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I wonder if I should be addressing my aversion to speaking in plurals as a phobia. Shoot, I can't even listen to them. My long standing response is to run hysterically at the first put down of an undefined "They." The pronoun puts the fear of war in me. Us vs. Them. Death to anyone who is in a different uniform than US. I feel WAR as an acronym for, We Are Right!!!
In the no longer so recent MIL/DIL blowout, the DIL and my son sure looked like a two person assault force as they came at me with the angry shouts my hearing could not decipher. Still don't know the words of their angry tones. The toddler screaming hysterically through it all was the most comprehensible expression of the attack. I find myself increasingly unable to think of him. A heart can only break so far. . . I find myself cringing fearfully at the consequences of letting the child in the DIL's womb even become real to me.
Now, in the icy halls of exile from the house whose mortgage is on my credit report, they look equally united in refusing to discuss the problems in tones my aging ears can decipher. The political stalemate before the war begins in earnest? Dear God, Please don't make me endure another round of domestic warfare. My journey from "Shirley Temple in a G-String" to a credit rating respectable enough to have more debt offers than I could possibly want has been fraught with the child crushing battles I am calling: Us vs. Them. Seems to me like the Us combat details never seem to stay unified after the uniting enemy has been crushed. The one-on-one skirmishes strike me as even more devastating. At least the chaos of a gang assault lets a beaten crazy bitch wolf accomplish evasive maneuvers with comparative ease. . .
Thoughts? Opines? Am I just being a grammar nazi picking on pronouns? Acting out a phobia? Hearing my hyper-vigilance? On to something? Something else, entirely?
In the no longer so recent MIL/DIL blowout, the DIL and my son sure looked like a two person assault force as they came at me with the angry shouts my hearing could not decipher. Still don't know the words of their angry tones. The toddler screaming hysterically through it all was the most comprehensible expression of the attack. I find myself increasingly unable to think of him. A heart can only break so far. . . I find myself cringing fearfully at the consequences of letting the child in the DIL's womb even become real to me.
Now, in the icy halls of exile from the house whose mortgage is on my credit report, they look equally united in refusing to discuss the problems in tones my aging ears can decipher. The political stalemate before the war begins in earnest? Dear God, Please don't make me endure another round of domestic warfare. My journey from "Shirley Temple in a G-String" to a credit rating respectable enough to have more debt offers than I could possibly want has been fraught with the child crushing battles I am calling: Us vs. Them. Seems to me like the Us combat details never seem to stay unified after the uniting enemy has been crushed. The one-on-one skirmishes strike me as even more devastating. At least the chaos of a gang assault lets a beaten crazy bitch wolf accomplish evasive maneuvers with comparative ease. . .
Thoughts? Opines? Am I just being a grammar nazi picking on pronouns? Acting out a phobia? Hearing my hyper-vigilance? On to something? Something else, entirely?
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My day...today...misplaced my debit card...didn't realize it until I got to the register after shopping to a full cart. Used a different debit card and pulled apart everything looking for missing debit card before I left parking lot. Got home, dropped keys. So now I have a missing debit card, missing keys. A full cartload to unload and put away. I got everything put away.Dumped purse for a...
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I don't really know how to label this but I having a rough week and I can't say it's one thing.... I have a lot on my plate which is nothing new and I try to cope in many positive ways and do but I still have my moments.My kids more so my daughters talk to me about everything which I know it's cause of comfort and we are close.... however I really struggle with the venting about their dad which...
I'm frustrated because the son and his wife are not acting like parents.
...their kid bonded with you.
Regardless of whether there is bad blood or not between you and mom? The child shouldn't be used as a way to punish you, because that hurts the boy.
That's the way a good parent behaves.
Dunno about the Us vs Them...but this seems to be a case where her need to win means everyone loses?
And that sucks.
Screaming at someone is NOT a way to peacefully solve things...and I would boot someone who chronically screamed at me if at all possible.
That's a trigger for me; I don't want to be triggered repeatedly in my own home.
I don't believe this one is about anybody else in my life. My mind goes haywire when I don't keep my pronouns well-defined. My main reason for not allowing guns anywhere near me is that I can see myself turning a restaurant full of folks just having lunch in to an Evil They worthy of being mowed down with an uzi.
It gets even uglier when I am with a group I feel bonded with. Mob agitation on the rise. . . VIVA LA REVOLUCION!!! I can be a pretty good agitator in my own rights or I can just get swept up in the gang spirit.
I feel an urgent need to me to be sure all my Theys have names and faces. Strictly personal.
Still sorting. . .
Don't feel any benefit in getting specific. I have seen quite allot of peer support members triggering one another during my decades of using peer support groups. There is tremendous healing to be found in working it through within the group.
That is my hope of the post. Just hoping. . . Reminding myself that I am prone to unrealistic expectations in my more unstable moments. Not a doubt in my mind that this is one of my more unstable moments.
Not unstable enough to lose my appreciation for this wonderful group, though. I hope. My flight mode is still not fully shut off.
Thanks again for the help with the sorting.