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Facing the Anger while Healing

03/23/2014

Entry 03/23/2014 08:07:29 PM – Mentat 691

It’s been just over a couple of weeks since I last wrote, and just over a month since I’ve moved into the new place. And while I’ve had a million and one ideas of dealing with the DIY catastrophe of this apartment, I’ve been (not so strangely) avoiding wanting to even do any of the spring cleaning necessary prior to doing the actual project. Part of me has been slack about it because the weather’s just not been the right sort of warm to open the windows and shake out the dust, cobwebs (metaphorically speaking) and what not of the place. It’s an excuse I know, but a good one nonetheless. Sure, I’ve been maintaining the place well enough; cleaning where I need to… The rest? Eh, It can wait another day as I wait patiently for spring to come…

Part of me has been taking advantage of the quiet to heal from the two years of anger, rage, frustration and overwhelming want to beat the living shit out of two douche-bags as a means of working out that anger and rage. But there’s another part of me that I’ve come to realize isn’t wanting to heal at all… More on that in a moment or two though.

Moe’s being a bit of a quirk since moving to the new place. It’s been as though his mood and temperament changed based entirely on the change of environment. Sure, there’s parts of him that I recognize as the cat that first came into my life November last year… His strange neediness that hits after I’ve come to pet him or give him attention when he’s been quiet and/or napping. The fact that he’s wanting to be up around my face and neck when I’m sitting up and playing/working/watching something on my computer and yet the instant I lay down for the night, he will only sleep at the foot of the bed. And of course his talking to me whenever he comes walking up, or when I so much as pet him. Not so much the typical warning of a cat to a stranger, just… Likes to hear him (and me) speak.

Then there’s the other parts that I don’t recognize at all. His climbing up on anything he can reach to watch me or the house in general (his three favorite places are the lowest shelf in the cupboard, the top of the fridge once again, and the chest of drawers in the bedroom). His use of the center rug in the kitchen as a scratching post, completely ignoring the cardboard scratcher that’s over by the bathroom like it used to be in the other apartment. His fascination to almost obsession with completely wrecking my blanket from the underside of the bed at 2 – 3 in the morning while I’m sleeping. Like his getting into my portable closet to wreck the seam at the bottom… And of course at 2 – 3 in the morning while I’m sleeping. My personal favorite has to be the fact that he’ll sleep on one of the chairs at the table in the kitchen if I don’t make the bed… And the instant the bed is made, he’ll make his way back into the room to sleep on it. Or him sitting there in front of the microwave staring up at it… I can’t be sure whether he’s trying to figure out if it’s safe to jump up on, or not. He’s done nothing toward it so far… Other than staring at it. Though I’m sure it’s only a matter of time before he works out whether it’s something for him to get on top.

The neighborhood’s surprisingly quiet being that much closer to Atwells Avenue, Federal Hill and of course Tammany Hall. Sure, there have been a couple of moments during closing time of the Hall that I’m seriously wishing to buy a dozen eggs just to use on the drunken bastards that think that their lives are the only one that matters in a mixed commercial/residential neighborhood, but at least so far… with the windows closed and it still being more than a bit chilly — they don’t normally make half as much noise as they’re capable of. I’m sure though come the later spring to early summer; that sort of nonsense is going to change. I remember even down in the Valley the drunken disorderly noise that used to happen with the college kids after midnight.

I recently met with Mel the other day (the sister to the woman that used to live here in this apartment) and she had asked whether or not I had moved in. Told her (while I had been walking Jack) that I’d been there almost a month. She commented that her mother (that lives on the first floor) commented that she can’t hear me up here. I explained that I’m usually quiet (well other than the occasional talking to myself and other random noises) and that I prefer it that way.

Heh, walking away I realized I might have painted myself as the serial killer or axe murderer type of, “…he was always a quiet one… kept to himself…” sort of person. Not that I mind too much… At least people will give me the room I like for privacy and quiet.

So as I mentioned earlier… There are two parts of me that are sort of in conflict with each other: the part that wants to get over the anger and rage, and the other part that doesn’t. I know the part that doesn’t is a form of stubbornness of not wanting to let go. Of wanting to exact the retribution against two people I deem as scum that deserve as much grief as they have given me. I also know it’s going to be a long and slow process of moving on… As it was reinforced several times during my walk down to the local supermarket for necessities (bread, milk, etc.) that the closer I got to the old address, the more anger, aggression and pent up rage I felt, and my sort of ‘gearing up for possible retribution’ if I were to ever see them. Sure, I haven’t (so far), but the potential for it happening is really too great. And I’m sort of concerned I might follow through if only to see whether or not I can (or will).

The other problem I’m finding myself… concerned about is the fact that I’m having difficult times focusing on something. Take this journal entry for example. While I should have been able to write this out in an hour (and not almost an hour and a half at the moment) I’ve been distracted by doing at least twenty different things while writing it. Previews or a web series (or two) on YouTube. Looking up various information on actors here and there. Hell, I’ve tried even listening to easier to listen to music (classical, pop, some new wave) and I find I am unable to form my thoughts coherently enough for what I need to talk about. In fact, I get the impression that the problem is the closer I come to dealing with thoughts or emotions on the subject of this rage — the more I go out of my way to avoid it. Hell, even now while it’s quiet in my head — as I am only listening to the whispering sound of the fans on my PC case, I have in a small part of my screen — Man of Steel playing. It’s enough to keep my eyes a bit distracted — but not enough for me to immerse and run from the subject at hand.

I know this is a means of avoidance. I’ve done it in the past when I was going through the break up after Rick. It’s different this time, though. Back when I broke up with Rick I had been beaten down to the point of almost feeling soulless. And that path up from the depths of the purgatory I had put myself into because of that relationship was a long and slow path. This time it’s more like a hell that’s going to have me taking a different path to walk. One that feels as though it’s going to take me to learn how to apply myself forward, instead of running away (and distracting myself) the instant any of my buttons are pushed. Especially when I push the buttons myself.

Well, that’s about it for the moment. Next up, I’m going to try to apply myself in the near future to trying to write a short story. If only to help rehabilitate my ability to focusing more. Until the next time…

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