Why is it that when we become adult our pain has more depth. When we're an infant we cry because it hurts or we're hungry, tired, bored. But as we get older crying doesn't do it. It's almost like a band-aid effect. We cry, we feel relieved and the problem is still there. We have grown up problems. We need to address these problems. Once upon a time we could cry at our problems and they went away but our little problems grew up too and now they're happy to stand up to our crying, to stand their ground and hold on. We're told to let go of our problems, stop holding onto the past, but it's almost like along with growing up these problems take on a life of their own. They have their own identity and mingle it in with our own.
"I don't tie my shoe laces with bunny ears"
"Why not?"
"Because it's childish" [Which is an issue because I was forced to take on adult roles at a young age and took pride in killing childish activity. Result: I can't relate to children and feel like I'd be a detached Mother]
When the fuck did being unhappy become so damn complicated!?
A classic example of this is I feel over at work. I tripped, that's all. Skinned my knees and all that, no big deal right? Wrong. People fusing, first aid kit out, incident report, questions of finishing early for the day. I tripped and skinned my knee I didn't die! If I was 4 you'd pick me up brush me off and tell me to "run along, you're fine".
So is it that our adult emotional problems are stagnant because we hold onto them, give them a life of their own and nurture them? I feel like each time I slip into anxiety and depression it should be for a fresh reason but I always have this feeling that its a carry on from last time and I never really won the battle. When I come out the other end I want to feel like I overcame something but I often feel like it was all a fluke. People tell me coming out and being alive is what I should be happy for but crippling anxiety, pushing away people who love me and walking the tight rope between self destructive behaviour and normality isn't exactly the embodiment of "Alive".
It dawned on me that I completely understood the term "Everyone has Demons". I've got emotional demons, they have identities and unique characteristics and apparently are bit on long-term committed relationships with me. So do I exercise these demons or what? I feel like my writing has become more of an embracing activity. I don't want to be defined by my demons, but could I stand to be defined by my ability to embrace them. May be "let it go" should be more "don't let it take over".
So in imagining my emotion issues a little demon puppies that when we were both little would wander off as we have grown together they have become fiercely loyal and equally destructive. If you cage a dog he becomes more vicious when let out and will rot away so that isn't the answer. A leash perhaps. Nurturing my demon dogs to walk obediently behind me, to be house broken and socialised. I want my demon dogs to get along well with others, to be something that lifts and guides me not pulls me off course. Good thing I'm a dog person.
