Stuff. You know.
Don’t worry about a problem, worry at it, said Ian Fleming. Three varied issues today get me worried. I am blogging, so I don’t know yet if I will tell you what any of them are. One I can’t do anything about yet, but may sort to my satisfaction eventually. One I could at least check with a phone call or email. One I should probably start phoning about.
Or I could phone a friend and talk it through or express my feelings. Or meditate, where I find that I find my feelings. Instead I am in my avoidance behaviour. I am not quite worrying about because I block out. I don’t phone H as I usually do each evening.
I am the rabbit in the headlights, terrified into stillness. Outside me, stuff goes on. I will not deal with it this way, and it just gets bigger as I put it off. Avoidance behaviour includes obsessive checking of blog stats: I have eight posts and pages each with over a thousand views, nine more with over five hundred, fifty two with over one hundred, which posts and pages are approaching these landmarks? Though when I write my blog it is more like the spiritual practice of journalling.
Stuff. You know. I withdraw. I worry about it not at it. I worry more and more, do the avoidance behaviour, and beat myself up a bit- when the going gets tough, the tough get going, I rebuke myself sternly. Does this analysis do any good?
I have just found an email I might use, and stored it in a more accessible place. Doing something towards one of these matters. One step at a time.
This illustrates my most common internal battle of the last two years. One part, seeming rational, worries about what to do, works out things to do, nags me to do them. Other bit checks the statistics on a particular post, again, or sits numb.
The rabbit in the headlights is what you do when you are damaged. Well, I am damaged.
Oh! It feels like chewing over an old thing, not getting further. The nag and the sulk. No, I don’t want to face my problems. No, I don’t want to go out or call people, or even go to bed where I will lie awake worrying. I want a distraction, which is the root of most addictive behaviour.
Are You in the Driving Seat of Your Life? That’s a good metaphor. “I feel like I’m locked in the boot” was a cartoon response. That’s “trunk” for my American readers. “Depression, anxiety and panic attacks are not a sign of weakness. They are signs of having tried to remain strong for so long,” said a meme a man I might contact about one of these matters shared.
No, I did not tell you, did I.