This has nothing to do with health
I started this blog as a place to vent, to whisper my secrets and have them told. It has almost always been about health. Strangely, because my health is no longer a large issue, I need to write this. AAaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.Aaaaahhh. I know, right now, that this is going to be a messy messy blog entry. Background:You know, when I was a younger man, my mother used to say, "you are like me, you are sensitive". I figured then this was the exasperation of a single woman overcome by fear and exhaustion romanticizing her plight. But I dont anymore. I have not for a long time. So there it is. I was born with my emotional volume turned up. Way up. I dont know where it started or when it grew. But I know now, from listening to other people, from linguistic choices and from observation, that in that respect I am different from most people. Every emotion I feel is blaring loud, demanding attention, action, reaction. I dont get happy, I get elated. I dont get distracted, I get manic. I dont get bored, I get panicked that I need to move. Everyone who has ever loved me and spent time with my will tell you the same. Sometimes with respect, eventually with exasperation. Sometimes with loathing. it burns people out. If you dont know me, and your emotional volume is not set to 11, you probably ready this and think that I am egotistical and childish. I assure you that this is not the case. Its overwhelming. You can loose yourself. The trick, therefore, is not to get overwhelmed. There are many ways to do this. One is distraction. This one used to be my favorite. Flush out the noise. I used to hide in books. Read read read. Live in fantasy worlds, where real emotions never some in. I listened, carefully, to emotionally bland music. I ran, I swam, I surfed. I learned Spanish, and hiked, biked, traveled, cooked, shopped, sunned. I still do this whenever I get tired of staying open. The Internet, surf trips, trips to Canada, planning dinner parties, throwing them, imagining perfect weekends, "the way things Should be", reading, learning, writing, talking, anything and everything. Just keep moving. Oh lord it gets to be too much.Another is going numb. This has been my mother's approach. She drank to numb it all. I know. I have drank. It is all so quiet then, so pacific, small and manageable. That's why I dont drink. There is hiding. This is what i needed to do when I was so sick that I hadn't the energy to hold the emotions at bay. I hid. In my house. I did not venture out. If I did, I stayed away from human interaction and was very careful in controlling my exposure to evocative emotions. I watched movies, and wept in the darkness. I listened to music and dried in my headphones alone at night. I stayed in and ate alone. I was without any filter then. Weird things crept in. things I don't really tell anyone about. Anyway, sadness was despair. Depression was suicide. I owe a debt to J and A, neither of which speak to me any more. They each, on separate occasions, saved my life by being home and staying with me on the phone until the danger of the darkness passed. You see, its the Fourth path to which I aspire. To keep the channels open, and stand unflinchingly before the cacophony. I have chosen my partners in life, not my friends, but my partners, for their soothing souls. All of them, also emotives. I cannot understand well the people who are not built along these lines, though I like them well. I need someone who also hurts from the beauty of life. Someone who slips and falls. But I try to stop the leaning on them. And I am working on it. I work hard. I stand still until I cannot take it anymore. I work on allowing the emotions to play without letting them engage the machinery. Without reacting. In that, is free will. But it takes constant practice, and vigilance, and I stumble often. Today:It was so hard to decide to leave. To leave Boston. My friends here are family. They are my tribe. And I am leaving for the hope of caring. Of working for something great. But what is that? I mean really. Am I a good man for leaving my friends for an idea? I don't know. I don't know. What is a place but dirt, if not for your connections. for your loved ones. I hope I did not make a colossal mistake. It hurts.Tonight, I told my friends that I accepted the job and will move at our weekly poker game. It hurt so badly, I could not look at them. I doubt they know what they mean to me. They were the first lights at the end of the tunnel of my illness. Friday I told W I would leave. One of the things my emotive aptitude lends me, is knowing what I know when I know it. I knew it was W. From the moment I met her. And yet, I will leave. I am still unable to process this one. I am still overwhelmed by the hurt of this one. Its coming through in pieces. For years, she was on the tip of the whip of my emotions. The held on as long as she could. I know she reads this. I will not embarass her. I love you W. I still have to tell the kids at PR. I thought this was going somewhere but I was wrong. The volume is up to high. All I am getting is hurt. Whevery I stop holding it back, it crushes in. I have a hard time breathing. I am overwhelmedd. I hope I am not making a mistake. I reckon that death is like this in a bigger way. Fear of the unknown, and hurt of leaving the worl and the people you love behind. I love you all, Bostonians. I am so sorry to leave you. Forgive me. WKPS- this does have some application to this blog. I think my hellow h'penics will get this. From what I read, I suspect that is part of the struggle. We are turned up too high. Special and gifted and cursed.