Sixth week of Suffering: OK, now have I hit bottom?

FEBRUARY 11, 2010

I feel like I'm having a mental breakdown. Yes, I have a flare for the dramatic, but it's the same flare that ignites passion and adventure and intellect. It's valid and overwhelming to feel pulled in so many directions: emotionally, academically, professionally, personally. That's 400%. I'm sorry, but I'm exhausted. Every time I close my eyes to rest for only a moment, I am triggered awake again by the sensation of urgency to accomplish another task, to fulfill yet another obligation to someone or something. I have seldom had a moment of prolonged "peace and quiet" since the quarter began six weeks ago. Of course, I am fine. I am young and energetic and I can handle it. And I am and I do. This is a pattern of behavior that I recognize, and I know that I will do everything I need to do. Because I always do. But not without huge effort.

However, the emotional charges that flow through my blood when provoked by a statement in Suffering, or a personal reaction I experience, are more/additional stress hormones that are being pumped into my system. Deep breathing and getting in touch with the deep bond I have with my cat reminds me that I can connect with the mentality that I must compartmentalize the empathy. I never really knew how to do this before Suffering. I don't think I'm very good at it, though, because the emotions are seeping out. And tears flow from my eyes not because I am inspired to cry by a particular emotion I am feeling, but because I am feeling them all together, at once, and they are oozing out of the cracks in the emotional cages I have constructed in my mind to hold them back.

And this shit is getting into my dreams, just like my professor says she experiences every time she teaches a course on animals. Here is the setup for my nightmare: My big huge squeaky cat Marley is orange and white, like a creamcicle, and he has incredibly long and luscious fur that makes him look like a gigantic ball of orange fluff. He's quite skittish and maybe not the smartest cat that ever was, but when it comes to giving snugs he is a legend. He squeaks in short staccato bursts instead of bellowing out masculine meows, but the thing that makes Marley seem most like a cartoon character is his tail. He has the biggest, longest, poofiest tail I have ever seen on a kitty. It practically has its own personality.

Here is the nightmare: Marley comes and wakes me up with head-butting snugs and his squeaky, panicky, chanting-like call tells me immediately that he is in distress. I notice right away that his tail is gone. Where his long fluffy fluffiness is supposed to be there are two finger-like feelers (similar to the Avatar movie animal bonding thing). But Marley is in so much pain! Someone has just pulled off his tail! I am physically reacting to this dream, and I am becoming very stressed. I am sweating and I searching everywhere for his tail. I find it, I pick it up and it's flopping around in my hands like a dying fish. Marley is squealing and his tail is flopping and I am horrified. I begin to recognize that I am dreaming when I realize there is no blood, and I slowly become conscious and realize I am crying, winded, sweating and generally distressed. I am awake, I get up to use the bathroom. It's 6:30am. And now I've started my day with another panic attack.

But I can't stop. I have another class with other obligations and deadlines and the expectation that I will give 100% in that direction as well. And I will. Because that's what I do.

I'm just tired.