA.