Something I've been pondering all week - when my brain was my own - concerning my therapist's suggestion on me reading 'trashy books' / books I don't care about. I've been thinking of how as much as I love and adore some shows; I hesitate to buy them, because I've bought others (dvd sets) and then don't watch them. Watching them is too emotional.
I adore and love them, they are precious to me (oh LOTR unintentional joke) - but the thought of watching them again. I don't know. It's possible I break into tears because watching them, wouldn't just be watching them. It'd be like a smell or a taste triggering memories and everything I was feeling back then might come rushing back. Sometimes even thinking about rushing them I get overwhemled with feelings, to the point of tears.
They were important because they offered an escape; comfort; even a sense of safety in the moment. And it feels like some odd combination of not wanting to discover a lack in them, and ... and maybe they're part of the scars that have healed over those wounds. And rewatching them, tugs at those scars, even if that's not my intent.
I can only watch 1 Batman: The Animated Series episode in say a month, without it being too much. I steel myself to rewatch Batman Beyond (though, that's an easier one to deal with). The older I was when I watched something, the less of painful past there is associated with it. But, the younger I was, the more pained the time, perhaps the more I needed that soft, safe spot, that escape. And now I can't, somehow, separate the show I loved (or book I read) from that time.
My therapist brought up something else I think also applies; not wanting me to try and read something I love while depressed. Because I might become alarmed at finding myself having no emotional connection to it. And I think instinctively I've known that. I hold books to me, sometimes, but don't read them when I'm in a grey to dark mental place. I like knowing they're there. I like remembering how comforted I felt reading them. But actually reading them....
Two sides of the coin, too much emotional association, and the inability to connect at all - all connected to emotional coping. This past week? Two weeks? I've felt like I just don't understand 'ordinary people' - how do they cope with all this simultaneous feeling, processing and doing, all this STUFF at the same time. And yet again, though a sliver it's dawned on me the difference between being damaged and ... not. If you didn't have to take baby-steps to learn how to connect to your feelings, consciously, as an adult - it probably doesn't exhaust you to go through all those steps. Some people aren't self-aware to start with. Others, this is stuff they picked up, perhaps as children - it's like an unconscious subroutine, and years of experience has it using minimal power.
Not so much for me.
It's all, almost always so very, very, exhausting. And I'm still not simultaneous with everything.
Baby-steps, baby-steps, still.
Low pain threshold, high pain tolerance (or endurance if you like). And I'm beginning to think there's something similar with me and stress/anxiety. I have an incredibly low threshold. It wipes me out. About an hour after the thing is over, I crash. And if it's extended then I can't relax and stay gittery for hours as it continues and THEN CRASH - for hours. Though I'm not sure if that means I've got high anxiety/stress endurance, because in this case I don't think tolerance or endurance has anything to do with it. Or at least, I mean, it's not consistent in the same way pain is at all. It depends on too many factors and the one constant is exhaustion after the fact.
I'm wiped just from this morning. Thought I'd been calming down but only truly calmed after my landlady called me back and told me it was okay; the neighbourhood has a history of people being malicious theives about stuff like bins and front yard flowrers. She'd mentioned it before, the flowers at least, but I'd completely forgotten. And knowing she's not holding me responsible for the bins, or thinking I'm being careless or lax ... instant relief exhaustion.
All my plans for the day? Gone. Finished. Up in smoke. Up in exhaustion. I burned through the energy needed for them, in order to think clearly about the bin situation, go walking to find it (without my cane, because I was hoping, originally, that it was just a mistake, then the longer I walked, the more I realized it wasn't), calling my landlady, keeping track of the remaining bins all morning, dealing with the fact someone emptied our trash - probably to rummage through it for copper and other metals to sell and who knows what else, leaving a msg for my therapist about what had happened etc.
I'm worn out now.
Usually when I feel this way; for the past month and change when similar things have happened I've walked away feeling irrecoverably broken. Brought it up with my therapist last time we spoke on the phone - and he put a different perspective on it. I'd try to explain it but I think I'd lose it. I'm mostly holding on the fact that there are valid reasons for the way I am. That they're not excuses. And that I am not some failed project of human being, that needs to be humoured so it can potter about in a facsimile of life.
Holding on to that is keeping me from feeling defeated and crushed at being so exhausted by something that on the surface feels trivial (bin theft) but which used up all my energy for the day; not counting cooking a meal, etc. And my original morning preparations for potentially getting bank stuff started or begun to be sorted today; paperwork collected and put in bag, ID etc... My morning was on track for one thing and got thrown.
Am holding on the the changed perspective. Holding on tight. And hope, after struggling to get a more normal sleeping schedule that I don't crash before three pm and mess it all up again.
Note to self: Research adrenals + exhaustion. Not that I trust a doctor to help me with it.