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2005-09-15 - 12:38 p.m.

Perhaps I am more unstable than I perceive, or maybe I read too much into situations. More likely I am the same as any other human who has reached my age. I am a collection of responses to a perceived world that is skewed by the experiences and survival techniques I have used in the past. Truth is many layered, not satisfied to avoid black and white the world provides a rainbow of grey. Was it fair for me to feel hurt? Yes, No, Maybe. Did he do wrong in sharing his feelings and perception? Yes, No, Maybe, well, crap I don�t know.

By the time he got home though I was still roiling finding that I was correct in my prediction that he would be unaware of my hurt (men usually are, through no real fault of their own, they simply culturally see the truth differently) I didn't bring the topic up. I had weighed the pros and cons of bringing up the issue and decided that the trouble exists only because of my past. The landmines left over from a war that ended badly but is over none the less. He is blindly treading in a minefield.

I take his words of slight criticism and turn them into a formal judgment of my person. I have always done that. I am a people pleaser. It is the characteristic that made me a willing victim to my ex�s abuse. I allowed others opinions to kill my only true dream leaving me trapped in this half life clinging to the life raft of �living in the moment� to make it though the days. It gives me the ability to do my job well because I mend bridges, I hold groups together, I genuinely (though it must have a selfish component because I seem to almost feed on helping others) want the people around me to be happy.

I am judgmental and empathetic in the same breath. I hate that I can not seem to follow simple requests (like turning off lights when I leave a room). When I sit on the couch he compulsively moves the remote so I won�t sit on it (I am aware of the remote and won�t sit on it but why does that bother me? Actually the remote shouldn�t be on the couch someone might sit on it so is he responding to me or his self? Does he feel stupid because he keeps leaving it next to him rather that where it belongs?) His critique of me is not wrong nor is it mean spirited. It is not designed to make me feel bad in fact he is often surprised when I erupt in anger over his �are you done in the bathroom?� before he turns out the light. You see I am holding him accountable for the spanking that I administer to myself. I am madder at myself then him but there is a part of me that wants to scream at him �stop it, I am not perfect and it isn�t fair of you to expect perfection.�

Reality: He does not expect perfection. He loves me as I am but still reserves the right to be irritated by my flaws. He has flaws of his own and does not begrudge me my irritation.

To the outside observer this may appear silly and trite and I agree but these are the days of my life and intellectual awareness does not protect you from emotional stupidity. The wave has passed and I am sitting in the troth awaiting the next crashing wave. Perhaps someday I will drag myself onto shore but I suspect that that day is not to come. It is the nature of existence to suffer. Greater philosophers than I have pondered this truth.

Existence is unhappiness ~ Buddha


The exercise is to try knowing full well that the task is impossible.

I waste too much time being unhappy.

Watch as I shed my skin only to find another scaly layer.

I feel like I am an old house whose walls have been painted many times, bright layers to hide the old. The time has come when it is impossible to add another layer without losing the detail of the fine woodwork buried beneath. The hinges scrape and the cupboards no longer close so the contents often tumble out unexpectedly. I have before me the task of scraping away the layers of paint to reveal the beauty of the natural wood that once was. Some days the task seems overwhelming but I always return to the effort reminding myself not to think about the entire chore but concentrate instead on the small piece of wall before me. Here and there I see the wood peeking through the layers and that gives me hope. I may die before I can reveal the beauty of my home but just working the project is victory enough for me. I shall not triumph over death but perhaps some will see the outline of me in the mess that stands before you.

I wish you Peace

~alison~


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