Fear-marination

Soooooo…..  I’m doing my 4th Step, and I’m up to this question about being paralyzed by fear.  These questions seem to be “real time” for me.  I start to list out the experiences of anger, like I blogged about a couple of days ago, and the anger and rage just well up inside me.  I have tools and a larger-than-average reservoir of self-restraint, so I don’t blow up at people (though sometimes I’ve thought maybe it wouldn’t be a bad thing if, just every once in awhile BBBLLLLLLLAAAAAAAAAAAAMMMM!!).  I didn’t really do a great job of discharging it, I must say.  And perhaps that is why today felt so hard.

Answering the paralyzed by fear inventory question, I felt that sense of being a little boy who done sump’n wrongways, and I could see my inner child, rocking from foot to foot with his hands at the crown of his head, the arms forming that diamond of shame and “don’t hit me, I didn’t mean to do bad.”

Like most broken recoverers from domestication, socialization, civilization, addiction and brutalization (collectively, “D-SCAB”), I got smacked around and verbally abused by well-meaning folks who had the same cuntnoise done to them in the name of “creating” orderly control (what you and I experienced as “breaking our spirits and souls”, most likely administered by pSychopaths who masked themselves with ministerial/priestly collars or other pietistic fashion-fascist statements or “fascion statements!” :)).

And part of it is that I work for “da man” myself.  I know how to comport myself in the cunture that the empire of vampires puts out there. 

“We keep our victims ready” as Karen Finley has observed.

I didn’t get much of a chance to discharge the tears that wanted to flow today after talking with my sponsor.  I had to go to the pharmacy and get a scrip refilled then scootz backz to woyklez.  I am carrying what might appear to be sadness, but it’s really more a pressure that tears will resolve.  One of the cool things about sugar-flour abstinence is that I can discern between various types of ventings and cryings.  Some venting is about boredom, some is about anger and rage.  Some is about dispelling doubt and self-recrimination.  I’m sure I can even have joy ventings.

And these tears are about a feeling of something that’s been bottled up inside me, and it just so happens that it’s fear that taps the container, not sorrow or anger.  And the fear really is vaporous.  I make it so much bigger than it needs to be.

Though sometimes I don’t really know what’s around me, to be fair.  I remember one time when I first started to work legal jobs, an attorney yelled at me once for (get this), taking a message.  “WHAT HAPPENED TO THAT PHONE CALL?” he screamed, unseen from his office.  And I was shocked and mortified and deer-in-the-headlights scared.  (I bet my eyes dilated to be big old tunnels of death!)

After that, I dreaded having to sit at MisterAvariciousCunt’s desk, and he called for night secretaries all the time.  Boy was that HARD.  I soon dreaded going to work, and threw myself big time into the sugar.  Because of the Student LoanCunting I’d signed up for–otherwise, I would have been perfectly happy to continue my line of work as a book indexer, the most fun job I’ve ever had.

I think we’re fast getting to the point where we all have to start saying, “I’m afraid that I will be thrown out onto the street or worse into jail or a FEMA Camp” to those who care about us.  The last part might sound “tin-foil,” but I don’t underestimate the pSychopaths around us (especially the L.D.(p)S. kind).  I’m sure I’ve studied with and even worked for a couple of these affable Davy & Goliath/Gumby & Pokey/Mickey & Donald  vampires of the soul and the spirit, to whom you and I are just numbers, cost centers, blips on a screen and therefore with no virtual value, let alone material. 

(It OUGHT to be a tinfoil thing, but insanity doesn’t play by rational rules, does it?  Who hasn’t heard people spout crazy-ass noise recently?  Get real. Someone has to!)

[Whatever crazy notion a person has–though the street/jail thing might not be far off the mark–we need to remember “there but for the grace of God/dess go I.”  My $.02 (dwindling in value every day!) on that.]

For my part, I need to release these old fears lodged in the complexes of the fetch and also in the contours of my intestines and viscera.  I can feel emotional-chemical sludge perhaps in my upper large intestine.  At least I’m getting an image of a hotspot to the right of my solar-plexus chakra point.  There’s a reservoir of tears there to cry, and I look forward to discharging it.