Sacre

I needed to write this. I had stopped writing, thinking, "What's the point?" It just seemed silly to be gushing anymore. Besides, having read the likes of John Irving, and listened to the likes of Joy Reid, I think, Who am I kidding? I am not a writer! I am barely an intellect.

I have suppressed the need to write in the past year or so (?)

And then, something life-changing happened, yet again.

Last summer, I revisited the town where I grew up, and the family I hadn't seen in 4 years, thanks to the pandemic known as COVID. I made a plan to visit more often. So I did, again in February this year.

Aunt Teresa is now in a home. My vibrant, beloved Aunt Teresa, who was my primary caretaker, one of the very few people on earth whose name I have not altered on this blog.

One just never knows when is the last time. The last time I walked with her the park known to the locals as "Pigeon Nest"; the last time I treated her to tea, complete with symphony cake; the last time she walked.

She's in a home because she no longer walks.

When I visited her this past winter, at one point I crouched to adjust her pants and to pull up her socks, because slivers of her calves were being exposed to the cold. I get it. It is not easy for the orderlies to fix up everything after they have gotten you to the toilet, cleaned you up, and hoisted you back in your wheelchair. Clothes get bunched up, inevitably. 

As I bowed down before my aunt in this manner, busying myself at her feet, I felt a tender hand on my head, patting, almost gingerly. I looked up and it was Aunt Teresa, petting me, lovingly but uncertainly, like a child with a stray dog, almost with pity.

My heart completely melted at the moment. I didn't think I'd had a truer connecting moment with a human being since childhood. And even then...

Fast forward to this fall, my third visit since resuming after the global pandemic.

My mother's health is fast deteriorating. She has many ailments, and she's grown quite frail in her old age. She's been solely dependent on my Dad to get by each day even ten years before. Her condition has only gotten worse. She's lost a lot of weight, never has appetite, and everything pains her. She now practically does not leave the house except to go to doctors' appointments.

I tell my boss (to justify my frequent leaves of absence) that 1 year to older folks are like 5 to regular adults. It is true.

My Mom is still very much plagued by OCD and idiosyncrasies, and the assumption that all should bend to her will. But she's also become less controlling somewhat because she's no longer physically able. Sometimes when she smiles and laughs, I now see the child in her, which I never saw before.

How can you get mad at a child?

Both my parents have gotten much more emotional in their 80's, more remarkably in my Mom's case, because she's been so emotionally constipated up till this point. The guardedness has worn off to some extent, and she verbalizes how she feels more readily. Some might say it's typical to revert to childlike qualities at this stage, closing the circle of life. But still phenomenal in my book.

On one occasion, as my mother and I are seated in my parents' bed, half-heartedly watching TV before bedtime, I forget what the trigger was, but she reached out with her very bony hand and brushed my cheek, smiling brightly and innocently. Like she cherished me and was really happy I was there. I was moved, and naturally reached out to her cheek as well. It was such a tender moment. Honestly I can't say I'd ever had one with her earlier in life.

On one hand, I am so grateful, I am incredulous. On the other, Why has it taken 50+ years for us to have a loving relationship? Only when she is near death's steps.

But... to have had love at all... is truly a gift.

I've read recently that love is not lost. It is never lost. It helps to remember that, since time is not linear, every moment is ALWAYS there. As you are living, you are also already dead, and you are also unborn. Savor every moment as if it's eternity, because it is.

Quote 304

Help me create ever-enduring love
from my persistent dissonance with the world.

- Czeslaw Milosz

And You May Quote Me 68

 Her longing was as unrelenting as the Arctic sun in August.

Quote 303

It is not easy to find happiness in ourselves,
and it is not possible to find it elsewhere.

- Agnes Repplier

The Big Terrible Thing

I've been reading Matthew Perry's memoir, and it's been affecting me more profoundly than I would have imagined. I become very emotional at times, so much so that I've wanted to drink to alleviate the pain I so relate to and feel deeply.

It is very curious, this trigger. I haven't exactly struggled with the temptation that is drinking since I became "clean" on Jan 22 this year.

But on Dec 22, exactly 11 months since striving relatively free of demons, I did slip up and have a multi-beverage night. I had been having major anxiety at work, having shitty feelings about life in general. So I gave in. It was days and days of shitty feelings leading up to it. The next morning, I had a terrible hangover which lasted till 3:30 p.m. Just like the old days. I had forgotten how terrible hangovers were.

The light research I've done on addiction has piqued my interest even more. Some older notions are being challenged these days apparently, such as an "addictive personality". Also, addiction is a spectrum, like many other things. This is news to me and very eye-opening.

Matthew Perry's dis-ease, as he called it, was way, way on one end of the spectrum. To learn all about his difficult journey is gut-wrenching, all the more so since he has died in October this year. All hope is now lost.

The book was published in 2022. He seemed to be doing so well. And then a year later: dead.

I've heard someone recommend the audible book version of his memoir as Perry had done the reading himself. I can imagine: his story, his delivery, brutal honesty with humor - that would be killer. "Just like listening to a friend," that blogger had said. I couldn't bring myself to listen to his voice now. Not this story. That would be too heartbreaking.

I think about how charming he was as Chandler on Friends, not in a contrived, I-know-I-am-awesome way, but with a vulnerability that was very endearing. RJ had this endearing quality when we met (and still does), and I married him.

A lot of people have posted about Perry since his unexpected demise which occurred only a couple of months after his 54th birthday. Almost every one of those posts has made me tear up. There's just something about how he's hidden his pain all his life, how alone he's felt, that really resonates.

He writes that he could be fine all day, but going to bed alone terrified him. That was totally me! He drank himself to a stupor so he didn't have to ponder this loneliness. Me! Leave him alone in an apartment in front of the TV at night, and the devil that is alcoholism moves in fast. This gal! 'Cept for me it was the computer monitor.

And after a while you choose to be alone to hide the shame and guilt that comes with drinking, and the need to drink. And that leads to more loneliness, which leads to more drinking.

I never planned to drink nightly for 18 fucking years. It's unbelievable.

And when I read Perry's memoir, it's believable. It makes me remember. He hits the nail on the head.

I am lucky it did not take as much effort and peril before I turned back. Stepped away from the sinking ship. Took long enough, though.

When we are suffering and we believe we are suffering alone (as often is the case with humans), much harmful behavior can arise (toward ourselves as well as others).

Every once in a while I miss oblivion - the state of bliss of not caring and not hurting which alcohol helped ascending to (or winding down to). But now I know that is not a solution. When you sober up, your problems are waiting for you.

These days I am addicted to caffeine and sugar. Not ruining my life, but I can't function without the daily intake. 

Cue the best Bond movie title, The World is Too Much. To me, the world is always a bit overwhelming. People are. Got to ease the central nervous system and attempt at a semblance of euphoria somehow.

There are worse things to get hooked on. Hell, even Perry put his foot down and wouldn't touch heroin.

This said, I am going to study addiction for a while. Mighty intriguing.

If only more of us could be enlightened and okay on our own and didn't need any damned mind-altering agents to get through the day! 

Perry believed in God and the afterlife. I don't. But if his consciousness remained in existence in one form or another, he'd be pleased to know that his book continues to help people obtain insight and likely will for a long time. In this sense, he is immortal. And he doesn't have to wonder about his worth any longer. He is, indeed, more than enough.

And You May Quote Me 67

Between the minerality of blood and the je ne sais quoi of phlegm, I thought I'd tasted oyster.

The Upside of Anger

I have said in the past that anger is my least favorite emotion.

There's cultural influence too. We've been conditioned to regard anger as a negative emotion not to indulge in. 

It's like if you get angry, you're a bad person.

I've certainly been trained to think this.

In the past two years I have sought to understand anger so that it does not rule or ruin me.

It is very human to feel angry. All emotions serve a purpose. You will find that, as evolution has it, all comes back to survival. Instead of labeling an emotion "positive" or "negative", it is more helpful to understand each emotion's purpose.

It seems that in my case anger tends to fester to protect my psyche from having to deal with other, more difficult emotions, such as fear.

Once I realize this, it becomes a daily exercise to hit pause when anger wells up, to take a breather and examine what the underlying emotion is. Sometimes it's sadness that anger is masking.

The underlying emotions may not be obvious at first. Words like "injustice" or "helplessness" or "unappreciated" may come to mind. Dig deeper, and you'll get to what's under those.

Why does rejection feel like such a big deal? Because in ancient times, being shunned by your clan literally meant death.

Once you get to that next level of emotions, you'll often find that they are all about survival. That's how we are programmed. When we see that, we can forgive our brains.

Suppressing or ignoring anger definitely does NOT work. It will just resurface with a vengeance, adding resentment to the mix. "Venting" may seem to help at first glance. But there is a high likelihood of leading to more violent manifestations since the deep-seated anger has not dissipated. If anything, it's been given permission to escalate. Instead, if we acknowledge the emotions hidden behind anger, like magic, anger instantly cools off and loses its potency.

That "A-ha!" moment can be transformative.

A bonus is I find myself more mindful of when I have taken, or am about to take my frustration out on someone. When we do this, it's usually with someone close. Yes, it's those closest to us we hurt the most, because who else have we got? Thus it is critical to know oneself, to know where that anger is stemming from, and not attribute this emotion to an unrightful source.

My relationship with anger has changed. Not to say I never seethe and become blind with rage. But with practice I'm able to pull back and observe before the pesky amygdala goes berserk on me. Or, if I do go overboard, I can regroup after the fact and gain some insight, and hopefully do better next time. Sometimes there is a comic effect when I notice how absurd the whole thing is.

Oh, the human condition. Gotta luv it.