Processing Feelings

Hi All,

I'm not sure there's a word for the feeling I'm having, but it seems to be hitting me a lot lately so guess it's time I wrote about it. Better that than binging. I get in these funks were I feel very lost. Like my entire existence is the equivalent to a single passing blip on a screen or maybe a random passing thought.

I think of how little is left of my parent's lives. My father died several years ago. If you look around my place or my two sisters homes, there is no pictures of him hanging on the walls or obvious keepsakes. He's never spoken of. It's almost as if he never really existed at all. My mom has been in a nursing home for about the last three years. Her mind is gone. And there's little trace of her here. It's almost like she never existed. Truthfully, she was a very difficult person and I think in her case, my sisters and I don't really want to be reminded of her on a day to day basis all that much.

I have some things that mean the world to me, but no one to pass them on to. You know, keepsakes, pictures, memories, pieces of my life. Once I'm gone, and having no children to pass anything along to, it all becomes somewhat meaningless. My most important and personal things turn into just so much stuff. Stuff that will end up in somebody's yard sale or stuff that is donated to a thrift store.

I guess I'm having a sort of crisis of existence. Maybe it's the prelude to a bout of depression. Maybe it's a response to not fulfilling some genetic instinctual drive to procreate so the species survives. Maybe most people go through something like this as they grow older. I don't have a name for it.
But it's associated with this big hole I've always carried around in some way. Yearning for things I never had and never seem to be able to get…  loving parents, extended family, my own family… the feeling of having a home and roots… of being connected and grounded in society… of being part of a community… of not wafting around like smoke in space… of not being so damn alone. It feels very much that I was born this way and I'll die this way—always feeling acutely "not part of" even when I'm in a crowd or intimately in someone's arms.

I guess the "stuff" I think about, the keepsakes, pictures and such, are connected in my mind to who I am—my identity—whatever it is that makes me, me. These things mean so very much to me because they relate to my life experience. It's not that I fear dying or that I wish I was immortal or anything. It's more about feeling invisible, perhaps, inconsequential. I know that at times, my writing touches other people and that's nice. But I feel invisible and inconsequential right here where I live in real time. No close friendships, no lovers, no amount of 12 step work has ever begun to put a dent in these feelings.

I know people care about me, some care deeply and in a very personal way. It's almost embarrassing to admit, but at 50, I still ache to feel what it would be like to be totally protected—to be held by a parent—to feel total trust. I could finally relax, even if just for a minute, and feel safe—maybe connected—part of. Food use to give me some of this. Well, maybe not in reality, but it did seem to take that deep ache away for a little while.

Seething just below that big hole I've always carried around is a horrible anger. It feels like an uncontrollable rage not so much aimed at the perpetuators of my abuse, but at the fact that I am conflicted between a deep hatred for them and a desire to be able to love them. It feels like a war between good and evil. On the coast of Oregon is a place called The Devils Punchbowl. The waves rip in and out at the same time causing a violent crashing together and churning of the ocean. These opposing forces carved a great deep hole in the solid rock cliffs at the shoreline thus giving it its name. That's what I feel like inside sometimes. That's what this anger or rage is like. I use to drive to the coast just to sit and stare at that "punchbowl" and feel and hear the awesome power of the ocean and I knew it was part of me. When I begin to sense the rage in me I envision The Devils Punchbowl. Way to powerful to risk touching. Jumping in would be certain death.

Maybe this all doesn't make a lot of sense, but it does keep me 'distanced' from what life could and should offer. It gets in the way of all my close human relationships. It stops me from connecting with people on some level. It sometimes leaves me feeling dishonest and manipulative… like I'm offering up a sanitized version of myself. Even to the people I love the most. They only see the facade or my mask. And somehow, my love comes from that mask or façade place so it's not really real love anyway. I feel sometimes like I can't even give or receive actual love. Like I just wasn't born with that gene, knowledge, or capability.

I can be having a lively animated conversation with friends and all of a sudden begin to feel a little of that hole or the anger just below it and I go empty. It's like I just turn off in the middle of the stream. All of a sudden I'm at a complete loss for words. My mind fills up with chaos and noise. I'm no longer part of anything. I'm nowhere. It happens pretty often when I realize I'm feeling something spontaneously and another human being is involved. Usually something like joy, affection, or love. I get close to something and all of a sudden these old tapes begin to play. It's like there's a line I can't cross. Or maybe a line I need to cross to feel the authentic feelings, but I'm afraid to cross over into the unknown territory.
I guess that's why I love dogs so much. It doesn't happen with animals. But then I've spent a lot of time living in a sort of vacuum with only myself, a dog, and a lot of food. I can't live there anymore.

Sorry for rambling but thank you. I needed and still need to talk and write about this stuff—whatever it is. I don't want to eat over it.

Love, Dave

Hi All,

Thank you all for your responses to my message about feeling the stuff I'm feeling. It helps a lot to share it and know that I'm not so alone as I feel sometimes. I really don't want this stuff to drive me back to emotional eating. That never fixed anything—anyway just made me feel sick.

I had a sort of bothersome experience today at my local natural foods store. When I went through the checkout line the clerk automatically gave me the senior's discount. This happened a couple of weeks ago at another larger store. That time I argued with the clerk and told her in no uncertain terms that I was NOT a senior. This time I just smiled and took the discount. I'm only 50 so it wasn't honest, but it was easier than having to explain the truth, or so I told myself. I don't feel very good about saving that buck and a half.

My friend _____, came over a couple of weeks ago. It was the first time he had seen me without the long hair and beard. He said I looked a lot older now. Maybe I'm feeling some vanity or false pride or something but it hurt my feelings. I thought getting out from under all that hair made me look younger. I guess I'm wrong.

Last week at the store I had a woman flirt with me. Not the fun little meaningless flirting men and women do, but a more serious and overt "are you available—I'm interested" kind of flirting. It's been years since anyone did anything like that to me and I was hugely uncomfortable. I didn't feel flattered. I felt like my personal space was violated. I just wanted to get outta there.

I really don't like dealing with this stuff. It's confusing and uncomfortable. It's a lot easier to stay isolated, hide behind the hair and fat, eat, and be invisible. I'm still gonna keep moving foreword. I know I have all the help I need, here, and from my higher and helping powers, but sometimes it feels like I'm just choosing the lesser of two evils instead of a clear path to a better life.

Love, Dave