A fresh start

So it's been quite some time since my last, worthwhile, post. Oh, sure — I've bitched and ranted and been derisively sarcastic and moody a few times since then, but I've deleted those posts as pointless in the end.

Yeah, life's a bitch sometimes. Hell, it's a bitch rather more frequently than is really necessary, I think. And yeah, all my disgusts and angers are usually justified as easily avoidable annoyances or legitimate dangers to my direct physical well-being.

So?

I'm done with reacting to such things in a way that lingers. Sure, spur-of-the-moment cuss words will fly, especially when someone almost kills me on the freeway because either a) they're drunk, b) they're too impatient to wait literally two more seconds for me to fly by and thus make their turning across the freeway a safe venture, or c) both. You bet your ass I'll cuss then. But.

But, that will be the end of it. As my heart slows, so long as I don't need to change my pants, it's over. Yes, that person is a moron. No, they probably don't realize it (because they're a moron), and probably aren't even thinking of the near-destruction they just caused (because their brain is too small to account for more than a two-second memory span, which may account for their error in judgement). So, if they aren't giving me and my racing heart and possibly soiled panties any thought, why should I waste any more thought or emotion on them? They're clueless; they most likely won't live much longer and thus will negatively affect the world less.

I, on the other hand, plan to live long, and damnit, I plan to live well. This means being actively in control of my happiness and my physical and emotional well-being.

For those of you who may being thinking, "Oh crap, it's another one of those new-agey, mumbo-jumbo, happy-go-lucky and let's all be friends weirdos," you are obviously new to my blog. This is understandable; I haven't actively written in a few years, and didn't exactly have a huge, religious following before. However, should you care to take a glance at even a few of my older posts, you will note a most definitely non-happy-go-lucky vibe.

The long and short of it is, I'm tired of bitching, no matter how justified it may be. I already have intensely negative thoughts in my head — why give them more oomph, more power, more reality and impact, by concentrating on them further by writing them out? That only fuels my anger because believe it or not, I'm one of those sick and twisted people who kind of likes being angry. It makes me feel a little bit powerful, but only in my own head, where of course everything I would say is always perfect and right, and no one dares to talk back. In actual confrontation, it's a bitch and confusing and humiliating and not at all the way it goes in my head — it's just generally shitty, leaving me to feel even worse than I would if I'd kept my anger to myself.

So, I'm done with it. I'll think the thoughts that are bound to come roaring to the front when bullshit arises, and then I'll let them go and move on.

Now, some of you may say that anger is in fact a good thing, and healthy. To an extent, I agree. It means you know what you will and won't put up with, you know what you consider right and wrong, and you are strong in those convictions. Sure. However, it can also be blinding, and worse, it can be addicting, detracting from the rest of everyday life and thus shadowing other, just as healthy and empowering emotions that are just as necessary to one's development and direction in life.

I don't like fantasizing about angry situations and all the things I could say and do in my anger that would prove me indisputably right and in control. I don't like thinking of all the bad things that could happen, or could have happened and what my angry reactions could be or could have been. I don't like liking the thoughts these fantasies bring.

And that's where I've been for about a year or so now. Angry, liking it, fantasizing about it, not liking that, getting angry about that, fantasizing more. I have been, in my head, a vengeful albeit-justice oriented vigilante, delivering razor-sharp, witty, cunning, hurtful truths about any number of things. I've been smooth, fierce, even a martial-arts expert.

I've been living in my head a dream that in reality would crush me. I don't actually want to hurt anyone's feelings, and this becomes painfully obvious in confrontations. I don't actually want to be some smooth-talking, suave but heartless heroine, and this becomes painfully obvious in my attempts to make clear my messages so that I don't hurt anyone's feelings. OK, I might actually want to get physically violent with some people, but only really with the true monsters — the Hitler types, the Phillip Garrido types, the "let's torture kittens just to feel powerful" types. Them, I could do awful things to. The idiot who damn-near T-bones me at an intersection where they should be lawfully (and just in keeping with common sense) stopped and waiting? Not so much. Sure, I'd probably hit something in frustration, but it would more likely be my own steering wheel or dashboard than their face. And the physical pain that would bring would just make me feel ridiculous and small and dumb and in pain, which I'm not fond of.

Essentially, I've not been me in my own head, and that's a whole new level of disturbing. I want me back.

I want to dream real, night-time dreams: of flying, of sneaking through haunted houses, of walking through fairy-haunted woods and swimming leviathan-haunted, alien-haunted lakes. I want to day-dream of my wedding, of taking up new hobbies, of all the awesome things I could be drawing. I want to convince myself to take a painting class (because I'm way better at drawing than at painting, always have been). I want to write poetry again. I actually have the beginnings of some sort of fun-promising poem in my head:

"Dark down deep below the Gr'Lambrollwhelks,
Whose foaming eyes seek shelter in the mud,
There lives a ..."

A what? I don't know. What's a Gr'Lambrollwhelk? I don't know, but I think it's kind of fish-like, without actually being a fish, and it's ancient, and magical, and perhaps — yes! — shrouded in mystery and whispered legends. Oh. And, despite (or perhaps due to) living in salt water, it has foaming eyes. I'm thinking white foam, maybe slightly phosphorescent. Kind of gross, I know, but I can't get the imagery out of my head. How do you pronounce Gr'Lambrollwhelk? "Gruh•Lamm•Brole•Welk." Where did I come up with it? Beats the hell of me. Perhaps it's my muse's wacky way of luring me back into words.

It's working.

On top of just being plain old sick and tired of being sick and tired of hearing myself bitch, my anger and anxiety has begun to affect my health in ways I can no longer ignore. Heart problems run in my family, and lately I've had issues with a tight chest and too-rapid heartbeat when stress is consistently high. And oh wow, has it been high lately (very ill family and many ER trips will do that to a person).There's no panic involved and I can breathe just fine, so I'm hesitant to chalk it up to a panic attack, which has been suggested by others ... though I've never had one, so I suppose that could be it. But, I mean, don't you have to feel panicky for a panic attack? This is just a weird heart thing.

OK and for the record yes, I know I should see my doctor about it if I really do think it's a heart thing. The thing is, heart or panic or whatever, it's most definitely stress-related, and I think if I can actively work to lower my stress it will resolve itself. After all, it's new, and seems to follow my stress, only having occurred a handful of times and only at my most stressed out, anxious moments.

So, I've been enjoying a much healthier diet (I'll blog about juicing soon), and am working on reducing my anger reactions and reaction times. It's already helped me with a clearer head and more positive (slight, but persistent) outlook, and energy — which makes me feel good no matter how crappy a day may be.

If you're worried and thinking of giving me a little lecture about the heart thing, don't worry. Despite my fantasies I'm actually a very level-headed person and I try to be smart. I'll give a better diet, exercise and lowering my stress a couple of weeks, and (unless external family-illness circumstances get worse) if the tightness and rapid heartbeat don't stop, or get worse, I promise I'll go see my doctor. I may not be a genius, but I'm not dumb. Generally. I just don't want to waste money and time on something I may be able to positively affect and resolve on my own, but I'm open to the possibility that I may not be able to. So, heart stuff stops and I'm all good. Heart stuff continues, I'll dish out the cash and run the gamut of heart-tests.

Here's to hoping that I can actively lower my stress and my anger reactions, and allow myself to be a hopeless, head-in-the-clouds-in-a-good-way dreamer again. I think I hear a pad of paper and a pencil calling ...