Pulling my self together
I am not the only one reading this journal, it seems. So naturally I am slightly concerned about what impression it makes. It is one thing for me to understand it, another for someone who has never walked a mile in my shoes. If I first bother to write and write and write and write, I better try to make myself understood too. Right?
In particular, I want to make it clear that I don't have much in the way of mood swings. A quick glance at the entries could give that impression, at least the last year or two, where I have tried to stay within a theme for each day. This does not mean that one day I just think about economy from morning till night, and the next I happily lose myself in my daily tasks. It is not so that I spend an entire day pondering the injustice of our partriarchal society, and the next day I daydream from dawn till dusk. One activity may be more prominent at any given day, in which case I may mention it. But things are rarely exclusive.
I am not manic depressive, unless you can be both at the same time. Bipolar, is that what it is called this year? We are all bipolar. How often do you see a magnet with only a south pole? If we were not able to experience both joy and grief, we would be less human for it. But some people dive so entirely into their sorrow that there is nothing else in sight, or they are lifted so high on their happiness that they lose sight of everything else. I hear similar things happen to people who fall in love. I am not like that. (At least now. Who knows what fate will bring?)
My grandmother had marked mood swings. Not long ones like in the classic bipolar disorder. She was just a normal human whose emotions were too big for her to contain. She could be harsh to the point of cruelty, or very affectionate. She could despair or be filled with joy. It was kind of disconcerting. Her husband was not like that, or at least he did not show it much. My mother was not like that, and not my father, at least as time went by. I think he was more impulsive when he was younger, but I remember little of that time.
Sometimes I am tired, other times I have more energy. And I do take some time to explore various sides or facets of me. But do not let the choppiness of the entry system fool you into thinking that I wake up with a new personality each morning.
Despite my light-hearted comments about the voices in my head, I am actually a pretty well integrated person. I have many facets, and some of them are rather far apart. But that is the human condition. Or at least the condition of someone born with a large spirit, or mental span if you will. I am certainly not unique in this. It should be enough to point you to well known songwriters such as Leonard Cohen or Chris de Burgh, whose texts roam from the deeply religious to the unashamed lustful, from the contemplative to the aggressive.
So it should surprise no one that I am both cynical and innocent. But trying to be both at the same time tends to ruin the experience. It certainly seems to ruin the artistic expression, as it were.
Except for the rarest of occasions, the balancing forces in me are ever present at the same time, even though not all of them are expressed. Even at the most saintly, I feel the sinner inside. And even at my most sinful, the saint is still praying. In emotion, reason is always working behind the scenes, and behind all my logic the emotions keep driving me. When I try to move forward, something holds me back; but when I stand still, something is pressing me onward.
I think only in the few true panic attacks do I experience the nakedness of being without an inner balancing presence, the horrible lonelyness of waking up alone in my body, like an echo of the ancient and earth-shattering "Why hast thou forsaken me?"
But unless I say otherwise, you can assume I have a pretty good time, all in all. I much prefer to have emotions, over emotions having me. Stay cool, stay in control ... oops, excuse me, I have to run. Lady Chaos is on IRC! :)
Somewhat overcast but still warm.
Visit the Diary Farm for the older diaries I've put out to pasture.