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Voicelessness and Emotional Survival Message Board / Re: Friendship Moments: good or bad
« Last post by Hopalong on December 13, 2025, 01:30:16 PM »You're bold and brave, Lighter, as well as creative. What people outside of you are up to drains you sometimes and you just wish they'd GET it, amirite?
I'm cowardly and I know it. I always have been the bunny wabbit twembling in the bushes. My social strength has faded a lot in recent years, probably a natural part of aging plus my own tapes, so to speak. I don't worry so much about it meaning anything, but I notice I'm a lot more tentative about going out, and isolate by instinct. I'm more at peace with my rabbity side. Isolating isn't clever, but I'm learning to make "go mingle with humans" something like flossing teeth. Don't like having to do it, but teeth feel great afterward.
Like when I searched for a dog (here she goes, reverting to her obsession). Pooch, my soul dog, was highly sensitive too. Soulful and intuitive to an amazing degree. Now I live with a little aggressive warrior who is so driven by his drives that he is an exhausting companion a lot of the time. But there's always an hour or two every morning and evening when he's pressed up against me with such sweetness and trust, despite our battles, that he's worth it. Plus, he makes me laugh every single day. He has the kind of crazy face that makes people break into smiles when we pull up at a light and he's got his face stuffed out the car window. I love seeing that happen. Some glum driver will look over and just break into a huuuge, uncontrollable grin. Pup's face is SO funny (and cute), he doesn't have to try!
IwishIwish I knew how to post a photo. It just don't work when I click the image thing.
As much as the negative inner chitchat, I still feel joy, gratitude, and the most important thing to me, wonder. I tell myself, good lord, look where you LIVE! The world is absolutely AMAZING! I look at a shrub or a mulberry and feel ASTONISHED. The wonder is loud inside.
My negative "tapes" are scratchy, worn and a lot less loud, and I'm a lot less interested in listening to them these days. I'm interested and excited about myself when I write something good. Ultimately, I'll die with a wrinkled poem in my hands, and that will be peaceful for me.
The feeling that dominated my life for many years was anxiety. Depression is in there but now I watch for that like I do a virus: wash my hands a lot, avoid crowds. And so my anxiety is way softer than it used to be. The worst "tape" was like an endless argument with myself and a nonstop fear loop. Fear of being as alone and vulnerable and rejected as I felt as a child. Reflecting on that I realize the depth of sadness I was stuck in, year after year after year. I was also brought up in a shaming, sin-obsessed religion, which was like drinking Drano.
I believed with all my heart that I needed the acceptance and affection of others. Well I did, really, because humans need humans. But I remember lying on my bed as a child with my heart just broken, because of being bullied or worse, ostracized, at school. My sensitivity was massive. People would of course call it "over sensitive" and I struggled and struggled to try to figure out how much was allowed. The pain would get so big that if I'd understood back then that there was such a thing as suicide, I might've tried it. Thank heaven I didn't know.
Now I know how Popeye felt ("I yam what I yam.") I feels what I feels and I can always write about it. And with more years, I can see that wiring as both a gift and a curse. Spent enough time cursing myself for being wired the way I am, and now I'm a lot less worried about my nature. If somebody asks me how I am, I tell them the truth. Some are startled, but I've also found a few folks who enjoy direct, self-revealing honesty. When I'm not afraid of people, I do let out a wry sense of humor, which my Dad had too. He would make subtle funny faces for me that I took in as pure love. So maybe humor's a protective function I didn't recognize as such. It brings me pure joy to make people laugh.
Volunteering with the older-oldsters is probably the most healing thing I do. I feel purpose and joy when I shepherd some wobbly person with a walker who's lived a remarkable life. I've noticed that I can come back from a two-hour service feeling drained, though.
I'm just rambling along, Lighter. I see your monologue in this post as remarkable, and it goes deep. I think it might be your own "I can always write about it" way of caring about yourself, your inner tapes. So much of it is focused on others that I admire your ability to imagine correcting and training those who are clearly harming themselves. I wonder if you feel your responsbility for others' well being and/or progress feels good for you, or sometimes is a burden? Are you allowed both? Is it just a matter of keeping it in balance? Sometimes on, sometimes unplugged?
With renovations and decor, the new lingo that fascinated me most was "curating." It's a new tilt on self expression. My brain's not orderly enough to do that, as I'm more splash and dash, even with writing. Visually, I love things and colors that express rather than impress. Largely, the latter is either beyond my skills or not very interesting to me.
Thank you for trying to do that for me sometimes. It works!
hugs,
Hops
I'm cowardly and I know it. I always have been the bunny wabbit twembling in the bushes. My social strength has faded a lot in recent years, probably a natural part of aging plus my own tapes, so to speak. I don't worry so much about it meaning anything, but I notice I'm a lot more tentative about going out, and isolate by instinct. I'm more at peace with my rabbity side. Isolating isn't clever, but I'm learning to make "go mingle with humans" something like flossing teeth. Don't like having to do it, but teeth feel great afterward.
Like when I searched for a dog (here she goes, reverting to her obsession). Pooch, my soul dog, was highly sensitive too. Soulful and intuitive to an amazing degree. Now I live with a little aggressive warrior who is so driven by his drives that he is an exhausting companion a lot of the time. But there's always an hour or two every morning and evening when he's pressed up against me with such sweetness and trust, despite our battles, that he's worth it. Plus, he makes me laugh every single day. He has the kind of crazy face that makes people break into smiles when we pull up at a light and he's got his face stuffed out the car window. I love seeing that happen. Some glum driver will look over and just break into a huuuge, uncontrollable grin. Pup's face is SO funny (and cute), he doesn't have to try!
IwishIwish I knew how to post a photo. It just don't work when I click the image thing.
As much as the negative inner chitchat, I still feel joy, gratitude, and the most important thing to me, wonder. I tell myself, good lord, look where you LIVE! The world is absolutely AMAZING! I look at a shrub or a mulberry and feel ASTONISHED. The wonder is loud inside.
My negative "tapes" are scratchy, worn and a lot less loud, and I'm a lot less interested in listening to them these days. I'm interested and excited about myself when I write something good. Ultimately, I'll die with a wrinkled poem in my hands, and that will be peaceful for me.
The feeling that dominated my life for many years was anxiety. Depression is in there but now I watch for that like I do a virus: wash my hands a lot, avoid crowds. And so my anxiety is way softer than it used to be. The worst "tape" was like an endless argument with myself and a nonstop fear loop. Fear of being as alone and vulnerable and rejected as I felt as a child. Reflecting on that I realize the depth of sadness I was stuck in, year after year after year. I was also brought up in a shaming, sin-obsessed religion, which was like drinking Drano.
I believed with all my heart that I needed the acceptance and affection of others. Well I did, really, because humans need humans. But I remember lying on my bed as a child with my heart just broken, because of being bullied or worse, ostracized, at school. My sensitivity was massive. People would of course call it "over sensitive" and I struggled and struggled to try to figure out how much was allowed. The pain would get so big that if I'd understood back then that there was such a thing as suicide, I might've tried it. Thank heaven I didn't know.
Now I know how Popeye felt ("I yam what I yam.") I feels what I feels and I can always write about it. And with more years, I can see that wiring as both a gift and a curse. Spent enough time cursing myself for being wired the way I am, and now I'm a lot less worried about my nature. If somebody asks me how I am, I tell them the truth. Some are startled, but I've also found a few folks who enjoy direct, self-revealing honesty. When I'm not afraid of people, I do let out a wry sense of humor, which my Dad had too. He would make subtle funny faces for me that I took in as pure love. So maybe humor's a protective function I didn't recognize as such. It brings me pure joy to make people laugh.
Volunteering with the older-oldsters is probably the most healing thing I do. I feel purpose and joy when I shepherd some wobbly person with a walker who's lived a remarkable life. I've noticed that I can come back from a two-hour service feeling drained, though.
I'm just rambling along, Lighter. I see your monologue in this post as remarkable, and it goes deep. I think it might be your own "I can always write about it" way of caring about yourself, your inner tapes. So much of it is focused on others that I admire your ability to imagine correcting and training those who are clearly harming themselves. I wonder if you feel your responsbility for others' well being and/or progress feels good for you, or sometimes is a burden? Are you allowed both? Is it just a matter of keeping it in balance? Sometimes on, sometimes unplugged?
With renovations and decor, the new lingo that fascinated me most was "curating." It's a new tilt on self expression. My brain's not orderly enough to do that, as I'm more splash and dash, even with writing. Visually, I love things and colors that express rather than impress. Largely, the latter is either beyond my skills or not very interesting to me.
Thank you for trying to do that for me sometimes. It works!
hugs,
Hops