I don’t like living in big emotions, especially the negative ones, but unfortunately, I tend to ruminate. I get stuck in my thoughts and feels, and I forget how to find my way out.

Unfortunately, if the exit is unavailable, maladaptive coping mechanisms come back to the fore right damn quick. Some people respond more positively to life’s slings and arrows, or so it seems to me. I usually go in a different direction.

I’m origami these days when it comes to conflict and obstruction – I fold.

Perhaps we get a lifetime limit when it comes to conflict, and I’ve reached mine, so there can be no more unless you want me to unleash my inner Kraken.

The big feelings I’m trying to avoid are mostly centred around my adult daughter and about how I’ve somehow allowed myself to become both a punching bag and a bank. “No,” however, remains hard and elusive for all that I’m racking up big debt.

Often it’s the wall that I’ve been backed up against that finally has me dusting off my boundaries. I stand my ground once I’ve no ground left to cede. It’s weird how i’m better at all this in my head.

The truth of the matter is that I can’t afford to keep funding her life. I’m going not just broke but into debt doing so, so the answer to any more money requests will have to be no.

Of course, my “no” tends to lead to radio silence from her, a telling behaviour, and a probable panic-laden meltdown later when suddenly bills come due and the consequences of one’s own actions and inaction become apparent.

One of the challenges is that she has no money coming in, nor will there be until she gets the paperwork done. Saying it’s impossible just means the wallet stays pristine. As adults, we need an income to survive, and trauma and other difficulties notwithstanding, it’s time for her to start standing up and managing her life again.

It’s hard to escape the brain that’s become institutionalized.

I think after the next round of complaints about how hard life is and how I simply don’t get it, I’ll suggest that if she truly can’t manage her life, then it might be time to look at getting a trustee or conservator – not me. The business end of her life is falling through the cracks. Bad things are going to start coming to pass because of it.

She’s going to lose her car if she keeps missing payments. She doesn’t seem to understand that the world mostly doesn’t care that we’re in distress as long as no deadlines are pending.

And the imagined consequences of my drawing a financial line are whipping about my brain along with various possible response outcomes, none of which are an example of things going well. Every scenario I get trapped in sees my daughter viciously yelling at me again and blaming me for pretty much everything she doesn’t like in her life.

The Prazosin’s not doing a good job at quelling my maladaptive daydreams of late.

It would probably perform better – ditto my antidepressant – if I stopped drinking so much wine in the evenings, but I get so desperate when it comes to quieting the thoughts that anticipating interacting with my daughter can engender.

The drifting into my thoughts is a sign that I’m struggling, as is a serious uptick in my avoidance behaviours. The less you see and hear of me, the worse things are going. I tend to be like the wounded animal or choking victim – I just want to hie myself off to a quiet, dark hole.

Ever more ruthless home organizing is another tell. Ditto my mental threats to trash every damn plant in the house because their water neediness is making me insane. The number of empty wine bottles in the garage probably bears scrutiny.

I often get quite desperate to stop thinking about her and about what might be coming next. I will embrace almost anything to shut up my inside voice.

Ordinarily, I’m a bit better and a bit less quick off the mark at perceived threats and slights, but I’m in some serious physical pain these days, and it just doesn’t want to stop, meds notwithstanding.

Happiness is not carpal tunnel syndrome. On the bright side, I got a referral to a surgeon for my carpal tunnel issues. Fingers crossed things will happen sooner rather than later. Permanent pain makes me testy, and an only-marginally functional right hand – and yes, I’m right-handed – is also a bit of a pisser.

I run fast for all kinds of reasons.

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The fun thing about older posts – this one is from 2019 – is that you’re reminded of things that the brain had long since jettisoned from active – and even inactive – memory. It did seem like a good idea at the time.

It seemed like a good idea at the time (it might still be).

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image: Florence + the Machine Dog Days vinyl single

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