Some folks are built like onions, with layers of personality and feelings, while others act more like dictatorships, coldly navigating the treacherous waters of emotion like a mercenary out for treasure. As for me, well…I’m definitely a suburban PTA. I don’t have personalities – I have subcommittees. There’s the mom committee, and the teacher committee, the wife committee, the Kyle’s lover committee, the M’s lover committee and the Nate’s lover committee. Right now the “We’re going to Folsom Fair” committee is in full swing, gearing up by preparing an outfit (very bad schoolgirl at the moment, although the committee’s demonstrated tendency towards capriciousness suggests that there’s no telling what I’ll actually end up wearing) and setting up connections (whoo hoo! I’ll be manning – womaning? – the door at a sexy party after the fair.) And, of course, the “I’m not a writer, I just play one online” committee is currently busy writing this and secretly dreading posting more installments of the Friday Fiction series, for fear that it will finally be revealed what a disgustingly degenerate pervert I am and I will be chased to my castle by the angry townspeople and beaten to death with revulsion and ridicule.
The amazing thing about all of this is that each of the committees operates completely independent of the others – I can feel awful or scared about one facet of my life and still be able to feel intense joy about another. This has, for good and bad, led to a somewhat uneven blog – happy one moment, sad the next, then angry followed by scared and then joyful again. The truth is that I’m not just feeling these things one at a time…all of those feelings and more are inside me always, begging for attention from the central committee, the executive board that I think of as me.
However, the Big Bad Whose Name Must Not Be Spoken has left that central committee feeling heartbroken and angry, and it’s starting to bleed into the other parts of my life. As I tried to make it through my stretching routine at the gym today, tears welled up in my eyes and slid down my cheeks, as if the pain in my head could no longer be contained by sheer willpower alone. Although I try to keep the horror show to myself, I find myself uncontrollably blurting out bits of it to people at random moments. I feel lost and defeated, trapped and intensely angry, sad and guilty and I realize that I desperately need an ear to hear me with the training to help me navigate the hell that is my life.
This is a new thing for me. Growing up, I never even thought twice about going to see a psychologist. Then, a rough patch in college sent me to seek one out, and I found a graduate student who was willing to see me for free as he finished his doctorate. Months of wonderful conversations ended abruptly when he skipped our appointment one day and left a love poem in his place as explanation. My second try came in graduate school, a one-day meeting with a therapist assigned to keep the graduate students from working so hard they actually killed themselves. After I answered her question as to what was bothering me, she looked at me, blinking, and said, “wow, that IS bad.”
Needless to say, I did not go back.
However, I have fallen far enough and am desperate enough that I have decided I need to try again…but I can’t. For various reasons, I am barred from talking to an authority about my pain, and that makes me feel even more angry and trapped. For years I could have gone, but chose not to, and now I want to, but I cannot.
My life must be damned entertaining for the gods.
And so I drink coffee and try to focus on Folsom or my kids or the hope that temperatures in the 40s and 50s might soon return to the Bay Area. Today is the Autumnal Equinox, that moment that marks the beginning, in earnest, of the return of darkness, and, I hope, the cool winds and rains that will clear my mind and give me momentary peace. I will keep talking – to friends, to lovers, to myself – and searching for a way to grab on to solutions before they wriggle through my fingers. The thing about mathematicians is that we believe in answers, even if they’re hard to see.
You just have to keep trying.
I’m not sure I would describe my processes as committees, but I definitely have multiple priorities and different elements of my personality who seem to be pushing their agendas at all times. When these different elements are at odds, it’s painful and frustrating, sometimes depressing.
I really wish you could get the safe haven you need to talk things out, I’m hoping you won’t have to wait too long to have that opportunity. Until then, I know you’ll push forward as you always have, trying to balance your personal needs and the needs of your family and professional life. Like others who read your blog, I admire you for continuing to work toward this balance with integrity and perserverance. You are an inspiration.
My love, as I said to you the other night, I will always have my broad chest, strong shoulders, and good listening ears here for you. What you are dealing with in your life would send anyone into a cyclone of emotions. The fact that you haven’t been spun into complete chaos is an inspiration.
If you ever need a shoulder to cry on….you know my number
kisses