I had a therapist who often found me remarkable.
“Most people come in and tell me that their boss is an idiot, but when you tell me that, you then to proceed to explain all the reasons why they are doing what they are doing.”
That’s one of the problems with being a shaman. You tend to see through people, which fills you with a sense of their humanity. This makes it hard to be anything but compassionate.
The problem is that while they are doing the best they can in the moment, they are also being blind, ignorant & short sighted, acting out and offering rationalizations. They are human.
Those behaviours, though, can make you legitimately angry.
I have been getting more and more brittle over the past weeks.
I was furious over an MP3 player that took over double the promised time to ship, and then did not include the promised FM Radio & Voice Recorder.
I got angry at HRC’s crazy claim that 1 in 12 transpeople are murdered, and furious that when I questioned NTAC about the source of the claim, all I got was the snippy answer “And you are?” Yeah, when the question is too challenging, better to challenge the standing of the person asking it.
I get the premise behind this. They slipped up checking the product from the manufacturer, after five years of trans activism, challenges feel nasty. Human slipups, emotions, behaviours.
I know how to be compassionate & reasonable. But that doesn’t seem to stop me from being frustrated, angry and hurt.
Of course, much if not most of this is the outcome of my everyday tradeoffs. I can’t get out of the challenge of cleaning up after a couple of aging people with their own limits, can’t get out of the role of being small to keep them comfortable.
But my head pounds, my limbs are full of tension, my heel spur bothers me all the time, and I don’t seem to be able to get any relief.
The new drug my mother is taking is making her better, more alert and active. That means she demands more, more waiting for her to decide what she wants. My father is facing a hip replacement this summer — that’s lots of work for me.
My support systems, thin as they are, are pretty well collapsed. Lezlie hasn’t answered in over a week — probably a busy time in her family. Still, the expectation of the third gotcha hangs over me, assuming that things will just go to shit over third hand fear — “You can’t really trust someone like that, can you?”
I am frayed and rotted, but as they say, nobody wants to hear it. I am angry & hurting, and I am understanding & compassionate, and everything throbs.