Since I have several journals on the burner at any given time, I tend to stumble upon things I’ve written sometimes months or even years ago. I’m a bit disorganized with my notebooks. I had chuckle thinking about how I would come across to someone who decided to posthumously recreate my life through my memoirs. I’ll be journaling along and turn the page to come across notes I scribbled years ago. I turned the page yesterday morning to find something I wrote back in April of 2012 that must have been bugging me at the time.
The entry was just a one liner “Fighting Stress is a Contradiction in Terms.” Think about it for a second. Most stress is the result of being stuck in fight or flight mode to begin with. To fight stress just stresses you out more. Much better to let go, take a step back, disengage, and look at the big picture. With my bipolar brain I can easily manufacture stress out of nowhere. Waking up on the wrong side of the bed is familiar to me, especially after a night of weird or bad dreams. Since many of them involve Mr. Husband I’m frequently afraid to share them with him because I don’t want to hurt his feelings.
However I’ve found that if I do trust the Hubman with nightmares as well as my dreams I feel much better afterwards. It’s a huge trust issue for me. I’ve always felt that if you tell people what you’re afraid of it gives them ammunition to scare you at inopportune moments.
The nightmare scenario that happened a few days ago was that Hubman came and told me that his secretary and her husband lost their house somehow. The solution was that we were going to give them our house and move in with his mother. I love my mother-in-law like my own mother. However the same as with my own mother, I sure as hell don’t want to live with her.
In the nightmare I announced that I was not OK with this and declared that I was going to leave. Mr. Hubman snarled “OK fine!” and then took a trash bag, went in my bathroom and started scooping the contents of the medicine cabinet and drawers into said trash bag. Oh, that really pissed me off, and then I woke up, thank God.
I told him about the dream and he laughed. Grrrrr. I demand to be taken seriously, even when I’m acting silly! He told me that when he left for college he knew he was never going back to his parents’ house…ever. He had no desire to live with them again, then or now. I think the thing that upset me most about the dream was that he made a major life decision that affected us both without consulting with me first.
So back to stress. I read somewhere that one of our founding fathers, but I don’t remember which one, I think it was Benjamin Franklin, had a system for handling worry. He would write things he was worried about on a slip of paper and put them in a teapot he kept for that purpose. Then every Wednesday afternoon he would take down the teapot, read the papers and worry then if needed. Usually it was not needed and most of his worries had resolved themselves on their own, or he had distanced himself enough to think of a solution.
I like that system. Maybe I’ll try it 🙂
All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players:
They have their exits and their entrances; and one man in his time plays many parts,
William Shakespeare – from As You Like It 2/7
I had a rather disconcerting dream a few nights ago. I was living my life (I thought) only to discover that I was on a movie set. I tried exiting but every time I walked through another door I discovered that I was only on a much larger movie set. It was like being a player in a movie, about people making a movie, about people making a movie. There seemed to be no end to the rabbit hole.
Every encounter I had with a friend, loved one, acquaintance or stranger turned out to be part of this huge movie undertaking. It was really weird, like waking up in the middle of a reality show and you can’t find the door to get off the stage.
As dreams go this was a long one. It seemed to go on for days. At some point I gave up trying to find a way out and just went along for the ride as an observer. I pondered everything that anyone said to me, no matter how trivial it seemed thinking, “I wonder why they are saying this. Is it part of a script or is this improvisation?” Do they really think that or believe what they are saying? Or are they just going along with the script.”
As time rolled on in the dream I began to realize that of many of the statements people were making they did, in fact, think they believed what they were saying. But in “reality” they were subconsciously following a script. They were simply parroting what they heard on the news or talk radio, or a discussion they had with like-minded friends. They were caught up in a mutual admiration society of people who held views similar to their own. As a result no one challenged anything they said or did. There was no “reality check.” Everyone was comfortable in their role and held no desire to alter it in any way.
I began to wonder. “Do they realize what is going on here? Do they know that we are filming a movie? Do they think that this is reality?” And then, Oh my God, “Do I know what is going on here? Is the joke on me? That was a distressing thought.
Eventually I woke up. I’ve been wandering around the last few days thinking about it. I began to wonder how much of the time I spend on auto-pilot. I do what I do out of sheer habit. I think what I think because I already thunk it before. It is way easier than thinking or doing anything differently.
I think part of what is happening here is that my “reality” meter got reset last week in the emergency room. There’s nothing like writhing around in agony, alternating between fear that you are dying and hoping that you were dying to escape the pain, to make you look at things a bit differently.
Mr. Husband who does love me dearly in his own way, for some odd reason, chose this point in time to lecture me about the “evils of Obama-care.” I remember thinking “Dude, are you serious? I’m laying here on a bench in an ER, clutching a metal mixing bowl in case I puke again on the next wave and you pick this moment, right now to attempt to ram your political views home. My political views are directly opposite of his. He’s a republican, I’m sort of a mixture of democrat/libertarian – take it from there. We pretty much disagree on everything political.
So there I lay wishing I had enough strength to beat him over the head with my bowl, but barely enough strength to lift my arm. I’m glad that I was too weak because I don’t think assaulting my spouse in the ER would be good for our relationship.
Anyway, I’m left thinking: How much of what we think we believe even remotely resembles the truth? Maybe it’s not that much. How much of the time do we let other people do our thinking for us? We listen to some opinion broker in the media and think “Oh, that’s sounds reasonable, I think I will believe that for a while” until something else comes along that sounds more believable. I wonder…..