Oct. 5, 2020:
I didn’t get a chance to write this morning and it was so sad for me! Very unnatural. A person had to be at the airport early, and I had to take them, and then another person decided to let their equipment run all the way out of water and then blow me up about it while I was dropping off the airport person. I had some phone appointments about Nick’s CDL training and skills testing around the time I got back from airport, and the person who was out of water continued blowing me up and then came over and drove their pickup truck in circles around me while I was pacing back and forth on the baseball diamond trying to finish my phone calls and lock down this extremely important thing, which felt pretty aggressive. Then I delivered their damn water and recommended they give a better heads up next time, and when I got back it was time to clean shower stalls, so blah blah blah. The moral of the story is: if a thing is important to you, like writing, and you don’t put it front and center the very moment you become conscious, it simply will not happen. The day will take it from you. This is especially true if the thing is totally unnecessary, like art 🙂
Oct. 6, 2020
As an additional proof, even that complaint was interrupted by its very own veracity, as I got up to pee and was never able to return to the latter day blog. Anyway, here I am back at my normal time.
This is not a really big deal?, but it’s on my mind this morning that my sense of risk aversion could stand to be dialed up, big time, relative to personality types I don’t mesh with well. There aren’t many, I get along with most, but there’s a specific flavor of female psyche that apparently peppers the population, and whom I’ll encounter every now and then, in various forms, and somehow become involved with, and then finally, violently, dis-involved with, after much psychic travail. As usual, this is about me and how *I* can do better, how *I* can recognize more of my subconscious patterns; it’s not a criticism of how others are behaving.
This flavor of female psyche is something men might be more familiar with than women, I wonder? They want stuff from me, it’s not clear what, whatever I give is not enough, and the less ‘enough’ it is, the less I give, which is taken ever more personally; everything is emotionally loaded but with a frownie-face emphasis, everything is some secret test I’m mostly failing; maybe worst of all, I don’t allow things to come to a head, authentically, because I’m actually scared of them.
So, this is the female, emotional predator version of a male prone to violence; other males don’t tend to escalate simply because you can tell this guy is already really comfortable with escalation, which is frankly scary. This female is already really comfortable with argumentative escalation — she can’t wait to tell you how much you’ve disappointed and injured her — and you just sense that it’s not gonna resolve shit, not like an argument with a rational person would or at least might; so you lean away from the argument, and ideally you lean away from the whole damn interaction, but strangely, ironically, obviously, she won’t just fuck off. She won’t just write you off as a loss, which apparently you are, being such a constant source of frustration and disappointment to her; no, she leans in, grabs harder, it gets even more loaded.
It’s very uncomfortable, and represents not so much a series of events as, like I said, a basic personality type. I don’t know what its name it, but it’s a type. The female emotional vampire? I had kind of chalked this all up to being one person, but it’s an actual pattern, or at least the interaction of our energies creates iterations of it, to various degrees across a very small segment of the population — which somehow I’m repeating, which is why I need to get more clear about this for my own sake.
Sharing stories of hardship is one major way people bond, females especially, but it doesn’t work here because when I hear the story of an apparent hardship, often to do with dating a male, or work, or problems with other females, I’m mentally inserting the unspoken qualifier of how unconsciously bitchy and and troublesome she must have been IRL. Because of this, the whole transaction is an emotional flop. Honestly there’s nothing I love more than hearing someone’s account of a thing, and easily trusting their account is reasonably accurate, because they themselves are reasonably self-aware. So yeah — with this personality type, the entire *engine* driving the growth of friendly intimacy, the exchange of relatable stories, is broken, but you can’t speak to that because they wouldn’t get it.
So that’s just the context, and not really that interesting, probably. I’d assume we all have various types that tend to reoccur in our lives as antagonists, and of course that’s less about them and more about us, when it happens over and over.
But back to what I said about risk aversion: I need more of it. A big quantum leap in spiritual growth, for those of us leaning that way, is to learn to treat our emotions as real events, with more emphasis; and real events as passing scenery, with less emphasis. What we tend to do otherwise is negotiate things logically, based on tangible reasons x y z, and then simply suffer the emotional consequences as an unimportant side effect. That’s what I’ve been doing, I’m realizing.
So that’s what my blog is about today — first of all admitting that I can emotionally spot this personality type, even in mild form, from a mile away; and second of all, that I keep telling myself it will be different. Obviously it never is because I’m totally allergic, and I just get more allergic, not less.
Why do we resist taking our own emotional needs seriously? It’s strange. I don’t seem, to myself, like someone who would resist it, but it doesn’t feel like a thing I can renegotiate a-fresh every day; it seems like, in a moment of weakness, I’ll populate my own experience with a person or situation that, then, I feel I have to endure for its unguessable duration. I mean, maybe that’s the issue right there, more so than risk aversion per se?
Now, just for the sake of contrast, it’s not like I didn’t have a role model on how to do this. My mom. We would get to the tenth hour of an eleven hour road trip and she would decide she didn’t want to be on this trip anymore, and she wanted to be home instead, and all hell would break loose (cliche) until my dad turned the car around and drove ten hours home, even though we were almost there. I mean, that actually happened. Which served as more of an anti-example for me: Reasons To Be Stoic, chapter one. Yeah — that’s relevant. My mom wouldn’t put up with anything, or anyone, for any amount of time, that she didn’t want, even if she was the one who created it, like us for instance, and it was frankly emotional terrorism, in the sense that the violence would escalate until her very recent demands were met, which could swing first one way, then the other. (She wasn’t always this way, but she also wasn’t always not this way.) So I became an emotional stoic! I was like, clearly it is far better to simply be a shock absorber rather than to upset an apple cart other people are also occupying. (That’s also a cliche, I’ve talked to myself about cliches before, I don’t give a fuck, it’s an apple cart for right now, probably because I just started crunching on an apple.)
So I guess ideally we would just go with our best guess in the moment, and then feel free to renegotiate that as it plays out, and the “playing out” would include our emotions as real events — that’s the tough part. And to be fair, I think what this brand of female psyche experiences from me is a warm welcome followed by a confusing freeze-out, and of course that doesn’t feel good. They’re like, why does she resent me? And I’m like, blinded by a staggering migraine of mute resentment, and they become, like, bright lights and loud noises to me. I’ve never had an actual migraine, or any kind of headache at all lol, but that’s what people say it feels like.
Hm. Probably my favorite existential hot-take is that the purpose of suffering is to realize that suffering is unnecessary. I wonder if a lot of this is me, playing out the drama over and over of feeling helpless in the grip of a volatile female. I don’t feel this way about males, even if they’re volatile — I feel more free to have my own reactions, whatever those reactions are. I mean truly, it’s no big deal. I’m scared of volatile females, because they’re fucking scary. I respond to them the same way I would with, like, a wild predator if I’m hiking alone. Moving very slowly, appeasing them all the way until I get my car door shut against them, and then I’m fucking outta there.
Interestingly, though, it’s not just female volatility — it’s that plus low self awareness, or maybe only some brand of low intelligence. I know a couple of highly intelligent volatile females that are frankly delightful, because you can still communicate with them in the abstract and they get it. The most problematic sort, for me, is the variety where you cannot communicate in the abstract, everything must be broken down to a sixth grade level, and at that level there’s no way for it not to be offensive, not to be a simple shoving match, because they’re literally too dull to comprehend alternative, more nuanced ramifications, and *that’s* what’s terrifying. I mean, you may as well try to converse with a BLM peaceful protester, at that point. All you can do is drive over them before they eat you alive, and you just hate them for putting you in that situation.
You know, this inspires me to say something so shitty, so offensive, but so true, it’s never even occurred to me to admit it, even to myself: I prefer intelligent people. Yeah, you’re not supposed to say that. I prefer intelligent people. That felt very controversial. I’ve met unintelligent people who are kind, though, and wonderful to be around, so maybe even this isn’t really relevant. Also, no one who is truly kind is truly unintelligent. For that, you have to be mean. So nothing is as simple as it seems.
You know what? I’m falling into the trap of sifting and sorting, which is a very human, ego thing to do. It’s a vibrational universe and I could describe everything I hate, and meet someone who is all those things and I’d love them; I could describe everything I love, and meet someone who is all those things and I’d hate them. Whatever it is I like and want, I’m probably the last one to be able to articulate it, verbally or in text at least.
Okay, here’s what it is, real-deal: I prefer people who stay connected to their own source most of the time, and who stay replenished in that relationship, most of the time. None of us do it all the time, but some of us don’t do it, much, and that’s where emotional vampirism comes in. I’m probably not as reactive to male emotional vampires — and we’re all vampires, necessarily, minus a source energy connection — because, distasteful as it is, they at least appeal to my vanity. No one flatters me more than a heterosexual male emotional vampire. It’s like, oh, that’s nice! I feel special! Block. Perhaps some kind of successful transaction still occurred, although not the intended one. But a female emotional vampire — which again, there but for the grace of God go I — does try to appeal to my ego but I don’t have much free radical ego floating around in that area, because I do stay mostly connected to my source; I do enjoy my own company, I don’t require a bonfire of the vanities in that particular direction, so that’s where the transaction falls flat.
Okay, that feels like the first solid bedrock of the whole blog. I hope this is useful for someone, lol — it’s some hardcore navel gazing, otherwise.
Alright, for reals now, maybe this is the point I’m tediously coming to: maybe we’re all actually very stupid without a connection to source, to our inner being. Like my mom — she was a highly intelligent woman, both in terms of her education but also her instincts and truly perceptive nature. And then all that simply, poof, went away, when she was feeling hunted, and she felt hunted when her connection to her source faltered, as it often did. We have to take a lot of things on faith, to maintain connection, primarily our own essential goodness and worth, which is a fucking hard sell for some of us, particularly with childhood and religious influences to the contrary. And that’s a tragic thing — to be convinced you’re bad and wrong, to look outside yourself for evidence you’re good and right, and to instead have your original fear confirmed over and over, but not because it’s true; simply because we can’t be each others’ sources of alignment, even when we want to. We just can’t, it’s too heavy. So the weight of some people’s fears about themselves gets heavier for me, faster, than others. And certainly I’ve burdened people in my life with my temporarily interrupted self-sustainment, and yeah, they don’t tolerate it well. Obviously.
Ah! Maybe this is it: it’s only that, for whatever fucked up combination of reasons and childhood traumas, I’m willing to be more of an emotional crutch, for longer, with a certain brand of female psyche, because she reminds me of my mom, because being an emotional crutch for my mom felt necessary then, and so somehow it still feels necessary now. It’s not, but it feels that way. I mean, what else is she gonna do? So probably the most relevant stupidity at play in this whole pattern is me, and mine, because we all turn stupid when we disconnect from source, and clearly I disconnected from source when I acquiesce to be someone’s crutch. I mean, any number of parties may or not be stupid at any given time, but that’s the stupid I’ve been bringing to the table, and it makes sense, right? The world is a mirror, so any time someone’s stupidity is irritating me, it’s probably because I’m even more stupid for getting myself overextended with them in some fashion.
I think the moral of the story is, I turn stupid, and emotional vampire, because x y z childhood-influenced pattern, and then I experience that disconnect in a particular fashion via various antagonistic teachers, and that’s something I’m here to diffuse.
Good fucking lord, we just got swamped with Marines and now there’s no room for any more introspection because the day is ramping up and I guess I’ll eat breakfast now. Whatever.
Hopefully no individuals were harmed in the making of this blog? For me, it really is all about me and my patterns, and I have to move through irritation with others sometimes to arrive at my own point, but that’s not ever where I intend to stay. Okay, bye.