This has been a rotten week. I am the Bad Guy at work, which is panning out much as you’d expect. It is unavoidable for managers, and I suppose the best we can do is be consistent and fair and straightforward.
While I have these things nailed at work, I cannot say the same for my personal life. My ability to assess and articulate my emotional state is so severely broken that I often have no idea what is going on internally until it has already boiled over. Therapy was almost no help in this regard; I often received advice like “count to 10 before reacting to negative emotion” which would work great if I had a clue which emotions I was dealing with in the first place.
One helpful thing a therapist told me was about survival mechanisms. When I expressed frustration to him that I wasn’t just “healed” after the relationship had ended, he told me that those survival mechanisms, built up over years, wouldn’t just dissipate. I have to query each of these mechanisms as they appeared with a simple question: “Does this work for me?“ If it doesn’t, it is my responsibility to junk it.
You know, none of this shit works for me anymore. It all needs to be junked. I know this. But I don’t feel like I’ve gotten any better at asking that question in the moment; I remain conditioned, like the beaten dog, to assume that I’ve done something wrong, already wincing and slinking off with my tail between my legs.
Why can I handle this so well at work but not elsewhere?
Whatever. The writing workshop I was looking forward to tomorrow was just canceled, so I will have the luxury (hah) of a day to think about all this useless crap in my psyche. A rotten ending to a rotten, insomnia-ridden week with brief bright spots that seem so far away now. I fucking hate Mercury in retrograde, and I’m none too fond of myself right now, either.