Guilt: the gift that keeps on giving

Part of the problem with hiding, and allowing all those little nips and pecks to fester untended, is that eventually you end up with a big oozy mess that demands to be dealt with.  The human psyche, I suppose, is more fragile than I like to believe.

And so, it comes out.  In an angry torrent of emotions, or a drunken stupor, or a great big girly cry-fest.  It always comes out.

I can't help but feel like a child after such an outburst.  Can't help but sit, drowning in my own party of pity, suffocating anything good with my self-loathing thoughts that come in semi-automatic bursts of disappointment, guilt, and a terrifying anxiety that spins round in my chest like angry bees swarming without end.

Speaking up for myself when I feel wronged always feels too needy.  Finding words that don't sound like I'm whining and need special attention seems nearly impossible.  I can handle it all myself, I can smooth over any situation, I can take a hit and keep moving forward.

Except,  I can't.  I take a hit, and it becomes a ball and chain that I drag around with me.  I over-analyze the conversations, wondering how things could have been better, what I could have done differently to avoid or correct the problem.

In the end, I tuck it away and mush forward.

And then ... BOOM.

I'm left holding my pride in my hands, wincing at the ridiculous way that I acted, wondering why I can't just effing man up and deal with things like a responsible human being, for once.

So, just to add to the list of chameleon-type behaviors that need repairing: stop worrying about ruffling feathers, and say what's on your mind THE FIRST TIME.

Seems easy enough.


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