January 14, 2011

  • One of the things that I've always had a love/hate relationship with was my ability to deal with severe sadness or emotional pain. I'm not talking about a depression spat (those are too imediate for my liking). I'm more talking emotional disturbances triggered by an unfortunate event, such as a break up or death.

    I imagine it's some survival instinct I picked up back during high school, or I imagine that maybe it's just an unfortunate side effect of having to learn social mores and, therefore, monitoring and keeping watch on every action I do, but emotional disturbances don't hit me immediately. At least, not big ones.

    Again probably a side effect of having to learn from scratch how to act socially, but I find it incredibly difficult to process or understand most anger/sadness that isn't in the form of an action (which, now that I think of it, is interesting considering how I tend to find anger and, to a lesser extent, sadness more easy to understand and process than the confusion that is most general happiness or positive emotions; but a thought for later: that's not the point of this post).

    Someone get's hurt? Easy, help them. Someone hurt someone I care about? Comfort the friend and deal with the guilty individual. But, even further, those actions are my way of naturally expressing my emotions.

    I generally don't cry. Particularly so in situations like the above. Perhaps I instinctively convinced myself it's a waste of time. I wouldn't know. But it's not something I do, on the spot particularly. I don't get torn up inside. In short, I often wonder whether I can actually feel – in a moment of self-worry – at times of particular crisis.

    People expect reactions. Sure, stoicism can be taken as strength and, to some, restraint over uncontrolled emotion is considered the greater strength. I'll never forget, the second time Laura broke up with me, as Victoria and I were walking down the link, Victoria kept telling me it was alright to vent, express whatever sadness/disappoint/whatever I might be feeling. Amused by her concern, I just shrugged and honestly answered, "I'm fine." Or jess's attempted suicide. I was frustrated, irritated at not being able to do anything – but I didn't actually internally feel anything until the next day. And I'm sure it would have taken much longer to finally work, ever so slowly, through all the emotional distress which would float to the surface.

     

    The last "words" I said to Steve was an E-mail asking why he hadn't told me, the Symph Winds manager, about the concert that was occurring, I think, the Friday before Winter Break.

    I half considered just getting a new workstudy. I said here once that I like my bosses (and, humorously, how rare I imagine that might be for some); I hadn't realized just how much so.

    It's going to be a shitshow when all it finally hits, though.