But beware of the dark side. Anger, fear, aggression; the dark side of the Force are they. <--- Shut The Fuck Up, George Lucas.

Get yourself a cup of tea and tuck in- this is a long one.

Where to begin. This one’s been simmering on the back burner for about six weeks. Or maybe my whole life. I don't know. All I know is that as far back as I can remember, I've haven't done the best job of avoiding the things that bind individuals to a one-dimensional existence.

My former life-philosophy: Do not remain emotionally disassociated, do not collect $200.

A former subscriber of the "she is not what she feels" credo, I've recently learned that my emotions are more than passing ships in the nights which come and go as they please. They are comparable, in fact, to the weather that determines the totality of what I am. In lieu of this realization, I'd like to consider myself newly liberated; now my tears are truly genuine, my laughter sprung from the heart, and my anger bona fide. I am whole.

It's been quite a journey. And I still have some tweaking to do here and there.

But this blog is proof positive that I am improving myself for the better. In the past I wished for the courage to say things because they've been occupying space in my thoughts and using up my energy, but I had been scared about what people would think of my opinions. But now, I posit: fuck it. I really do need to get these thoughts out of my head and into the world, for the sake of my mental health. I need to acknowledge them and then let them go, and hopefully find a way to move on. Maybe I'll never be brave enough to write about some of the more ghastly experiences I've endured in a public forum. Who knows. All I know is that I've got to start somewhere:

(But first, a second preface): I’m not going to write about the details of the last few years of my life. The details are things that I know could cause hurt and shame to myself and others, so I won’t do that. But I will write about what these events have left me with. And maybe, if I’m lucky it will give me the rest of the closure that I need to move on.

A new personal challenge: accepting loss and moving on.

This one is so hard for me. I've never really figured out how to deal with losing people that are close to me. I know that people leave for whatever reasons: people die, people change, and people come in and out of your life. They're close, they're distant; they give joy, they spread hate. And all that’s okay.

But what I can’t accept is doing my best-day in day out-to be a good friend, family member, and person (in the face of sometimes less-than-ideal conditions,) and then having my honesty and sincerity trampled on. I'm fucking pissed about it, actually.

I want to sock it like I was a puppeteer in a Punch and Judy.

A musing of which Bruce Banner would approve:

Anger is a natural human emotion, right? I mean we feel love, greed, lust, envy, sadness, happiness- and we feel anger.

At least I certainly am not unaffected by it. In fact I have an enormous problem with unacknowledged, repressed anger. I'm like a dove whose hawk side comes out unexpectedly under stress, usually in the form of pretended concern. Not only that but I often don't even recognize my anger until after the fact. And when I do recognize it, I usually don't know how to express it honestly and constructively.

I mean, none of us are really taught how to deal with anger, are we? We aren't given any ground rules for impulsive emotions; we aren't taught the basics of "integrity fighting." What we do know comes from experience and evolutionary impulsions which result in a "dominance fighting" of sorts. The difference is that the first results in the removal of friction, while the latter increases it by leaving one party victorious, the other humiliated and/or hurt.

Shamantics-Semantics

Also, it pisses me off that people don't call anger by its real name: anger. Instead we say we are "depressed," "hostile," "guilty," "upset," "worried," "selfish," etcetera etcetera. Aren't all of these verbs (particularly "depressed") the result of anger turned inward (never expressed?)

A portrait of Elaine Sokolowski

I've recently realized that I never allow my face to register anger. Instead my primary mode of coping with the emotion is to express it in the guise of loving concern. I "know" that my mother's friend's husband is worried, that my best friend is suffering in an unhappy affair, that my brother has done something wrong. I know-and I pat people on the back and have no problem empathizing. But in doing so I fail to rid myself of my anger. Funny, to think that I am actually projecting it onto others and distorting it into fear, worry, and guilt. Hah! The reality of Pandora's open box, I suppose.

I used to be unaware of my manipulation. I used to disguise it under the excuse that all I wanted to do was avoid hurting others. The formerly prototypical Pollyanna, I have experienced the frustration of denying my anger and the debilitation of doing what was demanded of my "good little girl" image. I know now that the outcome does more harm than good. I've only just recently acknowledged my intrinsic right to my feelings. Feelings are fact, I do declare.

But at the same time, in ironic tribute to my former assertions, I can't help but shake the feeling that anger isn't necessary on this small planet. I mean, it's valuable because it prevents stagnation and stimulates growth, but could we survive without it?

Sigh. Will my thoughts be forever plagued by contradictions?

^Yes. ...Dammit.

Okay. I get it. I am suppose to yield with a smile and command with compassion. If only it were as simple as written words/phrases in blogs.

Platform 21 and 3/4. Next stop: somewhat closer, but no where distinctly nearer to self-actualization?

I didn't go to classes today.

I decided this morning that I would rather spend the day in my room, rationalizing. I know how dumb and self-indulgent this is, on every level. But I can't help it. Rationalization: It's what I do, when it really comes down to it. As for the choice to stay locked up in my room all day: that's just me feeling sorry for myself.

Last night I made a stupid decision, and the consequences have certainly taught me an important lesson: to be grateful for grace and eager for redemption. The concept seems rudimentary, but I, at least in my life experience's, have found that pride often has a funny way of stupefying one's intellect. Besides, I have this bad tendency to listen to advice, but not take it. Ergo, I have to learn life lessons via show-and-tell. It's so dumb. Ugh. ...Common sense be damned! <----Sigh.

On a serious note, human experience can be a straight-up bitch.

Goodness knows it doesn't help matters that I've been acting like a serious kook lately. And I want you to know that I know that you know, if that makes any sense at all.

... I do have one chipper memory of last night's whole ordeal that is worthy of re-telling: This morning Andrew woke up and checked his e-mail. I was secretly watching. I noticed that his mind is always planning; it is constantly calculating and evaluating for the future. It makes me feel safe. It is wonderful. But at that same time bad; he worries so much. And I'm talking the self-sacrificing worry; i.e. the altruistic variety. Oh Andrew.

Also, I cried in his arms this morning. Raw tears stemmed from my habit of disassociating myself with my emotions. Irrational tears, really. And all he did was hold me and empathize.

Memories like the aforementioned are my live's saving grace; they give me hope for better times.

And there is goes again-my innate optimism. Geez. I used to wish I could turn it off when I was younger. But I realize now that I can't. I've come to accept that it simply is too strong a force to be snuffed. Besides, I'm starting to like my optimism. It's the one thing that separates me from mostly everyone else (or it is my "ego," if you will.) And if I'm going to be proud of something (because goodness knows that personal vice of mine has a will of its own as well,) then it might as well be something beautiful, like optimism.

I get legitimately upset with people when they tell me it is unfounded or "blind." Don't they realize that it stems from shared human experience? At its core, it is a reflection of my personal observations of the people who have come in and out of my life. It is a cheerful frame of mind that demonstrates to my intellectual tea-kettle how to sing despite having hot water up to my nose. Colored by this outlook, I can't help but expect the best for mankind when I can still whole-heartedly observe the True beauty of human experience. Besides, I would imagine that a world without optimism would be a world akin to Hell.

And not only that, but I am 100% sure that the beauty of profound optimism- the kind that motivates people- can only be appreciated fully when one experiences its opposition; profound pessimism. Moral of the story: Don't ever think a "blind" optimist naive.

The key is balance, really. I genuinely believe that a combination of healthy proportions of optimism and pessimism, hopefulness and naivete, and skepticism and realism are the strongest force that people can muster to insinuate social change. I really do believe this.

Sure, you can argue that my optimism is often misplaced. But you live and you learn, right?

Random spur-of-the-moment memory/reflection: When I was a child, the only thing that I couldn't regard with optimism was a pessimist. I see now, however, that pessimism acts a a check for recklessness, and is, therefore, positively attributed. How paradoxical.

^Also, have you noticed how I tend to see life in dualities? I've been thinking a lot about that lately.

Maybe I'm just neurotic.

^That's a distinct possibility.

I suppose there are worse things to be, though.

William Cullen Bryant approved.

I was reading some Elizabeth Barret Browning this morning (for a new perspective) and I found this poem. It hit a nerve, to say the least.

I won't delve into the crux of why this poem affected me as much as it did, but I do have some reflections that I'd like to share. I mean, I should be afforded the luxury of keeping some things to myself, shouldn't I?

Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Pain in Pleasure

A thought ay like a flower upon mine heart,
And drew around it other thoughts like bees
For multitude and thirst of sweetnesses;
Whereat rejoicing, I desired the art
Of the Greek whistler, who to wharf and mart
Could lure those insect swarms from orange-trees
That I might hive with me such thoughts and please
My soul so, always. foolish counterpart
Of a weak man's vain wishes! While I spoke,
The thought I called a flower grew nettle-rough
The thoughts, called bees, stung me to festering:
Oh, entertain (cried Reason as she woke)
Your best and gladdest thoughts but long enough,
And they will all prove sad enough to sting!

Subsequent reflections:
I am, once again, left muddle-headed (and more-than-marginally enchanted) by the complexities of the human psyche. This poem (in addition to subtly allowing the reader to be privy to the cockles of my heart,) really makes me re-visit and re-evaluate the whole nature v. nuture/ emotions v. intellect debate.

Perhaps we don't manage our earliest self-confidences; maybe we, as humans, simply aren't capable. I can recall more than one instance in the last few weeks where first encounters left me teeming with positivity, but the feeling was slighted there afterwards by creeping doubt (or "bees that sting," if you will.) And by "creeping doubt" I mean my profound talent for questioning my optimistic emotions/intuition in favor of the rational of my overly-reflective and pessimistic intellect.

Anyways. One might ask his or herself (as I did) whether there is any Truth in this observation. Interesting prompt (better suited for another day, perhaps).

Ha. William Cullen Bryant would not approve of these speculations. "Pain dies quickly, and lets her weary prisoners go; the fiercest agonies have shortest reign," he would tell me.

... and it would do me good to heed him.

Sigh. I really need to forget the pages and screens and learn to write myself on the smiles of others. Even if nothing comes of it.