Agnes rides again…and again

Agnes is in high voice tonight.  The negative little voice in my head just won’t shut up.  Surely if she had a throat, it’d be hoarse by now.

“Agnes” says things to me that I’d never say to anyone else.  Little drips of venom that amount to Chinese water torture within a few hours.

I walk past a little knick-knack on my kitchen counter that I bought to send to my former boss in California.  Agnes starts in:

Like she’d even care.  You email her these lengthy emails, giving her updates about your life in Texas, asking her how she is and she responds with, “miss you!” and nothing more.  She never initiates communication.

No one ever initiates communication with you.  Even when you HAD friends they left it up to you call.

Stella didn’t respond to your Facebook friend request, did she?  Your cousin, Andy, didn’t either.  And Mike Wann ignored your Twitter comment.  Think he doesn’t recognize you because of your married name?  Bullshit.  He can see it’s you from the picture on your account, he just doesn’t care. Just like Rahn doesn’t seem to care anymore.  When’s the last time your “oldest friend” even acknowledged you?

No one said anything about the artwork you posted the other day.  Because its’ crap.

What’s wrong with you anyway?  You’ve never been one to really attract friends, have you?  Maybe you had a few in high school, but even they stopped bothering.  And you weren’t always so steeped in depression, so you can’t say that’s why.  And you can’t say they’re ALL assholes.  I mean, they can’t ALL be assholes, right?  The common denominator here is you, right? <insert joke about Taylor Swift [here]>  You say you’re crap all the time, why are you shocked that others think so, too?

This record plays in my head for two hours, all because I walked past a freakin’ brass armadillo.

I swear, at one point, I was a nice, caring person.  I still try to be, when I have the energy.  But mostly I’ve turned into a grumpy old woman.  I’d put on a shawl and wave a cane at the neighborhood children, yelling at them to “keep it down!”, if I cared to be outside that long.  I’ve let a string of disappointments, some little, some big, turn into a chain around my soul that drags me down.

Every once in a while, a voice of reason speaks up.

Look, this is the only life you’ve got, work with it.

You can’t change the past, learn from it.

Not happy with the way things are now?  Change it.

Take little steps.  Literally. Go for a walk with your daughter.  You’ll feel better about yourself if you’re healthy.

Creating art makes you feel good.  Not everyone is going to like every piece.

Go back to the meetings. Try to be social.

Get involved.  Help people.

Try to remember that everyone has busy lives, and people sometimes just forget.

And bind and gag that bitch, Agnes.  Shoot her.  Bury her in the backyard and pee on her grave.

Unfortunately, Agnes speaks more frequently, and louder, than the voice of reason.  I really need to do something about that.



Our own worst enemies

Yes, I live. And I’ve had a dozen posts drafted in my head, and have yet to put “pen to paper” on any of them, until now. I’m writing now because of our own absurdity. I’m at home with my daughter and husband. We’re cleaning up different rooms of the house. I’m wandering around, putting things away, and a thought occurs to me, something that immediately casts a shadow over my day, and eats away at me. What is this thought? I have no freakin’ clue. I had it, it made me feel bad, then it left my brain. The feeling is still there, however, compounded by that “why can’t I remember” feeling. Then the little voice in my head, the reasonable, well-balanced, easy-going self I aspire to be more often voice says to me, “how are you going to justify letting a dark cloud of thought hang over your head when whatever it is that brought that cloud over you isn’t important enough for you to remember 5 minutes later”?

Seriously, I consciously have nothing to feel bad about. My husband and daughter are healthy and happy, my brother is doing well, everyone else I love seems to be fine, the bills are getting paid, we’re making progress on the house, I am doing very well at work and I appear to have finally licked my sugar addiction after a 5 day sugar purge. Oh, and August 28th was my seven year “birthday”, i.e., sobriety anniversary.

Of course, life isn’t perfect.  For whom is it?  But, all in all, things are okay.  So why is it we, and I say we because I couldn’t POSSIBLY be the only person who does this, seem to LOOK for things to feel bad about?  It’s like there’s a bird that flies around, pooping on our heads, and when it doesn’t, we go looking for it?

That reminds me of something my friend Christine said to me years ago.  Something along the lines of, “a negative/bad thought is like a bird flying over us…we may not be able to stop the bird from flying overhead, but we sure can keep it from building a nest on our head”.

Go away, birdie…I don’t need another pet.