More Step 4

I've been really struggling with this step.  Partially because I'm trying to get a new career off the ground at the same time, but mostly because I'm trying to work around the idea that this is something you Don't Do.  You don't talk about yourself, good or bad, but especially good.
My sponsor recommended I try to view the good things as gifts or lessons from others, to get around that mental block.  It's still difficult.
I was in the classroom today (watching a lesson and getting introduced) and the higher ups kept going on and on about how smart and talented I was and how lucky they were I was there and all these positive things.  I tried to just let it wash over me and accept them.  I mostly succeeded. It was difficult to not interject with self deprecation, but I did it.  I even managed to do it, somewhat, in my head.  That's a rather large leap forward for me, to be able to accept a compliment without self deprecation either aloud or in my head.
I got joy out of helping the students, even the "difficult" class.  It's that joy in work I've been hunting for.  The day flew by.  I smiled most of the day, which is another rarity.
Today I discovered I had more patience than I thought I had.  I discovered that maybe I am as smart as everybody keeps telling me. I was reminded that I have a talent for helping people.

Emotions, Part 3

Today's been a hard day.  I've been up and down, up and down, with very little forward momentum. I've been feeling stuck, like I'm spinning my wheels, because I'm not sure where to go.  I tried to do some digging on where to go, only to be told to wait at every instance.
Patience is not my strong suit.  I don't wait easily or well. I do it because I must, but "wait" is a bitch of an answer.
In a way, I feel depressed.  Not the usual version of fear and old sad creeping over me.  This one is an honest fear of the future.  I don't recall a time I've ever feared the future.  Feared the present, hated the idea of the future, and ran at all costs to stop an undesirable future, but straight through the gut fear.
I have a lot riding on this test.  I pretty much only get one shot to get it right.  I should do fine with some review, but I fear fucking it up.  I fear losing the chance at an awesome job by not being good enough.  I feel like this is my right path, but I'm not sure of the next right step.  I don't want to fuck this up.  Paralysis by analysis.  At least with the FE, I has seen it recently enough that I felt good about it.  Same goes for the APs and CLEPs.  I haven't touched some of this stuff in over a decade, nearly 15 year.  This test means I need to face my past with biology, that most loathed subject.  It means facing some facts I've held long true about myself and breaking them down.
I need to face that I do well with facts, even rote memorized facts.  I do it well everywhere else.
8th grade biology are the only classes I've failed a marking period for in straight science.  I almost failed that same marking period in history and math (I need to remember what made 8th grade an emotional struggle.)  I failed the basic structures course. Twice.  I despise structures as well.  I hate the things that prove I'm not perfect or that carry reminders of that.
There are memories attached to those early failures.  I would have preferred yelling to the disappointed looks. I would have preferred a beating to the blame and shame I heaped upon myself, far more than m parents gave me.  My parents never saw my college grades.  I never showed them off.  They weren't what I wanted to show them.  Again, I heaped shame upon myself.  I called myself every name in the book. I told myself that I must be stupid for not getting it. I told myself I wasn't worthy of certain things I enjoyed and grounded myself away from them.  You know what the grades were that caused so much havoc?  A 69 and a 68 out of 100.  So fucking close.  I still would have chastised myself for a 70, but nowhere near as badly. That at least was passing.  I shredded my psyche for every C and obliterated myself for a failing grade.  They meant I wasn't perfect, and that couldn't happen.
So I rationalized.  Internalized.  Obviously I wasn't good at biology.  Why wasn't I good at biology?  All the rote memorization without explanation of why things worked the way they did.
A while back, I picked up a genetics text and a biochem text.  I was determined to get to the heart  of why biology worked and fix that preconception by giving myself the whys.  I never got very far. I kept running up against that preconceived "I'm bad at biology" and giving myself excuses not to do it.
So, my next trick is breaking down that wall I created. (Remembering what fucked up my 8th grade year wouldn't be a bad thing either.)

Step 4, Part 3

I've hit that magical level of exhaustion where things click into place because I don't have the energy to overthink them.  Time to exploit that fact.
More inventory:
My red rage scares me.  I don't mean anger or frustration, I mean flat out, berserker RAGE. I don't have it as often as I once did, but it's still far more common than I wish it was. It's always over something I can't control.  It's always well beyond what the situation calls for. And much of the time I either lash out and hurt someone I love, or turn inwards and feed the storm into myself because I don't want to or believe I can't take it out on the offender (see: getting laid off.)  Neither of these is healthy.  I actually got complimented, once, for how professionally I took being removed from a position.  What he didn't know is that I was being very neutral and clipped in my speech so I didn't get arrested for assault, and it was taking every ounce of strength and determination I had.
I guess being able to hide, or at least mask, unwelcome expressions can be a good thing in the working world.  Being labelled sensitive or  explosive can haunt you.  I do need to remember to deal with those emotions, though, and nt keep them sealed off forever.
I'm still not sure how much of my anxiety (GAD) is situation based, past based, and asthma based.  I have a difficult time distinguishing between them, because so often it's one feeding another feeding the other, like an anxiety centipede.  I do know it has a firmer grip on my life than I'd like it to, and that I need to remember my emergency inhaler's existence more often.
I expect chaos.  I may not thrive in it, but I expect it.  When will the other shoe drop?  When will things go to hell, because things always go to hell?  What drama will unfold?  I ask my God to remove me from the hurricane I live in, and in the same breath wonder how I'd survive in calm normalcy.  Even something that should be minimal chaos, like talking to friends, or asking for another project at work, has me making contingency plans along the way for when it will all go to hell.
I make contingency plans.  Hell, some of my contingency plans have contingency plans. I realize that planning ahead and having certain contingency plans aren't necessarily a bad thing, that it's actually quite a good trait, in moderation. I don't do it in moderation.  I have contingency plans for the most inane things, like if I run out of gas on a stretch of road when I have a full tank, or if the dog dies suddenly.  There are times I haven't even realized I had a shit plan until shit happened.  There are other places I need a contingency plan and I refuse to even touch the topic (see: talking to my mother on a bad day and dealing with my middle sister.)
I have a strongly mathematical and scientific, but not necessarily rational mind.  I like to think I consider logic above all else, but my heart tends to rule my head.  These two sides of me seem to be constantly at war.  I get a gut instinct and then try to figure out if it could be rational.
I am frugal and often cheap.  Frugal is not spending more than you need, cheap is buying the same $5 item 20 times when I could have bought it once for $20.  My husband is slowly helping me go frugal as opposed to cheap.  I'd say that's largely due to not having enough money to be frugal when I was a kid; we had to settle for cheap. (Did you know there was knock off ramen?  I didn't know name brand ramen existed until college.)
I am tiny built, and fit into extremely small spaces well.  I learned how as a method to hide from pain.  I still find myself curling into a smaller shape or whatever crevice I can find when I'm in pain or uncomfortable.  It's a defense, but that defense doesn't work against emotional pain.
I can, and do, sacrifice myself for others, far more than I should.  It was an unspoken rule growing up: take care of the small people (those younger, smaller, or more delicate than you) first, be that giving them your dinner, comforting them when you're in your own hell, or protecting them  (Hey, look, a memory.)  I guess it can be a god thing, in moderation, to help those in need, but my needs should (often don't, but should) come first.
Aside from basic survival needs, I put myself last. If you look hungrier than me, I'll even push my hunger aside.  That hurts to admit.  I thought I did a pretty good job taking care of myself, but looking at it, I guess I should probably do more for me.  It's funny.  People tell me to relax, take time for myself, do things I want to do for myself.  I don't know how to do any of that, really.  I know how to do what needs to be done, but when it comes to my wants, those tend to get shoved aside.  The only relaxation I know is a bath with a book and one I hate to admit, even to myself (booze.) As I refuse to become my father, I refuse to comfort myself with alcohol.  I try meditation, and get caught up in trying to be "perfect" in it. I can't thoroughly relax while getting a pedicure because sudden movements tweak me out.  My journals are my outlet, and I tend to censor those, to an extent.
I have dysthymia.  It's a form of depression where my high points of elation don't really reach much higher than your blah days and my dark days are like falling away from the sun with an anchor strapped to your back.  People have actually said "Just TRY to be happy!"  I give them a Wednesday Addams smile and send them on their way. When I eat right, I get a glimpse and a taste of nondysthymic emotions.  They scare me.  To actually be able to be consistently happy feels like euphoria, which scares the hell out of me because it feels like a loss of self control.  I think that's why I self sabotage my efforts to eat right with "treats."  The euphoria of normal happy scares the pants off of me.
I occasionally get the urge to run (I ran so far awayay) like my mother used to do.  I've never acted on them.  I know that my problems can outrun me and will be waiting on me when I get home.  Even if running would help (I don't see how,) I refuse to do it for fear of turning into my mother.  I don't even run to exercise, for fear I might like it and then start running away, like Mom.  (Well, that and the real possibility of a severe asthma attack.)
When I was younger, the only reason I didn't cut was fear of discovery.  I had dreams of carving symbols and words into myself and making them scars.  I'm glad I didn't.
On my worst days, I am suicidal. It's not really something I can ignore.  My mind will see every day objects and views and invent ways I can off myself.  I don't see suicide as an option, but that doesn't stop my imagination from inventing new way to do it.
I need a safe coping mechanism, a candle against the red and the darkness. Biting it down only works for so long before it festers. I don't know of any way to handle negative emotion besides a whirlwind of emotion that dissipates quickly and leaves destruction in it's wake or biting it back until it festers into tears weeks, months, even years after it was created.
I can't name most of my emotions.  I can tell you the Big 3: Sad, Mad, Glad, and Sad and Mad weren't to be shown when I was little.  I can point out some others now (bemusement, bewilderment, confusion, frustration, fury, irritation, euphoria, calm, happy, elated) but the majority of my emotions fall into the lumpy category of Other.
I will push myself to my snapping point, and beyond, to the point where my head is doing nothing but screaming "I want out, I want out, I want out."  Being able to push myself can be good, within reason.

Mom in the Psych Ward

I'm not sure I remember much of this one.  It's in a really fuzzy part of my memories of high school.  It comes after my near suicide attempt and just after my mother's near suicide attempt on the bridge.
My mother was given the option to go into the psych ward at a hospital or be put there.  I believe she chose to go  on her own so we wouldn't hafta see her cuffed.  We did not go with her to the intake, only Dad did.  We, as a family unit, visited her a few times, not very often.  Whether that was because of hospital rules or because of schedule conflicts I don't know.  I remember she seemed at her happiest sad while she was there.  She didn't want to be there, and felt deprived, but I could tell it was helping her.  To my knowledge, that's the only therapy my mother ever has done, is that 6 week stint at Parkland.  One of my strongest memories of that time is her saying "they won't even let me have a scrunchy, how am I supposed to kill myself with a scrunchy?!" and my thought of "I'm sure you'd find a way."
I was embarrassed of my mother being in the psych ward.  I think, to this day, I've only told a handful of people about it, including my high school best friends.  I think I was/ am more embarrassed of her being in the psych ward that I was of her suicide near attempt.  I think part of it is because, with the suicide near attempt, I was able to cast myself as my mother's savior, I did it, I was the hero, even if I'm now no longer certain that's true.  If she had abandoned us in suicide, it seemed more "honorable" in my head for her to leave us in death than to just leave us.  I was also embarrassed of her being there because of the stigma attached to mental care facilities.  I know better, now, but back then, ti was flat out embarrassing, way more than the suicide near attempt.
I was also mad at her.  How dare she abandon us, yet again?  Intellectually, I knew better, that she had no real choice.  Then again, my mother CHOSE to go to the psych ward rather than come home.  What had we (I) done so wrong that she wanted to kill herself and spend all that time in the hospital?  Didn't she know we needed her?  Dad worked, picked me up from school (that was a quiet car ride, usually Mom and Dad carpooled), came home, and started drinking.  I think dinner during that time, more often than not, was fend for yourself.  I pretty much went to school, came home, tried to get everyone something to eat, and babysat until bedtime, even though Dad was right there, most of the time.  Or maybe he wasn't, I know he went out with his best friend to bars a lot around that time.
I blame Dad, too.  One of the times we needed someone the most, there was no one.  He was there, but we all knew better than to bug him about Mom when he drank.  I was furious at him.  We needed a father, not just a source of income.  I was doing everything around the house. Do you have any fucking idea how rough it is to step up as both parents at 16 when you don't even fully understand why?
Why do I have abandonment issues?  Because both parents continually abandoned me. Dad was always either at work or drinking, unless it was a holiday, in which case he was a happy drinker.  When Dad drank, he retreated into his head, became a statue in the chair, unless he needed to yell at someone to shut up. Mom just flat out ran away for a period of time when things got hard.  Usually only a couple hours, but a couple hours of not knowing where your Mom is when you're a kid is fucking scary, especially when Dad is freaking out and pressuring you to remember "anything she might have said about where she was going."  Hell, we usually didn't realize she was gone until we heard the sound of keys and the front door slam.  There were times I wished she would stay gone, then immediately chastise myself.  Every Saturday, she would either drop us off somewhere or I'd watch my sisters while she went and played bingo.  I realize she needed a break. It still hurt to watch Mom drive off, usually  because she would have a rare smile on her face as she left.  What caused that smile?  Not us.  Not me.  Matter of fact, it the idea of the absence of us.
I felt worthless, while she was in the psych ward, like somehow we kids should have been enough to keep her happy and home, but we never were.  Of course, because I was the eldest and should have somehow known, it was my fault we weren't good enough kids to keep her happy as our mom.  Your kids are supposed to be a reason to live, not a reason to run away or a reason to die.

Step 3, Processing

I went to a park earlier, to walk and try to process the "life" part of step 3.  I could handle the turning over my problems, even mostly handle turning over my will.  Turning over all of my life invoked the 3 year old in me: "nuh-uh, that's MINE."
So I walk.  And thought, and (surreptitiously) watched kids play.  I picked up pecans, and passed them from hand to hand.  With each pecan that fell, or that I tossed away, another obstacle fell.  I'd like to say I know what thought process it was that unlocked being able to hand over my life.  I don't remember it.  It happened all of 45 minutes ago, if that, and I don't remember it.  I just know that by the time I only had one pecan left and had made 3 circuits around the park, I had not only figured it out, but done it. I found serenity, even if only temporarily.  The last half circuit was bizarre (I may have been going into a hypoglycemic reaction), but euphoric.  No.  Not euphoric.  Not worrying.  Happy.  Existing without anxiety or worry.
Even hours later, I've maintained that calm happiness and lack of anxiety.  It seems surreal that I can do this, but somehow, I did it and am doing it.  If I think on it too much, the anxiety starts to return, I think because I start trying to yank control back from God by worrying.  So,  I try to find my center whenever I catch myself doing that.
Last question of Step 3 in the workbook:
How did forcing my will on others make the situation worse?
If I was successful in forcing my will, the other person felt displaced, or worse, disrespected.  It hurt friendships and family bonds that were probably already in trouble from previous attempts to force my will.  It also tended to make the other person feel angry and took away their free will.  I may not like the decisions people make, but they should be free to make their own decisions. If they ask, then I can help.  Forcing my will on them just makes tempers shorter, situations more volatile, and things go from bad to worse.
^I think that's the realization I came to as part of my walk this afternoon.  It was a realization in terms of "do unto others as you'd have them do unto you," instead of my more frequent "do unto others lest they do unto you."  You hafta let folks live their lives.  To interfere not only would muck things up worse and possibly ruin a relationship, but you would be trying to remove their free will, which is never cool.

Emotions, Part 2

I just went to what was supposed to be an interview with a headhunter at a personnel firm for an engineering job.  They had me fill out the personnel paperwork, which I thought odd, but figured it was SOP.  While she was explaining the paperwork, the woman mistook me for a secretary.  I corrected her and she went on explaining everything.  As I was filling out the paperwork, and was halfway done, the lady came back in and said "Oh, you don't hafta fill that out.  Just come back tomorrow for an interview with your resume."  When I told her that was what I was told today would be, she vanished to talk to somebody and came back and said "just come back tomorrow."
It irritated me that I had wasted the gas to drive to the neighboring town to be told to come back tomorrow.  It angered me that they couldn't keep a schedule that they had set. It frustrated me that I had rearranged my schedule to be told "come back tomorrow."  It made me feel not worth their time and worthless. Instead of calling them on their horseshit (more than I already did), I just said thank you and left.  I'm still fuming.  I know the firm must generally work more with the nonprofessional fields, but you can't treat someone like that and expect them to be happy!  I was treated like drone number 2356896786346756, like I wasn't worth the lint on the bottom of their shoes.  I'm actually kinda angry at myself for keeping my professional cool and just taking it.  I know it's better for my career to do what I did, but I wanted to remind her that I drove 45 fucking minutes for an interview that didn't happen.  It made me feel shame, like it was somehow my fault they couldn't keep a schedule straight.  I felt worthless, like I was someone they couldn't be bothered with.  I felt that enough as a child, I don't need it from someone I just met.  It's really tempting to not go back.  If that's how they treat me now, how will they treat me in the long run?  I know I will go back, though.  I need that potential job.
I hate it when something like that happens.  Especially when I feel trapped into doing what they say, because my options seem limited.  I know I'm not trapped, that I could walk away and not go back tomorrow.  In the same breath, I don't feel I have an option, because this may be one of my few engineering job chances.
Gods, how I wish I hadn't screwed my resume.  I wish people were more understanding.  I wish people were kinder, and there were more smiles and fewer tears.  If wishes were horses, beggars would ride.
I also kinda wonder if maybe this is a hint from God.  Maybe one of those "quit trying to work around me and trust" moments.  I also know better  than to count my chickens before they've hatched. I've had promising interviews fail before.  Sorry, God.  I trust you, but I also know you can only help those who help themselves.
Well, God, the ball's in your court now.  I'm done with what happened earlier.  I'll listen for your small voice in me.  I really don't want to go back tomorrow, though.

Working the Book, Step 2, Part 2

In what ways has my thinking disturbed my peace?
I think a more accurate version of this is "in what ways hasn't your thinking disturbed your peace?" The list is far shorter, almost nonexistent.
I have a nasty tendency of taking innocuous things personally.  Even if it was meant as a joke or had nothing whatsoever to do with me, I take it personally.  I would better keep my peace with a healthy reaction.
I get sad and angry over things that I have no control over. Like when middle sister went to jail, I blamed myself for not raising her correctly  (yeah, because that 2.5 years means I can mother her well.)  Or when my mother needs a med change and won't ask the doc about it. Or idiots in traffic.
I am very hard on myself.  If it's not perfect, it's something to stew on and worry over or rage over.
I get anxious and worry over things that don't deserve my time or energy or that I can't fix.  (This has gotten better by cutting sulfites from my diet.)   I worry over my mother, when she's been doing well.  I worry over my car, and that cosmetic damage.  I worry over money, even when there's enough coming in (it's especially hard when I'm unemployed.)  I'm anxious in traffic, because I can't control the idiots around me.  On especially bad days, I worry about my husband, his entire family, all my friends, my sponsor, just up and abandoning me.

I know my fears of abandonment come from actually being temporarily abandoned, repeatedly, by my mother.  She'd decide life is too hard or her emotions were too complicated or something, and just drive off.  Yes, I'd be safe with someone (as a kid, as a teenager, I was the safe one for my sisters), but to see my mother just walk or drive off, without saying good bye or even saying she'd be back, scared (and scarred) me.  We never even knew where she was going or if she'd be back. One minute she was there, the next, she was crying and walking out the door.  After she attempted suicide on one of those outings, I worried all the more.  There were times I wished she wouldn't come back, then I'd heap blame and shame on myself for those thoughts.  "She is my mother!" I'd chide myself, "I hafta love her and want her."  There are times that I wonder if her taking us storm chasing was actually self destructive behavior that endangered us kids or if it was a form of running away.  I know the winter in Pennsylvania with her pen pal was running away.  I later found out that she didn't tell Dad until either we were gone or until we got back.  There are some memories there I need to uncover.

How does Step 2 help me find peace in stressful situations?
Just reminding myself that I don't hafta face this alone helps.  Knowing that there is someone out there who knows all of my past, all of my secrets, and all of everything, and still loves me and won't leave me (well, it hasn't yet) is a scary and empowering thought.  Just the idea of, even if everything goes to hell, I have something to fall back on, helps me stay sane.  There is an image of myself in an exoskeleton, where the exoskeleton is the Great Divine, that helps me realize that even if I don't have the strength, the Great Divine does.

Emotions, Part 2

Earlier today, I went to retrieve batteries to replace the ones dying in my mouse.  I felt shame and anxiety and got a flash of getting batteries from the battery box as a kid.  I got a sense of "if I hadn't used up those batteries so fast, I wouldn't need more."  There was shame attached to a feeling of being a bother, of imposing.
As kids, we were always told that when the batteries ran out in our toys, that was it, no more batteries.  We were always shamed for asking for more batteries, because "batteries are expensive."  Dad hastily tried to correct that when I started needing them for calculators for school, but I guess the damage was done.
There was a sense of sneaking the batteries, like I should for some reason ask my husband for a battery.  It was a holdover.  I often snuck the batteries that I needed for school, afraid I'd get in trouble for using them up too fast.
I think Dad just thought I was being adult and replacing them on my own.  He had to notice them going missing, as they were refilled every once in a while.  And that may've been how it seemed to every other person.  To me, it seemed something shameful and sneaky, like I didn't deserve those batteries, but I needed them to be a perfect kid and help keep the chaos to a minimum.

Emotions, Part 1

Last night, a friend caused me to have some emotional issues and I lost my serenity for a bit.
Every Saturday, we have a few friends over to play video games or watch anime or just hang out.  Last night was an MMORPG that we've been playing quite frequently.  We did several dungeons in game, then the friend that joins us online bowed out.  The friend that caused the irritation then runs off and does something with his guild in game.  No notification, no asking what the group plan was. Just drops the group he was physically with to go play with someone else.
It wouldn't have bothered me near as much if he had said something prior to dropping us. "Hey, I'm gonna go do a guild bounty and I'll be right back." I would've been cool with that, because it's quick and only can happen once a week.  Instead, he drops us like a sack of rotten potatoes for his cool guildies.
I felt irritated that he didn't bother telling anyone until he did it.  I felt frustrated that we apparently ranked second.  I felt abandoned. I felt anger that he couldn't exhibit good manners.  I felt shame, like it was somehow my fault he had ditched us.  When my husband pulled inward and ignored everyone for a bit to deal with his frustration and anger, I felt alone.
To deal with it in a healthy way, I examined the emotions, one by one, and meditated.  I took out the anger on things in game. I found my serenity, not by rationalizing away what he did, but by realizing it wasn't something I could control.  It wasn't the first time this person had been a dick and it certainly wouldn't be the last.

Fresh Memory 1: The Yelling

I was young. Very young. Young enough that I was either an only child or my middle sister was somewhere else. I don't remember much.  I was standing in something, either a crib or a playpen and crying because I'd thrown my doll over the rail and I couldn't get to it. My mother walked into my field of view and starts yelling and screaming at me. (My adult mind superimposes "Shut up, be quiet, why can't you just be quiet and leave me alone.")  Confused, because all I wanted was my doll, and afraid, I cried more. She grabs the doll roughly, throws it into where I was, and walks away.
I have never remembered this before. I am so young in my memory (a toddler), I'm half inclined to believe I made it up. It seems like something that would happen, though.  I have no one to ask whether it happened.  I don't dare ask my mother.
The memory is fleeting. It's mostly emotion. Fear. Confusion. Shame. A feeling that is was my fault Mom was so angry, because I wanted my doll  (Blame.)  I felt the wave of emotion before the memory hit. I saw the nightgown I was wearing and felt the itchiness before the rest of it came back. Mostly fear and confusion.
I don't like those emotions.
I wonder if this was why I started fearing her leaving me and abandoning us. I wonder if this was the beginning.  I wonder if this was the beginning of tiptoeing around Mom.
I just know I need to feel and examine this confusion and fear, and extract it from the blame and shame.