This thought came to my mind this morning not long after I woke up. And I have a question: am I the only one who has heard or thought that and then immediately rolled my eyes and thought, “Good God, give me a break with this sanctimonious crap”?
Now, now, don’t go getting all preachy on me and calling me out for my irreverence. First of all, if you have read anything on here before, you know I can be quite cheeky when it comes to certain things, mostly things of a religious nature, so either don’t bother with righteous indignation or don’t read this blog. And, yes, I realize that the Serenity Prayer embodies a high minded and important sentiment – one that is important to those in recovery and those of us who just need to keep in mind that sometimes you just have to deal with whatever life throws at you and, quite frankly, you have just those choices – put very eloquently and succinctly.
However, it has also become cliché bordering on trite. It calls to mind countless hokey movies where poor struggling drunks and addicts all hold hands, sing kumbayah and solve all their problems inside 120 minutes. It makes me think of all the times I have heard the equally trite and worthless “Let go and Let God.” Sure. Now, what does that mean exactly? It also makes me think of televagelists, which is not a good thing (one of these days I will get around to my rants on televagelists, but suffice it to say for this post that I am not a fan. Of. Any. Of. Them. For the most part, I find them to be a step or two below a snake oil salesman and a politician and, if you know my view on politicians, this level lies just above the Unabomer – at least he could rightfully claim insanity and not just sheer greed, lust and/or meanness).
So when this popped into my mind this morning, totally unbidden, I had to pause. Now, I am not a religious person. (One of these days I will write something about both my religious beliefs and lack thereof, but to day is not that day.) However, I am not devoid of a belief system nor am I without trust in God or, at the very least, trust in the connectiveness of the world we know to things unknown. So, what did this mean?
Well, it means whatever meaning I want to give it. But do I know where it is coming from? You bet your sweet butt I do. Dammit.
I have been angry lately. One of the reasons I have not been posting much is because I have been too emotional to write. I know journaling is supposed to be all cathartic and let out those demons so I can call their names and remove their hold over me, but there is a point I can get to where I am too emotional to write (or even talk) about anything that has been bothering me. Well, I suppose I could write about it, but it would reduce me to a blubbering idiot and I can’t have that.
I have used the analogy before that men and women are like ovens – only men are the self-cleaning type. Let a man have a problem and he will shut that sucker up tight, flip a switch and the oven would heat up and in time it would cut itself off and you would be left with a bit of residue to sweep up and a clean oven. Problem solved. A woman, on the other hand, puts off dealing with a dirty oven way past the time she should. So when we finally tackle it, it is caked and baked on. We have to use toxic chemicals like Off that burn our eyes and get us high (and not in a good way). We have to roll up our sleeves, don rubber gloves and use brillo pads and elbow grease to scub for hours in toxic fumes. It is gross, it is messy, it is disgusting, it is time consuming and it is exhausting. For some reason we lack that wonderful self-cleaning setting that men take for granted. And men do not understand the difficulty not having that setting causes for us and, by extension, them.
I have been furious with my doctors and modern medicine in general; I have been aggravated by my ex-husband bringing up shit so banal it barely ranks mentioning except for the fact that my nerves have been raw and my emotions laid bare so my capacity for bullshit is at a very low point; I am worried about my children to nightmarish degrees – two of them specifically and a third just because I am living with a glass-half-empty mindset and know that if there is not anything to worry about with Ezra right this minute, there will be soon enough (yes, I am including the unborn one here); I have been angry and disappointed in my boss and some co-workers, but cannot speak my mind so I have to stifle my ire and I wind up building resentment no matter how hard I try not to; and, in my vulnerable condition due to the above concerns, I have allowed difficulties in my extended family to leak out of their tightly sealed compartment further contaminating my mood and outlook.
These are my Hakken-Kracks. They are the howling problems that haunt and taunt me. Each of them, in and of themselves, though aggravating, hurtful or scary, is not insurmountable. Once added together, however, they take on a whole new dimension and become something all together different. Given time, I can get over anything. Believe me, I have tested myself and have proof of that fact. Years ago I would call my friends and rant and talk and cry and get advice. I would work through the emotions I had out loud to a person. A part of me wants to do this, but another part finds it appalling.
I have told Jay most of what is bothering me and he is aware I am stressed, but I have not unleashed the full amount of pent up emotions at all – much less in his presence. But the fact of the matter is, I am no self-cleaning oven. I will admit that I have done my share of crying and speaking my mind over most of the things I listed above, but not to the degree I would have years ago and certainly not to a point where I have reached some sort of catharsis. I am still at a point where, given the smallest stressor, I get a lump in my throat and am afraid that something else will happen too soon and I will actually start to cry – like at work or somewhere equally unacceptable – and I will not be able to stop. I am afraid that I will lash out at something relatively innocuous and snap at my children or Jay. I feel like Joe Bfstplk in the Lil’ Abner comic strip with the cloud over my head (not to be confused with Pig Pen from Peanuts who, while more adorable, was just filthy).
All of this serves to make me raw and prone to taking things in a way they were not intended or see a slight where there really was none. It also means that I am a bit more bitchy and prone to cussing. I am not all about those of you out there with your rays of sunshine and butterflies flying out your butt. I don’t want to read your Bible verses posted for edification. And I will joyfully take out a hit on anyone with advice comparable to “Don’t worry, be happy.”
In all honesty, I am in a Slump. Probably a Lurch and a Funk as well. And un-slumping myself is not easily done.
I want someone to wallow with. I want to find someone else who is down here with me and wallow and bitch and whine until my heart is content and I am sick to death of it. I don’t want to pray and Let God. I want to go to my padded room and bounce around for a bit. Or go to my bed, pull the covers over my head and sleep for 20 hours. Or cry until my head aches, I cannot breathe and my sides hurt from sobs. I want to cuss out a stranger for no reason and pop some kid’s balloon just for the fun of it. Or all of the above, actually.
But I suppose I will take my irritatingly, aggravatingly, maddening Serenity Prayer thoughts this morning to heart and do none of those things I suppose what I really need to do is get the fuck over myself and get on with it. So on I will go though my inner weather be foul and those damn Hakken-Kracks can howl all they want. Guess I’d better go get the Off and rubber gloves. This is going to take a while.
Although, as bad as it may be, this makes me feel a bit better. Ha flippin ha.