Mental Health

A friend asked me earlier tonight if I had "processed" some stuff that happened to me a while back, and I jokingly told her "My philosophy on emotional processing is: I ain't got time to bleed."

Several hours later, which is just now, I thought about it again and I realized that was way too accurate. Mentally and emotionally, I'm living my entire life as if I was being stalked by the Predator.

I went through so much shit for fifteen straight years, where I was always running or hiding or fighting or outwitting dangerous people (my ex), financial disasters, and housing catastrophes, with a horde of other issues of varying sizes flowing in to fill up all the gaps. I've been out of that life for almost five years now, and the serious crises have slowed down to what I suppose is a more normal pace of about one or two a year (instead of before, when I was squaring my shoulders and taking a deep breath every time I walked in my front door, preparing to find out what emergency was waiting for me).

Even though I'm not constantly running or hiding from a Predator now, I'm still... there. I'm still in that jungle. It's not that he's gone, it's that I don't know where he is or how much time I have before he finds me. I'm spending all my emotional energy on carving wooden stakes and digging tiger pits and preparing for the fight that, in my heart of hearts, I know is coming.

Of course, life is life, and sometimes shit just hits the fan, and I'm always glad for my tiger pits when it does, so my brain doesn't really see this as a problem. "Yeah, it's exhausting, but aren't you glad you had the deep-deep-super-emergency savings account when X happened? Aren't you glad knew and had practiced three alternative routes to get to that client's office when the highway flooded? Aren't you glad you left for that meeting an hour and a half early? Aren't you glad.... aren't you glad... aren't you glad?"

And yeah, I kind of am. I'm generally in an ok position for the one-in-a-hundred or one-in-a-thousand bad random event to happen. So what if I'm spending an equal amount of money and time and worry on the other 999 things that don't happen? Even though I'm kind of disturbed by this realization right now, I'm still having a hard time convincing myself that this is a problem. It's not normal, obviously, but is it really so bad? Especially since sometimes my friends get into some shit and I can say "Hey, here's five bundles of field-made leg-spike-traps to help you out with that Predator that's on your ass. Don't worry, I have ten more in my hidden stash, and thirty more in my extra-hidden stash, I'll be fine."

So no, I ain't got time to bleed. I have to rig up these snare traps and swinging-log-traps for a monster I've seen neither hide nor hair of in five years. If I stop to think about what I've been through, much less take the time to cry about it, it might catch me unawares. I'm still not prepared enough.

But when I ask my brain, "When will I be prepared enough?", my brain replies: "Shut up, it'll hear you. Whittle another spear."