Puppet-tear-Master Revisited

zug350b_sm1a As an active addict there are times in my day when it seems the insane emotional ups & downs will drive me crazy and never end. It’s all about understanding and gauging our abilities to handle things..staying away from those situations we’re uncomfortable in..at least until we are stronger..and surrounding ourselves with the simple stuff..the things we can trust. Build over time..slowly..little tiny wee baby steps.

Ah ‘trust’ now there’s a word that packs a punch in my world..it’s one thing to not trust others..but when you can’t trust yourself..you’re really in a fix aren’t you..yep..a nice tight spot all by your lonsome, and the kicker..it’s of your own making.

I’ve personally witnessed, that for at least a year, some more..some less..some forever and a day (like it’s turning out to be in my case); after coming off of dope our emotions are raw, brand spanking new to us. And really, they’ve been in lock down haven’t they..pushed back by the dope that numbed/s them.

Like just the other day I was watching this movie called “In Her Shoes,” I found my eyes starting to tear up, and there really wasn’t anything that sad about the scene. I kinda laughed this nervous little laugh, wiped my eyes dry and mumbled to my surprised cats who were all sitting around the living room watching me intently. They’d so rarely, if ever, felt this vibe from me. “Yep mum is losing it for real, pay her no mind..she doesn’t have a clue why she’s going on like this either.”

Getting up, I hit the pause button, and trek into the kitchen for some comfort food..shaking my head at my reaction along the way. After fixing an extra large portion of comfort I head back into the living room, grabbing a box of kleenex along the way. Sinking back down into the sofa, my finger presses the ‘play’ button with one hand,and with the other I dig into the bowl of ‘triple chocolate fudge ice-cream with jello, cream and Fudgeo cookies added to the mix, just in case it wasn’t artery clogging enough. Soon, the cool sweet, sweet conconction is doing its sugar fix duty, and blurring the last few minutes from my mind.

All appears well in my world again, the cats are back to grooming, snoozing and being cats, while I laugh at some of the goings on in the movie. No sonner have I ha-ha-ed and forgotten, when I spot teardrops adding themselves to the melting pot of ice-cream & friends in my bowl.

Then I just couldn’t stop..all hell broke loose..they came out like a 40 day and 40 night flood..but unlike Noah’s experience, there seemed to be no promise of an end in site.

I don’t know about other people, but for some reason when I cry the tear/s usually come out of one tear duct/eye. Only when things are really serious do I tear from both eyes. Okay..well I was finally crying from both tear ducts like most people do..a sure clue to me that something was indeed amiss. Now I’m all alone at home except for my beloved cats..yet I am not allowing myself to make any sounds..and my body is so stiff, so tense you’d think I was the last standing soldier at the frontlines of a war. I’m crying but no crying sounds are coming from me.

And maybe that’s exactly what it was..the long ongoing war inside of me begging for a reaction..an outcome, for proof that my former self still existed..only please let me not be just this stiff..rigid piece of work I had somehow devovled into.

I think to myself..why..why won’t you just let go..help unshackle all this pent up-ness as it desperately tries to squeeze and bulldoze itself out of two teeny ducts in the form of salted water and chemicals..literally fighting not only for release, but to survive.

So release.

tears-1-1a There was nothing left for this former shell of myself to do but acquiesce..give myself permission to make some noise..to let my body shake..rattle and rumble with a good old fashioned cryfest..yes that aught to do something..change something.

Only when I do..the cracked, gutteral noises coming from somewhere deep down inside of me sound so absolutely and completely foreign to my ears; I freeze up again, become silent..become the stranger..play the heart-less tin woman like in the Wizard of Oz..as if lot’s of people are watching me do this..I clam right up..I actually turn red for myself.

I could feel my cheeks burning hot..embarassed..bare assed..as if every one of my emotions..faults and fears were laid out naked for all the world to see. I felt groggy..dizzy..benumbed..like I’d been stun-gunned at the sudden realization.

I had forgotten how to cry..

and I felt shame.

I felt shame..even when the only world watching..

was me.

When did this happen to me..when did I abandon my God or ‘whatever’ given right to feel, to show feeling, to be a feeler? And suddenly..as quickly as the tears had come..I felt fear..I was very, very afraid for myself..this self.

And how bizarre is it that I try and comfort others who have the guts to lay their souls wide open..does this mean I am a hypocrate..does this mean I can only ‘feel’ vicariously through them; and more importantly..how did the little girl that was me so long ago survive when she was no longer allowed..given permission to cry? Did she even realise it was being taken from her..did she understand the drug-walk that began so innocently in her very first years of adolescence would lead to this..all these 36 plus years later?

Like some fairy tale gone horribly wrong..twisetd half way through, the ending is yet unclear.

I had become a puppet master of myself..controlling every aspect..thickly covering every raw emotion with the opiate of the masses, in turn allowing it dominion over my very essence..until I no longer pulled my own strings.

And as human beings..we simply have to, must do ‘raw,’ we are good at raw..it feeds our souls..without raw we are truly baked..finished..full of shit.

I was a mess…

am a mess.

But it seems for now anyway..life in all its abandon..savagery & glory is alotting me the time & space to attempt a do-over..to learn, and practice..to thaw out from this self-imposed freeze..to find the raw inside again..to nurture it..accept it and allow it entry into my world once more.

Learn I shall..and in time…cry I will..like I was meant to.

And for that…I am ever greatful.

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5 Comments »

  1. Tricia Said:

    They’re better out than in. The tears I mean. It’s like washing the emotional slate clean. And sometimes feeling pain is better than not feeling at all.

  2. carrie Said:

    wonderful writing. thank you

  3. Kath Lockett Said:

    It is funny at what will cause us to have a few good sobs, isn’t it? I’ve had my share of ups and downs (see my blog entry for 31st August 2008 to give you an idea –
    http://blurbfromtheburbs.blogspot.com/2008/08/day-thirty-one-appreciative-august.html

    ….. but I often cry when I run. It’s the feeling the basic mechanics of my body working, I think, that makes me grateful to still be alive and able to push on.

    Keep pushing on, MB.

  4. billy Said:

    this blog is real real.

  5. Lauren Said:

    I also recently watched in her shoes, and started tearing up !
    Hahaha, I enjoyed your blog!


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