So I'm sitting in my Therapist's office yesterday and we're laughing and talking like we usually do. I'm telling him about a customer that I dealt with that gave me a glimpse into what it must be like to deal with me when I'm hyper-manic, the woman was excessively talkative, fidgety and very VERY energetic. Kind of like I used to be. I had to actually tell ask this woman to take a moment to stop, and breathe.
I remember times like that, the funny thing is that my therapist laughed and asked me why I thought it was that I don't act like that in his office. I had to think about it a bit, and as I looked around his office it occurred to me that I'm comfortable there. His walls are adorned with paintings and drawings that appeal to him, but also to me. There's a bookcase full of books I'd like to or already have read, and on top of that bookcase is the entire toy collection of minions from Despicable Me 2, which I love!! It speaks volumes to his personality. Giving me a bit of insight in to who this man helping me with my issues is, an idea that he's human and flawed like everyone else. He calls me out on my bullshit, my sometimes cunty behavior and helps me to enforce the better parts of me. I think that in a different world he and I would certainly be very good friends.
That says a lot about me, I think. It takes me time to get comfortable with people. I'm not reclusive or introverted by nature, however. Although my circumstances and behavior over the last few years may scream differently. I used to be the life of a party, now I'm more of a wallflower, until you get me talking about something I want to talk about.
Anyway, I told him that I wasn't totally sure why I'm better in his office than when I'm in the real world where just about everyone who speaks pisses me off, that something about him just calms me down. Not that I'm all quiet and somber. Far from it, we laugh, joke around, I'm animated and feel safe to be so. Safe... maybe that's the whole point. I'm emotionally safe in that office, where as anywhere else I feel stunted, suffocated by other people and their bullshit. I know that perhaps that's cruel to say but I don't really give a damn about what's wrong in other peoples lives. I try to be helpful. Try to give good advice when the situation calls for it, but I don't really care if a person doesn't follow that advice. Scratch that. I do care, my advice is very often quite sound. But if you don't do what I suggested, don't at least give it a shot and them come back to me with the same shit... NOW I don't fucking care because you were too lazy or stupid or scared to even try, so why the fuck am I going to waste my time AGAIN??
I'm not.
See this is why I don't have many people in my life who I call friends. I'm quite sure that even some of those I do call as such pretty much only stay around because I'm good for their situations. Which is fine. I'm OKAY With THAT. Really. Let's face it all relationships are formed on some basic need that has to be satiated. Family, friends, lovers, co-workers. Every relationship is symbiotic, all are to an extent parasitic. All have needs which must be fed. Some healthy, some not.
What's my point? Do I have one. Probably. My Therapist asked me to to a bit of homework. He wan't me to find something for each of my senses which is soothing to me. So That would be Sight, Smell, Taste, Touch, and Hearing...
So let's see, I have some of it figured out, but the things which soothe me I often do not have access to. Like for sight. When I was younger and not so readily medicated I lived in Milford CT, there is this duck pond right behind city hall with a waterfall and a huge grouping of rocks that will give you access to it. I used to go there anytime shit got too real. I could sit there for hours. It was my happy safe place. It covered everything but taste. Of course I could fix taste with a run over to the local 7-11 grabbing a spicy chicken parm sandwich and a Peach Snapple, or nachos with chili and cheese with the afore mentioned Snapple. *Snicker. That was along time ago. Since moving out of Milford I've yet to find anyplace that can serve this soothing function. Which is probably a really good reason for a lot of my dysfunction.
Now? Sight doesn't have an outlet. Music is always a good sound... Taste, well I can recreate most foods, but really I like celery and peanut butter... Smell? There's nothing like warm clean clothes or Dragon's Blood Essential oil or incense. Hands down Touch is covered by my fur babies.
Aren't they gorgeous??
I don't as a general rule like to be touched by people. I'm not touchy feely. No it's not because of some long ago abuse, or dislike for pleasure. I like that kind of touching. It's just that we're not a close proximity breed in my house.
Human touch can lie, the body lies, chemicals are released during human interaction that can make even the sanest of people go bonkers. Where as the touch of an animal, well let's face it, it's honest. Either you can or you can't and when they've had enough of you they walk away and come back later if they're in the mood.. People should be more like that.
ANYHOW!! That's my five... But what of the Sixth?? Not that other worldy EPS type shit.
I mean the Soul. That is the sixth sense for me. I think that the soul is something that must be soothed as well.
For me? The writing is a means of soothing my soul. It helps calm my mind, calm my body. It takes an effort, a conscious decision to stop what I am doing to sit and make peace with time and actually let my mind wander and flow. Whether it's raging or miscalculating what I'm doing or rambling on without end. My Soul is soothed by the touch of fingers stroking the keys, the clickity clak of the keyboard, seeing those worlds develop in words on my screen as I smoke my Wild Horse Cigar with my cup of Dunkin' near by. And the final moment when I open the pages of my freshly printed beauty... Well seems I've got it all here after all... FML.
