A Gift For My Triggers.
Here’s the dilemma:
Are you honest or are you nice?
Because if we’re being honest, a lot of people like to fuck with other people. And that ain’t nice.
When we’re honest a bunch of feelings are likely to get hurt. But when we’re not honest feelings still get hurt.
Feelings are extra sensitive because a lot of people, all over the world, are carrying a lot of trauma, and pain that they keep masked and stuffed down.
And when some people are openly and actively working through their shit it triggers tf out of people who’re still denying and repressing their trauma.
I caught myself this afternoon – mid-aggro-rising, as my mind cycled through all of the ways I was upset by a very trivial matter.
Then I stopped. I reminded myself of some sage-ass bullshit advice the Dali Lama once gave a group of girls where he pinpointed the root of unhappiness as our expectations.
We’re only put off or put out when reality, and other people, fail to match our personal expectations. And who the fuck do we think we are anyway, right?
I’m processing a few disappointments (a handful, an eternity, whichever) and I think I’m managing fairly well.
There are things that happen that you accept, reflect upon, and then let go.
Then there are your fucking triggers.
Triggers are constantly threatening to derail a bitch on her pathway to being mad chill, becoming super zen, and trying to mentally prepare to surrender this individual soul back to the Oneness.
Because no way, no shot, am I’m trying to reincarnate back to this place.
So what do I do with my triggers?
Do I keep it one hundred with myself and react honestly and authentically – spaz out when they hit, avoid them for as long as I can?
Do I sit with exposed emotions in “acceptance and compassion” and go to that visualized room in my mind – up in my third eye, that safe place the New Age crew tells you to imagine in mediation – and turn my triggers around in my imaginary hand, and examine them like they are a plaything, and then decide that I’m bored with these particular toys, put them in a box and send the fuss back down an energetic shoot to get cleansed in the molten lava of the core of the Earth?
Because, first of all, in real life. Stahp.
Curing triggers can not be that easy.
I’ve identified them. I know what the fuck triggers me. I know what I like and what I don’t like and I know why certain things make me feel how they do and I know exactly how they make me feel.
What I don’t know yet is how not to be triggered anymore. I also don’t know whether or not I can re-integrate people back into my life without dispensing eternal and thinly-veiled punishment to them for the initial betrayal.
I’m going to create a composite of an individual:
A person I admire. This is someone I find attractive, warm, engaging, funny, intriguing, smart enough to hold my attention. This is someone I will bond to (or with) in some way.
I will follow cues and leads, and engage in whatever ways make me feel safe and respected.
Communication with this person will eventually become sporadic, unpredictable, disconnected, and for me unfulfilling. Where a bond was developing, I will begin to believe – convinced by the broken communication – that the bond is dissolving or has already dissolved.
I will become reluctant to re-engage. As time goes I won’t want to engage at all.
The other person, however, probably won’t understand this. And they won’t even be fully aware of where the breakdown happened. They might take offense to my reaction. War of the Words might ensue. I’ll go cold. Eventually, after my icewall melts we’ll sort of reconnect.
But it will never be the same.
The other person may or may not apologize, tell me they love me, tell me they were an idiot, promise to show me exactly how they feel about me this time around, indirectly compliment me by way of fumbling and stumbling over their words…
This composite is a handful of real life people, and not all of them men, and not all of them former lovers (a good majority though).
This person isn’t my trigger, their behavior is.
What I’m maybe, possibly, pretending to consider, attempting to work through, but most likely abandoning all together, is my deeper need for stronger and longer lasting emotional bonds.
I know why the need is there. Who cares?
What I don’t know is how to neutralize the need. What I don’t know is how to avoid the composite-persons who are either incapable of, or disinterested in, forming real bonds with me.
What I’m also looking to rid myself of is the bullshit that follows after the disconnect.
I don’t need to be told you’re a fucking idiot, for how you acted with me. I know that. I don’t need to be told how remarkable or intelligent I am now that you’re no longer an important part of my day. I don’t need anyone’s empty, useless fucking compliments (spoken to make the giver feel better).
What I need is genuine encouragement from people who care about my growth, success, dreams, and feelings.
The lines, and the pretense, and phony e-mails, and the comments, and over-reaching need for the other party to prove to me, to themselves, to on-lookers that we’re on good terms — this sets me off worse than the initial detachment.
I don’t get back on good terms with people unless I apologize. Because when I apologize, when I befriend, when I offer help, when I do anything I do it like I mean it. Because I’m fucking honest.
Once I get close to someone and they pull back I can mirror the pull-back better than most. I can process out some detachment. There are no “good terms” once you fuck up with me.
We revert to the terms of strangers. I’m polite. You’re not allowed in.