self doubt: the needle and the damage done

I am wondering if there is ever going to be a time when i am not plagued with some sort of self-doubt about every choice i seem to make. sounds negative? it is. but i guess i just need to navigate through that desert again...

people just bother me, period. menopause? a need for a drug adjustment? a vacation? i am not sure, and i guess it isn't really going to matter. i can stand in this desert and fry like a piece of bacon, or i can try and slog my way out. right now, the sand is around my ankles and all i seem to do is stumble and fall on another cactus. one more needle, and the damage done.

self-doubt is like a needle that keeps sticking you. it could be a spine from a cactus, one of those little ones that are almost invisible and the more you try and find it and get rid of it, the more embedded and difficult it becomes to relieve yourself of. that would be my constant, ongoing negativity about the demise of my friendship with gwen. It just can’t be resolved nicely or easily. this needle would also be my concern about my decision over moving austin to atlee next year. Certainly when i think i have reached an ok place with this decision, another cactus needle embeds itself on this issue and i am off scrambling to find and extract it.

then there are the big whopping needles like the ones they gave you a shot with when you were a child. the only nice thing about those were that you knew they were coming, sort of, and could prepare yourself a bit. no blindsiding. and once the pain was over, someone gave you a lollipop and a hug and told you what a brave girl you were. where are the lollipops and hugs now? the ongoing financial struggle i am engaged in is that needle, and there really isn’t any way to avoid the sting. grading terrible english papers, dealing with uninterested and unmotivated students are this needle. dealing sometimes with the parental units is this needle. in all cases, you just have to close your eyes, endure, and get up off the gurney, go on.

there are other needles as well, like the thin, daily ones that diabetics take their insulin through. everyday they are checking their blood, giving themselves shots, sticking and stabbing to maintain their health and, thus, their lives. failure to do this results in failure to live. some of the people and issues in my life are starting to feel a lot like having diabetes. i have to constantly check and then keep adjusting my “sugar levels.” the routine doesn’t go away, and neither do the needles. some days it is not a problem, other days it is just pure weariness. today, i am tired of sticking myself. i would like to just resolve myself to the fact that i am a self-doubt diabetic, and just move on. oh, that it were that easy. oh, that i were that strong. plenty of things are the insulin in this particular needle…most of it centered around my view of the world and my deep disappointment in people and their actions in general. for this “diabetic” it is difficult to be “sweet.” it takes more and more to raise me up to the point where I am “level” with the rest of the world.

when i was younger, i wasn’t afraid of much and i spoke up about it a lot. i also was frequently wrong, and determined not to back down, regardless. i was riddled with anxiety a lot because what i really wanted was to be liked and loved. i admit to not being always likeable or loveable, and probably, that hasn’t changed all that much. however, i am less and less interested in people, and most of my life is now run on the concept of avoiding any type of confrontation with anyone over anything. that means i spend too much time being browbeaten a bit because no one is exactly reticent about sharing my flaws with me. no doubts, i am angry, but i just can’t seem to find a way to express it in a meaningful way. suppressing it has made me bitter and withdrawn, expressing it makes me cry and feel guilty for having done so. when i stand up to anyone, i risk getting jabbed with a much bigger needle than anything i could wield. i would love to hurl some of these silly people onto their own cactus and let them suffer a bit. well, i think that is what i want…but generally that thought even makes me tired, and then guilty and then…just sad. i can’t seem to stay mad at anyone for any length of time. truthfully, i wish i could. i wish i just didn't care. how does everyone else in the world manage to not care, but i do? it sucks. this was never a problem when I was young…and the trade off was having anxiety attacks and stress and stomach issues because I was ALWAYS mad. Where is the middle ground?

as austin would say, i need to "cry me a river, build a bridge and then get over it..." however, knowing all of this does not make it any easier to get to a good place.