DISCLAIMER: this blog is mine & mine alone. Thou shalt not blame family nor friends nor employer for what you may read here.
I'm prone to mood swings, a not-so-great side of me that's caused more than it's fair share of problems in my past. Little things eat at me. I can feel the acidic angst eating away a thin veneer of steel in my gut, and when it breaches that shell, it burns. Even though I've tried to tell myself "it doesn't matter", "it shouldn't matter", it still does. Others have tried to get through to me using similar strategy, potentially different tactics. I've had family lecture in scorn, ex's shun, friends desert. Everyone tries to get me to "just drop it". The message rarely varies from a theme all-too-often heard. And yes, in a way, inside my selfish room-for-one at the Agony Inn, I'll admit they're right. Life is short. Too short to waste minutes or hours, let alone days, letting the little things fester. But yet, as much as I acknowledge the truth, I continue these little self-destructive cycles, letting myself get pulled into the eddy of darkness.
And then there's the other side of me, the Eagle that soars above it all. Allow me to explain. I am a Scorpio, born November 5. When I was a young adult my mother gave me a book on astrology by Linda Goodman. If I'm not mistaken, the title of her book is Sun Signs. If you're at all interested in astrology & want to know what makes yourself or someone else tick, by all means pick it up. The book covers all the astrological signs from Aries to Pisces. The author paints a picture of each sign in widescreen, and then narrows the focus to the man, woman, child, and boss of each sign. Upon receiving the book I immediately sequestered myself to the confines of my bedroom, laid down, and read the section on Scorpio. And again. As I read the words it dawned on me. Answers to so many questions I'd had about myself were answered. As I've aged I see more & more Scorpio in me. I couldn't hide who I am nor deny my nature if I tried. But of course, the Scorpio - knowing him/herself so well for better or worse - will never do that. Back to the Eagle reference. The Scorpio has three sides, or animal representations of himself. The Scorpio, the gray lizard, and the eagle. The Eagle chooses to ignore injustice, and in seeking Right, soars above it all. The Scorpio, when wronged, stings. And stings. And stings, sometimes to the point of killing itself. And the gray lizard, well the gray lizard lets things boil, seethe, and ruminates on issues to no end.
Where was I? Ah yes, trying to soar like the Eagle. The Eagle side of me is born & bred to face adversity, and of course, triumph. Give the oogie boogies an ass-beating of a lifetime & banish them for good. The Eagle is the side of the Scorpio fireman that sheds fear & self-concern to rescue victims from a towering inferno; the GI that charges machine gun nests to divert fire from his platoon mates. But the Eagle also forgives, and forgets. I do have Eagle within me. I haven't had a disastrous life, but I've survived my fair share of shit. The Eagle is the side of a Scorpio that triumphs in the face of certain defeat. So I know I have it within me to get down, but then get up, and get over. But there are times the Eagle cannot fly, and the gray lizard emerges.
It's the gray lizard that lets the little things get to him, and my gray lizard has been running the show the past couple of days. I know that, especially when it comes to the workplace, everyone of us is expendable. But some days that hardly seems so. After a fantastic long weekend I attended an off-site work function yesterday, and mostly enjoyed myself. But once I got home & logged into the work network, the firestorm raged out of control. Problems here, problems there. Chicken Littles many, declaring the sky is falling. I felt like Atlas, holding up the world. Expectations unmet, demands running rampant, and minor emergencies all laid at my doorstep, whether they belonged there or not. What choice do I have? As there's only one of me, there is no "divide & conquer", I am an Army of One. And the Army of One was called on again today, and put through a bloody firefight. More impossible expectations, time over-scheduled, an avalanche of demands thundering down the mountainside, bound straight for my head.
In my place of work I have a unique set of skills. This is at once a blessing and a curse. It's a blessing because in many ways it makes me a more vital cog in the machine than one person should rightfully be. It's a curse because, well, no one can what I do, like I do it. You may think me braggart for dubbing myself an Army of One, but it's no exaggeration. I have very little backup for my position. I don't have the luxury of sending an email to a colleague & attaching the problems at hand for them to cope with. In theory this is great for the check writers - it reduces overhead by multitasking resources. But it's also inherently dangerous, as there's no "hit by the bus" list. If I win the lottery & take flight or lose touch with my mental faculties & go off the deep end, there is no second choice. I am Plan B. So, the shit hits any one of five fans, it splatters on me.
I have something of a masochistic streak. Periodically I enjoy causing myself varying degrees of pain, just to see how much I can take and in the process, become stronger. This side of me relishes the challenge, mostly out of love and lust for the thrill of victory. I guess you'd say I have a hero complex in that sense. Like King Leonidas of Spartan fame, I put on my game face as I face the seemingly insurmountable odds of the Persian empire. Yes, I know Leonidas' end, but it's not mine. I triumph.
I can, and I usually do. And therein lies the rub: I know I have the skills, audacity, and talent to get things done. My track record proves this out. So why do I let many little fires ignite the whole forest? I wish I knew. That begs the initial question: what's the point? I abhor drama in my personal relationships, and I loathe to foster it, but I have the dubious talent of letting it consume me on occasion when it comes to work. I know everything will work out. It always does. All it takes is a deep breath, a clear head, and some tact. But there are days when I fail to muster one, let alone all three of those tools. When I self-analyze I think that maybe I'm waiting for the brush fire to ignite the mountainside, thus providing the opportunity to step in and save the day, playing the Hero once again.
Foolish, silly, and even self-aggrandizing in a way. The more efficient way to cope would be to adopt the catch line from a long-past deodorant commercial: "never let 'em see you sweat". I live with the duality of being fiery, molten, on the verge of eruption while also commanding a cool, calm, collected confidence that Michael Jordan would admire. It's a matter of which side I choose to indulge at a given time that's makes the difference. And I know this. I also know that my mental health would improve if I were to choose the C4 approach instead of the flamethrower. I also know that my personal relationships would improve. Perhaps some (aside from the familial ties that forever bind) would have lasted.
So here I sit, having some answers, but not all. I know what I do wrong, when, and to some degree why. But it's lacking an airtight answer to the question of why that keeps me up at night. Hopefully as time passes I get closer to the answer, and can get some sleep.
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