Something that felt significant happened to me today.
I went to the chiropractor because my back has been killing me for nearly a week. He worked on me. I stuck around for the entire session. And I didn't cry once, except for maybe two little tears caused by his touching a spot the wrong way.
I said it *feels* significant, not necessarily that it is. I've always hated going to the chiropractor or getting a massage because it makes me cry. They touch my back and I just fucking *cry* buckets for no good reason at all. Supposedly it's because there's a release. I had a lot tensed up inside me and it all went to my back. The first time I thought it was bullshit; the tenth time it seemed to make more sense. I could never let them finish, either, because it feels so bad, and not in a physical way. I can't even say it feels emotionally bad, because I don't know what the hell I'm feeling except for just concentrated negativity. Bad, bad, bad, ohGodsmakeitSTOPdon'tTOUCHmelikethat!, that's how I feel. So I never want to go, unless I'm getting really desperate and will try damn near anything. Which happens every now and then, because I was hit by a car when I was 16, and then I spent years working in fast food, where I had to alternate between standing around and toting heavy boxes. My back's bad, and I end up forgetting that the so-called treatment's worse.
But not today! No! I just feel a bit better! And I want to go again so I can feel better again! I kept going, "Wow. Wow. OhmyGawd, wow," in the office.
"That good?" the chiropractor asked. He looked all cocky. (Bet he'd act like he won a gold medal at the Olympics if he made a woman moan the way I was doing in bed.)
I shook my head. "No," I said after thinking about it. "I mean, it's good, I feel better, but it's just that it's not as bad as I'm used to." He asked me about it, and I tried to explain.
"You must have had a lot of emotional pain inside of you," he concluded automatically. "Sometimes a treatment releases it."
"Do they train you all to say that?"
"Actually, we *are* trained to recognize it."
"But it didn't happen this time. It did what it was supposed to do--just fixed my back some."
He smiled. "Maybe whatever needed to be released has been taken care of now."
"Maybe," I replied coolly. But inside, I was thinking, "WOW! That is SO AWESOME!!!!" I wanted to sing: "I'm not fucked up! I'm not fucked up! I was kind of fucked up before, but now I'm not fucked up no more! I'm not fucked up!" I think I am going to be singing that to L'Ailee tonight. I bet she'll express some disagreement with the sentiments of the song, but that's okay. :-)
I've gone without saying much in my blogs lately because I have felt devalued intellectually, at work and on other forums. I've also felt like people considered me weird or crazy. So I avoided people based on what I *thought* they were thinking about me. Clinical depression crossed with social anxiety and "that time of the month" can do that to you. So can growing up dyscalculiate (a/k/a "numeric dyslexic"). I know that people who have "friended" me at my blogs--like most of you reading--are incredibly sweet and would have assured me that I was perfectly smart and just fine. But compliments I have to beg for don't feel like compliments at all. They make me feel worse than any insult.
A couple days ago, I confronted one person whom I've shared an online forum with for years. He never had a word to say to me unless it was critical of me or, more often, a group I was part of. He'd talk to other people, mainly men, but not to me. And supposedly, I was on his "side"! How do you ask, "What the hell is so wrong with me that you're compelled to ignore me?" It's hard. But that's what came out when I expressed an objection to something he'd said about non-Christians, and he rhetorically asked "What do you want from me?" and I snapped via private message, "Do what you normally do and pretend like I didn't say a goddamn thing." It turned out I was wrong about some things, and I'd made some assumptions, but basically we have significant differences in personality, style, and interests. So he thought my posts were boring because of that. But you know, that's okay. I can handle being boring and bitchy, if I know that's why someone passes me by and know that other people don't see me that way. And I've gotten a lot of affirmation online and in the real world that others see me in a different light in the past couple days, too. The good kind, that I didn't have to ask for, that came out because of things I've said or done.
Also, early this morning, an executive who seems to simply delight in chewing peoples' asses has been especially negative in meetings this week. Today I was sick of it. I reprised a favorite ritual of mine, and one of the first I learned as a Pagan--I call it "Same to You and More of It." This is a good one, so if you're into that kind of thing and have never heard of it, copy this! I think I learned it from a Marion Weinstein book, but can't swear to it.
Cup your receptive hand, the one you don't write with. (For me, that's my left.) Hold it in such a way that it doesn't attract attention. Imagine all of the asshole creep speaking to you's negativity flowing into that cupped hand like toxic water. Keep going until your hand feels heavy--not cramped, *heavy*, like you're holding a real object. (I imagine a lead baseball.) Transfer it all to your dominant (writing) hand. Throw it back to them in an inconspicuous manner. Today it would have looked sort of like I was bowling it under the conference table, and the asshole exec was the pin. He actually *staggered back*, stuttered, and had to clear his throat! Then he stammered out a few words about how he knew his team was working really hard and sat his ass down several minutes ahead of schedule. Usually he likes to take his abuse into overtime, but not this time!
And that, y'all, is what I call RELEASE!