Fear of tears?

I used to believe that if I did burst into tears, I would get lost forever. The pressure inside was so extremely high, it would be impossible to ever stop crying again.

I know better now. I know that if I burst into tears, meaning really howling, and shaking into pieces in tears.

After a while, say about half an hour or at least in less than one hours’ time, the crying will stop on its own. Afterwards, I have experienced to fall into total apathy, and  hysterical laughter attacks, (Tussila loves the latter by the way) and everything in between. 

In addition to being emotional creatures, we also are biological creatures.

Crying is hard work, also in biological terms.

We are capable to survive most conditions, also grieving and moaning.

There is no need to fear the tears; our bodies will take care of also such affairs!

Wrong feelings?

Empty poppy seed capsules

I claim to have gained some experience, during about thirty (yes, you got it right, thirty) years of therapy. I will now and then try to share some of it with you, that is, if you want me to.

If you don’t, that is perfectly fine too!

These lines are about what is right, and what is wrong to be feeling, in a given situation. 

None!

I mean, I have learned that no feelings are wrong, however awkward and inappropriate they might seem.

Conclusion: Wrong feelings do not exist! Ever! 

Attempts to dealing with grief

Papaver variations downzised

What can I say. I have tried to explain it in so many ways, what happened inside me, when our dog died.
Of course, there are a large range of possibilities to describe all feelings, also grief.
The easiest way is to blame it on chemical reactions and micro-electric reactions affecting nerve ends. For now, when I have to pull myself together before Christmas Eve, I stick to this model of explanation, even if it’s a shallow and superficial model.
We are bio-chemical and micro-electrical power-plants, so are our feelings.
Do I believe that is all we are? No, I don’t. Although, at some occasions, we might benefit from remembering that we actually are that as well.

The child is never to blame

Entering the playroom

Illustration from Tussila's Book

Many, many years ago, maybe almost a lifetime ago, something important occurred in my mind. Now, I would like to share this experience with you.

I was in a dark place. I can’t remember what this particular darkness was about, it was just one of those numberless dark periods of me realizing that I don’t fit in nowhere.

I guess we all are in such places from time to time, some of us rarely, some of us almost always.

The feeling might be familiar to you, the desperation when trying, the overwhelming sadness when failing, the envy of those who seemingly so easily succeeds. Succeeds in taking part of the society, in making friends, in establishing families, in being happy.

Myself at that time, I wanted to smash into pieces the television screen, because the female program host was so pretty and looked so self assure. Though I didn’t do it; after all, the TV was the only distraction tool I owned, and I had no money to by a new one. Besides, I was far too afraid to unleash my rage.

What happens, when frustrations and disappointments loads up over years, when there seems to be nobody particular to blame, when it all boils down to; It’s my fault, I’m useless, I’m worth nothing, I will always be a failure.
I was in this state for a long period. I was choking in my bitterness. I was crawling in my misery, thinking I’d just as well drown myself in it. My self-hatred knew no limits.

Then it happened; I suddenly got aware of a little girl standing in a corner. Her eyes were wide open in fear. She hardly was breathing. It seemed that she tried to hide inside the wall, the way she pushed her tiny back against it. I could feel that she feared for her life. I could feel that I was the one that terrified her. And suddenly; I realized that she also was a part of me.

Then, after some serious thinking, I turned to myself with the following words:

Yes, you are angry. Yes you are boiling over in frustration, and that I understand. However, you are not alone in there. Inside of you there is also a little girl. This little girl just wants to be a little girl. She wants to feel safe and appreciated. Right now, the little girl really wish to paint and draw on a sheet of paper, and you will allow her to. You will organize for her a work station at the table, you will get bowls of water and sheets of paper and paint and brushes for her. Then you will gently lift her up and place her on the chair, wiping the tears off her face, saying sorry, I’m so sorry I frightened you that badly. Now, you go on painting, I will make us cocoa and something to eat, and then I’ll join you at the table.

And so I did. Not at once though, I had to go some more rounds with my self first. At last I gave in, concluding:
To be in this state of self-destructive-ness does no good anyway. If I expect somebody to come help me out of it, knocking on my door offering me comfort and support, let’s face it: Nobody will. In fact, I am the only person who knows what I’m going through now, and I am the only person that can deal with it.
It is perfectly fine being this mad, I am allowed to be as mad as I want to, when ever I want to. However, this does not mean that it is fair to blame the little girl inside. She has nothing to do with it. This is adult affairs. And besides, who knows; maybe in the long run the little girl inside actually turns out being the one that leads you out of this misery, to a nicer place?

If I had the words when I was little

heart 3

How can a child tell what is wrong when everything is wrong?

How can anybody help when you have to hide your inner whispering scream?

If only I had the words when I was little, this would be my prayer:

 

Don’t touch me, but hold me

Don’t listen to me, but hear me

Don’t look at me, but see me

Don’t even try to uncover me, but understand me

Whatever you do, please, will you please never ever give up on me 

Tussila Spring 2013

I can’t find a title for this post, and I get too sad trying…

2014-09-09

It was a hard hit, loosing our dog. My fiancé had to help me get rid of all the dog-stuff I had collected over the past seven years. He even had to use a hanger to remove the agility obstacles I’d build. It is better now, but at the beginning, I couldn’t see any of this objects without bursting into tears.
To get my mind into something else, I took up my life project again, which is to finally publish my book. But then, after sending the first chapter to my first beta-reader, I was so struck by nerves, I just had to engage myself into yet another project, while I’m waiting for her to get back to me…
That’s why this photo-manipulations show up here in my book-publishing-blog. And, I’m afraid more will follow, thus the book project is a long run and a major challenge. It’s probably wise to break it up a little anyway, playing with forms and colors, it is fun too!

Tussila is trying to understand what grief actually is

Tussila thinks that it feels like rafting in feelings, because there also is a lot of water involved. She(we) is now paddling in calmer waters below the stream. She already believes she will start climbing up again, in about half a year, because she maybe will by a new dog one day. Now she wonders if it is necessary to climb that far up the stream the next time…