Friday, May 25, 2012

A slight interruption

It's another one of those nights where no matter how tired I am, there's no sleep in site, just lot of noise in my head.  I try to keep the violent undertones of being bipolar shoved as far away as possible, but tonight they were having their way and the only way I can clear them out is to write this, so here it is. Even if this remains on the InterWeb forever and is never again read, this will help.  There's always violence in these first thoughts after my head hits the pillow (MS will step in here and make sure I am not all that comfortable by making my legs feel like someone has laid ice cube trays on them, while my shoulders burn and the spot where I injected Copaxone throbs for a bit so I'm lying there anyway) and these make it tough to relax despite pills I take for such things.  Nope, buildings blow up, people are murdered, and havoc reigns.  The vast majority of this has to do with my former workplace, so I'm not sure whether I actually miss the place or not.

But in these fantasies I come like gangbusters (really, well, in a mental illness sense) and mow people down with my super duper gun that does that sort of thing.  The mowed down people are normally generics, with more specifics as I get to the floors/areas I knew well.  Then its the actual group.  Or was.  I've had these heavy thoughts for a long time and since being away from the job for almost a year and a half now, with minimal contact, I really am not sure who works there anymore.  But it really doesn't matter.  I'm just getting out internal aggression in the best way it can be done. It hurts no one but me.

Agression has its place.  As it is part of the fight or flight response, aggression turns on certain components of your neurological house, and deadens others.  It's just the body's response to stress, no different than a lion and zebra seeing each other on an African plain.  One is ready to run and one is preparing to get dinner, but both are preparing different parts of their neuro systems to respond properly.

While I have actually set foot back in my old job's building only once since I retired, I can run back there in my mind any time, and still do in my dreams.  I wrote someone recently that I still have those "Mickey Mantle" dreams, where the great ballplayer in his life would dream that he was outside Yankee Stadium and could hear his name being announced as "now batting for the Yankees, number 7, Mickey Mantle, number 7".  And the Mick tried like anything to get in the building but he never could make it in, and he'd wake up in a cold sweat.  For me, I'm back working for the county as a volunteer consultant or helping out with some paperwork, but its time for me to leave, and I can't find my way out of the building.  Or I can't find my way to a meeting.  Like those "late for class" ones.

I'm sure many of you have some version of this in your own night time wanderings.

I do wonder what I'm still so pissed off about in these stress play outs in my head.  I didn't get some promotions I thought I deserved.  Work was deteriorating in quality.  The entire program needs to be overhauled for a new reality. And people are damned rude on both sides of the desk.  That's a start. And there's not a damn thing I can do about it anyway.  I'm not there, and by my own choice, and that of my legs not working all that well, etc.  I probably could not have handled the promotions, or if I did get them, do my best.  Of course, the biggest thing is I'll never know.  For this I go all Rambo every night? What a waste of time (a very precious commodity). Is Rambo too old a reference?

So for tonight I think I'm done with blowing up the building.  And I hope the authorities will note that said real building remains standing and all employees are accounted for, unless they called in to take the day off, which is not my fault.

And so to bed to try again.  Good night, and pleasant dreams.

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