Recently I've been having the sorts of moods that indicate to me that my psyche is trying to work out some issue. I move from an anxiety that borders on panic combined with a sense of impending doom, on to prickly dissatisfaction that quickly devolves into irrational anger. And then I get super sad.
I was talking to my mom about the anxiety, and she described a very useful metaphor that I've been trying to embrace. If I imagine my heart or my self as a many-petaled flower, and realize that my thought energy moves around that flower, sometimes it lands on a petal that is anxious, or angry, or sad. Of course, sometimes it lands on a happy petal, or a peaceful one, or a silly one. The trick is to see that those states of being are transitory, and not focus so much on WHY it's on the sad petal. That last part is really hard for me, I tend to want to get the answer, to analyze my own mysterious behavior to derive some meaning and purpose for why I feel the way I do. Being inside my head is like being in traditional talk therapy every second of the day.
So the practice of observing that my thought energy is landed on an irritable petal feels strangely unproductive. But it's necessary, I think, if I don't want to take medication that changes my temperament in some fundamental way. Not that there's anything wrong with antidepressants, or, I'm assuming, anti-anxiety drugs (I've never taken the latter) -- but lately I'm finding myself a lot less willing to accept the medical or disease model as explanations for the myriad states of human beings and consciousness and health. B was telling me about this fascinating story about drug addiction and rats: Rat Park. The idea that we drink and take drugs and numb ourselves and hurt ourselves with self-loathing and other self-destructive behaviors being wholly attributable to our environment (mental, emotional, and physical) rings so true to me that the only answer is to do whatever it takes to really enjoy my life and trust that my body and my mind will heal of my tendency to hurt myself.
In other news: Miss Molly (I wish we could claim to have named her for Molly Ivins, but now I will say that I will think of her name as a tribute) has become marginally less irascible, and significantly less frail-seeming. Her incision is healing nicely, and she's been busy investigating the trailer. Unfortunately, Genghis has decided that her unfriendliness is a reason to punk on her and smack her whenever he gets the chance. She's so much smaller, so I worry, but her size makes her able to get away and get herself into places where he can't get to her. I hope they all eventually get along, because she's a good cat and I want her to be happy.
We had a very nice Valentine's Day in Madrid NM. We saw some art and craft, ate some decent food, and just relaxed in each other's company. B made me a mixtape just like old times. I love it.
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