Today, in the women's quarters of Casa de Bessey, is a solo game of Emo Rock Scissors Paper that I now dub Angry Sad Joy. I'm not sure who is playing. My personal angel from the right shoulder, versus my personal devil from the left is what I suspect.
They have been at it now for almost 12 hours. The extreme fatigue in my body when I awoke tells me they kept at it all night. I'm really getting tired of the game. Every time I think one of them is poised to finally win, the other one says, "Best out of 100,000?" And they keep at it. I would think the angel would know better.
I admit that after all of the "how to" articles I read about letting go of anger and practicing compassion I find it weird that breathing and telling yourself "good stuff" over and over and over...I'm happy, I'm happy, I'm Happy, I'm grateful, I'm grateful, I'm Grateful, I'm Safe, I'm safe, I'm safe...DOES NOT WORK.
I also tried to deliver some buddha-style compassionate forgiveness and blessings on the person "hooking" me, and that made me want to vomit. Seriously. I haven't had breakfast. I was feeling too sick at the idea of trying to think good thoughts for a "crappy person." That's in quotes, and has a link because the universe delivered me some fresh strategies by a LinkedIn INfluencer that my Inbox informs me you should be following.
What the hell. It could have been revelatory. It could have given the angel an edge.
It was not. It did not.
The advice the article gives for dealing with crappy people is to ignore them. Pretend they don't exist. It doesn't seem like BAD advice; It just doesn't apply to my situation. You have to trust me that the crappy people in my life are not ignore-able for the long-term. They will come back around until I'm dead, or they are. That's my definition of "family."
In particular, the person I had dealings with yesterday does a great job of evoking My Critic from My Writing Team, which I blogged about awhile back. She might be the devil in my Angry Sad Joy game, and the poor angel really has no hope of winning.
My Critic (sorry if you read the prior post) is my defense lawyer. She is motivated by two things: joy of winning and fear of losing. When she is on, whether she is writing contracts or merely shuffling CYA paperwork, she has to be fed. And today, I found out that she doesn't only eat compliments and kindnesses, she really, REALLY likes insults.
Go ahead. Insult me. My Critic will build a case to take you down. She has access to all of my memories and she will find what she needs faster that Google search. She is a list compiler. Every bad decision, every crappy thing you've ever done is right at her fingertips, documented, with video, audio, and reliable witnesses. I know, because she makes me watch them.
There's a problem: She has no place to take her case too. If she was the angel, I guess she could make a case to God that person A, B, or C should be wiped from the face of the planet, Bambi meets Godzilla style...but she's the devil.
Who does the devil go to?
Whoever she thinks is desperate enough to sell a soul.
All she can do is make me feel bad...try to make me DO bad things to elevate awareness of the bad things someone else does, until she has an actual court to put her case in front of.
Case in front of society: BOOM!
Case in front of a custody judge: BOOM!
It isn't enough to accept the betrayal, hurt and abuse WE have undergone at the hands of Crappy Person as a part of the past, not the present. Not enough for her to finish her job once she has criticized and judged the behaviors and actions of Crappy Person, and be satisfied. She really wants to call down Godzilla.
The angel just wants the Crappy Person to change (So Easy!) into a Happy Person so we can stay out of it.
So I went for a bike ride with the dog.
I am estimating the anger levels and trauma flashbacks now reduced by 20%. I still feel 80% bad and want nothing more than to go back to bed with a fantasy novel...which evokes My Critic all over again. She thinks she's there to help me live my life, which means get-shit-done, not sleep-all-day.
The reality is that the situation I am in is Sad. There's nothing I can do to fix it, but the Angry crushes the Sad. The Angry makes it impossible to just have a good cry, be Sad and move on. The Angry is the emotional blocker, the energetic powerhouse, My Critic, My Devil.
Writing helps a little. Writing is a Joy...but I deeply fear that like the original game idea, Joy only covers Anger. It is momentary - It isn't a final win. The Anger is still there.
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