The Analytical Mind
“The mental features discoursed of as the analytical, are, in themselves, but little susceptible of analysis. We appreciate them only in their effects. We know of them, among other things, that they are always to their possessor, when inordinately possessed, a source of the liveliest enjoyment. As the strong man exults in his physical ability, delighting in such exercises as call his muscles into action, so glories the analyst in that moral activity which disentangles. He derives pleasure from even the most trivial occupations bringing his talents into play. He is fond of enigmas, of conundrums, of hieroglyphics; exhibiting in his solutions of each a degree of acumen which appears to the ordinary apprehension preternatural. His results, brought about by the very soul and essence of method, have, in truth, the whole air of intuition.”
Oh yes. I named my blog ‘Vanishing Red’ because that is what I am going to do. I no longer wish to have evil in my life, anger, betrayal, death. I am looking for light. I want to banish hatred. I am speaking for myself. These are changes for me. Thinking about things is not the same as doing them. Not anywhere close. I can say all the words I want to and in any order even and that doesn’t make an action. I make the action. I make the change. I bring the disorder upon myself. I require organization and security. Love doesn’t fit in until a pact can be reasoned. Allow me to explain…there is no more time for words and fluttering hearts. This is a time of war but not a bloody battle a war for myself. A war for my family. A war for what is right and what is great. I am serious. I am taking no prisoners.
I have been told, FOR YEARS, to listen to people around me. To take advice, if you will, from folks who are wiser than I or at least some subject matter experts. I tend to wander about doing my own thing but have come to realize that this doesn’t get me anywhere except for maybe a bump on the head. I am taking a class right now where it was suggested to write out my feelings, a common idea that I have heard before and USED to write amazing poetry but somehow let it slip away from me, and I’ve just always believed that “journaling” wouldn’t do a thing for me. Seeing as I am trying to actually listen with an activists ear, I figured I would give it a go. The least it could do is, oh I don’t know, help me. There are decisions and situations that go on in my everyday life that I don’t feel I can talk about because of the possible or actual judgement I will receive. Things that seem to make my heart happy but no one else just really understands. I am horrible at relationships. Terrible. Oblivious. Tragic. I am selfish. Stubborn. Close minded. Wrong. I have hurt others either intentionally or not and more often than not I regret it, actually regret, although I refuse to admit that I have and know regret. I say things I don’t mean. I’ve told people ‘I love you’ when I do not. I’ve looked men dead in the eye and said it and did not mean an ounce of it. I’ve used people. I’ve stolen from people. I’ve crushed a man’s soul because I though it was the right thing to do. And even then, even now, there are people willing to love me and I will never, ever understand. I get lonely, I get sad. I’m human. I have never felt more loved than in his arms. He is my rapture. My endeavor and I don’t believe I will ever meet him again. My tolerance level depends on how much I like you. My forgiveness is endless but my mental capacity for ‘pain’ and/or ‘work’ is very slight. I am a quitter in my own right. I’ve been told I am a quitter and I have been pushed to quit and allowed for it to happen. I have children with a man who I haven’t seen in years, who did drugs with me, hit me, raped me, bruised my inner-self for all of time, and yet, I still had children with him. Whether or not by my own choice, and it is not always a choice, it happened. I have daughters who look up to me. TO ME. I recently left a man I love dearly because I thought it was the best choice. I thought we had come a pass. So what do I do? I leave him and find another and instantly get pregnant. I mean instantly. Do I want a baby? Honestly? Not really. However, it puts things in perspective. I see my age and I see my past. I see my future and my heart and breath. I hear the voices of all my ghosts. They haunt my dreams. They haunt me in the day. Why do I quit? Because all ends anyway. Because I don’t feel I deserve to cross a finish line. Because I figure, they will grow tired of me. I don’t see how anyone can love me. I don’t feel like a decent, respectable woman. I feel like I’ve gotten by. Now. Don’t take this as though I am miserable and suicidal, no. I am not either of those things. I am proud of myself for the most part. I have worked hard to get where I am right this second and I have made changes that will not be changed back. I know what I am capable of both physically and mentally and I will not turn my back on myself or my children. I delight in knowing that, although small, my support system is steadfast and loving. I know I can live in a house with my children and be ok. I know that I can work and support my family by myself. I know that I can love someone with everything I have and NOT quit. I know I can. It has become now more real to me than ever before that control is bullshit. It’s a psycho mess of crap. It has become more real to me that my daughters need me and require me to survive and grow up in this life and I do not want them growing up without love and self-respect and knowledge. Who am I to deny them that? I cannot. I will not. For the first time, I can say, AND MEAN IT, I do not NEED a man. I can be alone. I desire it. I need the quiet and the peace and the time to know myself again. I cannot love another until my path is straight. To walk hand-in-hand down the path together requires discipline and faith. I am a hand-holder. Especially when he walks ahead and reaches back for mine.
