Asking Yourself “WHY DO I FEEL THIS?” and Life Lessons

(Note: I found this among on my Desktop. Apparently it’s something I wrote back in March, but I didn’t feel compelled to click on the nagging little icon until a few moments ago. Then I realized this might have some value to some members of our audience on the internet.)

I’ve been ‘pushed’ by internal forces I don’t even pretend to understand. To do some good in this universe; lend a helping hand, at least to this species I’ve discovered myself living in.

Here’s the deal.

I am still “discovering” emotions.  Not the way you think. I feel everything you do: grief, pain, anger, depression (the Pits), laughter, some tears, and more. Disgust upon seeing or hearing certain things, which seems strongly tied to our biology of being human, since that’s where most of our emotions arise.  A “Fight or Flight (fear)” emotion is a good example of this.

No, I am into discovering them in a different way. And to the people who know me, you know what I’d say: Hey, you know me. I say that with wink and a shout-out out there among you humans in the word, of which I’m one, trying to figure this feces-synonym deleted rambling synopsis of mind. And that means “all of you” out there, as well. Trying to figure out why you’re doin’ what you’re doing, and trying to understand: “Why?”

I’m rather good at asking those questions, “Why this?”, and then “Why that?”, then immediately switching and summoning my attention and focus on something different, or something else. I prefer “different” in all the meanings of that word, for it implies ‘outstanding’ or ‘should be famous’ but when people use it about me it means “weird” or “not like us”.  Albeit in the last example I often leave much unsaid, because no one I know, knows quite how I think, nor are they willing to talk about it though I am a talkative and oft gregarious person, something I trained myself to be by changing myself by changing my mind and outlooks.  I used to be an introvert. Don’t believe it? Ask anyone who knew me in High School. They used to know, yet they knew me when I wasn’t so . . . different myself because unlike so many others, I’ve never stopped evolving, or working on my own thought patterns, mind, and outlooks. I’m definitely weird that way. (It comes from DID, just so you understand it.)

But what can I say but I’ve grown since then, both outside and internally, and changing my mind a lot in the process.  Really working on the thing, babying it along like the crippled thing we all are, and come from, getting started.  (and it doesn’t matter the reasons why, and it happened for very good reasons to you for a reason, and its up to YOU to discover in yourself, “WHY?” – that question I keep asking myself, and have been for the last 45 years or so.  (Ever since I was about 13, come to think about it. I’ve been working on this stuff steady all along, making my own internal realizations from 1000’s of sources, if not more, across the lands and globe.

And I discovered something about myself – I wanted to be happy – and my only choice was to do it myself, and if I kept looking I would find it, and it was about a decade later (actually only 9 years) that I figured out that only by looking in myself could I achieve my homemade goal.  Because nobody told me about this, this “happiness” thing we all glom on and desire. We all want it but don’t know what to do, looking outside yourself, thinking you are all right all the time.  Even if some of you seem to be suffering from some internally deep and sad depression inside, which stems from the fears you feel, and a whole lot of other crap.

So it goes with the military, which I worked in and for, for about 28 years. I volunteered by being born in them, or else you get in through enlistment and assignment (which I also did, going Marine Corps instead of the Army I’d been born in) or you “married in”, finding in your husband or wife something charming about highly polished shoes and brass on a uniform, and fell in love with him or her. 

At any rate, I kept on going, plugging away.  I wrote many journals, keeping track of everything and asking myself “Why?” to everything I thought and felt.  And I mean everything!  Each iota and nuance of emotion; all the combinations thereof, and meanwhile questioning through the repeated – over and over again, in some cases a thousand times, if not a hundred times a hundred thousand more.

And yet I keep on asking that same, by now grown tiresome, but habitual by now, question of mine, finding out how someone or something “was ticking” – “Looking under the hood,” as I sometimes put it, lifting the skull off someone’s brain – including mine! more often than not, sometimes surprised, disappointed, or horrified by the things I’d found lurking in there, in that dark chasm we all call the “human soul”.  There were lights down there, too, flickers of emotion, and I keep on following them down, chasing them down until I found myself in a pit of darkness, helplessly looking around – lost, just like some of you people, and down, afraid I’d take my own life.

Yes, I’ve been there a time or two or three.

It was a way of discovering that emotion, and many others beyond, and tracing them to the root source in me, which of course, was myself all along.  A typical human being on a voyage of exploration; however, like most folks I’d come to the conclusion that happiness lay in “self-focus” determining who I am, why I “was” (feeling this and that, in a manner of speaking, though spiritualism of course entered the equation, then an old friend told me something while I was going through something else and we were talking religion and he said:

“It doesn’t matter what you believe as long as you believe in something.” – as further psychology studies were to confirm in the future when I read them, for indeed there seemed to be something to it, as they reported these people were happier with it than without it, in general, and in a majority of the populations studied, researched, and talked about with such enthusiasm that I started to wonder if I should “believe” myself.

So I went on chasing that long-winded and lost puppy of mine, and, it seems, have eventually arrived at some happiness, but I want to go further along.

I wanted to dig down deeper, revealing these secrets I’d learned the magic words for, which really, if you think about it was the same thing:  My continued desire to know why this thing, or that thing, including my “feelings, thoughts, and actions – (you learn the latter is based on the former, by the way. I did.) – happened, or why someone was feeling or acting or talking (or in this day, typing) something that I’d seen, heard, sensed, of felt. 

Every bit of it went into my data crunching machine; enormous amounts of human data, as well as the more mundane tasks of “learning to be human” because I was not raised like most, it seems.  For instance my mom tells me I immediately disappeared after birth, and was gone a week, no one could find me (and my wife commented that they didn’t even talk, or seem interested in trying to find me, which I tend to believe due to other aspects of their conversation, and other things my mom told me.

For all I know I could be an alien, or the Changeling I sometimes jokingly claim to be. But not in front of my mother, for she would be sure to believe it then, and then using it as an excuse to prevent my past behavior, she’d have “them” try to exorcise me.

I’d better get moving on.  I might not have much time left here if news of me gets out to her and she decided to go through with it.  Being a witch she might just be able to do it too! And that’s for real. In her youth she used to claim she was a bonafide witch and practice witchcraft, and teach her sons things like casting a hex, and using and making voodoo dolls. 

I think it worked a couple of times, that “throwing of the hex” thing she had showed me – and THAT was a little, little kid.  How to form one’s hands, summon the emotions of fear and anger, and CAST them out there, mucking someone’s life up, or at least some emotions, as they saw this little kid throwing hexes there, staring right at them with hard eyes.

And a grin, I’ll sometimes admit. 

Anyway, I “put the hex” on one guy, and his trunk broke right away, right there in front of his eyes and mine.  I had told him about it, not joking, but  he left with joking eyes. I was about 7 years old at the time.

“Your mistake,” I remember thinking, staring out the window of the backseat at him (he had parked right next to us); I could see him grinning, and it appeared to me he mocking my uncle for HIS trouble – an auto wreck on the road involving a motorcycle, and something about a guy laying there. I was worried about my most favorite relative in all of Wyoming. But it wasn’t him, it was someone he hit – or they hit him, it took a while for my young mind to figure it out – and meanwhile I’m staring at this reporter’s car.

And he’s still grinning.

Feeling my hate rise within, I raise my hand, making the hand motion, and his grin just gets wider as he puts something in his car.  He goes around to the trunk, slips the key in, unlocks it, puts something in, drops the lid down – giving it a shove because those old trunk lids needed help in closing . . .

and still the damn thing wouldn’t close.

I could almost hear him cursing as I grinned, watching him take his long tie loose from his shirt, and unknotting it, using it to tie the car trunk lid down.

“I cursed your car,” I said as he, now nervous and shooting darting edgewise glances towards our car.  I had specifically rolled down (this was in the time of “crank handles”, you young children with your life of leisure and buttons to do what you command.  Maybe YOU are a god in someones mind, sometime, somewhere, somewhen.  You never know about these things.

Yeah, my feet were a tad bit sore after that long walk out of the mountains down to the airport in P.R.

Another guy I hexed in Puerto Rico and his mother, a perfectly healthy but older woman died in his arms a few hours later. Needless to say he blamed me and I had to beat a hasty retreat, escaping the island on foot, wandering as IF in a fugue in order to avoid some rather bad nasty guys who, apparently, had slipped some PCP in on me in an attempt to harness some of my military grade talents, as well as a few others. (I am, or have been, an internet hacker for awhile – white hat involved!)

I’d studied a lot of psychology by now, from starting when I was thirteen years old or thereabouts; we’d come home from near Eastern German, and this was just around Cold War times. Not as cold as it’d BEEN, nor as cold as it was going to be for some Russians and citizens of the U.S.S.R. later on, when our nation punished their nation by the wheat and tennis shoe and “blue jeans” embargo which denied their kind anyting from our land.

And they wanted blue jeans, those crazy SOB Russians, and I love them for who they are (won’t go into it here, thank god – you’ve been reading long enough, haven’t you, but I promise you some fun and (some? self? Mine?) discoveries ahead, but if you make any, remember:

You’re doing it on your own and through your own free choice system – and how THAT works is up to you, which is a free choice as well – no matter what anyone tells you! – the, choice is always a left to you. 

For as I discovered early on in my studies: in order to change how you FEEL about the world and the things in it you have to change how you THINK about the world and the things in it, which required changing how you VIEW the world and all that happens here. 21, our alternate and often transient alter who “survived” until we were 24 – and during all those long years in-between, certainly made a lot of discoveries in the “whys” of ourself and our feelings and behavior – still hard! hard as heck sometimes! – and sometimes coming as easy as pie, these “hard concepts” some people seem to have trouble grasping, like how they are responsible for their own emotions – and why.

I kept on asking that question “Why this? Why that?” all along, have been, and will continue on doing it the rest of my life, and if there’s an afterlife at all, I’m going to keep on going from person to person – or I reckon that’d be for me to do some soulful song singing of course, strumming my lyre by the fires of the pits of Heaven, and wondering what was in-between.

I wonder like that when I get confused and the truth doesn’t make sense to me (see cognitive dissonance. It will tell you a lot and I am continually refining and fact-checking the views in me, along with those feelings of guilt I’ve felt, and in some cases still feel. I haven’t taken that emotion apart yet, exploring all it’s nuances and “why’s” all along all the threads to their very beginning.  I’ve already discovered its a complex emotion, made up of several of them.

“Bartender! Mix me up some guilt based on some self-sacrifice I convinced myself to make killing a loved one or ruining a dear thing to me – dearer than life, I’m feeling!” – and so in some cases that emotion leads to killing themselves and taking someone else’s life along for the ride, if not a couple more.

I kinda hate that emotion, and emotions like that. They are complex emotions; put them in a blender and look out when you look in at it, trying to discover hidden sources in the peas soup and fogs that have formed.  Some are trickier than hell AND heck put together; put some salt on it because it’s somewhat bitter, and too much can ruin your life, taking you in hand and convincing in someway, convince you to end it.  Maybe by taking you over there and throwing you off a cliff, making you go insane and do it, and doing to you what are are doing to yourself by not going over it, and examining in detail, like I did, taking each one apart into all it’s component pieces and sub pieces and assemblies and keep on going and loosening some more screws.

No wonder people keep saying I’m loosing my screws and there’s a few loose in my head.  I think I’m onto something, and they’re on to the truth: there may be something there I can find of value, so I keep on loosening with my infernal unending question and force of desire to understand these things in all their nuances and glory, from high to low, the breath – sweet as a baby’s breath or an emotion that comes ruining your life, running like a hurricane over your heart and soul.

Those kind of things suck; internal disasters, too, and I’ve had a few in myself.

I think all us humans do.

Maybe it’s part of “teaching us a lesson”.

Maybe its because we so often refuse to – to do the work inside, working and tinkering and adjusting all of those things ranging from views at birth, and questioning “why this when not that? and keep on using the question I use.

Find the gosh-danged “why” of these things inside you which are pushing you into behaviors you’d rather not do, don’t want to do, and anything like that.

And that work counts too.

Advertisements

About jeffssong

JW is an adult childhood abuse survivor with DID*. He grew up in a violent family devoid of love and affection. He is a military brat and veteran. He no longer struggles with that past. In 1976 JW began writing "The Boy". It took 34 years to complete. It is currently on Kindle (http://www.amazon.com/dp/B004T3IVKK ), or if you prefer hard copy, on Amazon ( http://www.amazon.com/Boy-J-W/dp/1461022681). JW resides somewhere in the deep South. He is disabled and living with family. Note: Please feel free to take what you need; all is free to all. With that in mind, keep it that way to others. Thank you. We have 3 Blogs - One for our younger days, 0-10 (The Little Shop of Horrors); one for our Teen Alter and his 'friends' (also alters) with a lot of poetry; and finally "my" own, the Song of Life (current events and things)
This entry was posted in Anger, child abuse survivor, depression, Education, Happiness, Life, mental health, psycho-analysis, Psychology, therapy. Bookmark the permalink.

Go Ahead. You were thinking . . . ?

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s