I have two methods of existence that are at odds with each other. The method in which I am highly skilled involves using a variety of stimuli to avoid feeling deep emotions. While I don't particularly abuse substances (my caffeine addiction is probably more mellow than that of the general population), I do tend to overwhelm myself with a series of passions and causes, contributing to my contrary nature and making my outsider status ever more concrete. Having a good memory helps, because I can always call up facts to support my lifestyle; human history is full of examples that justify not being successful at being normal.
That's fine, I am always kinda aware of my personality, and in recent years it has really worked out for me, probably because I care less about what people think of me, and that tends to inform what people think of me.
The other method is a drive to alleviate uncertainty and insecurity from every vector of my life possible, so my progeny may flourish in the hypothetical world that was better than the one I grew up in. Things like having a living income and food security, those things mean a lot to me as a parent, and I am a parent before anything else, because as I said, I can call up facts of history quite easily, and since I don't beat people, abuse drugs, or have difficulty with incarceration, parenting is really the only thing left to argue about with the voices of my parents that reside in my head.
Pain compensation vs. security seeking. Completely at odds in my heart.
So the obvious thing to me is to continue seeking the most engaging lifestyle for my family, and just deal with the shit that comes spewing from my heart. But it is hard when I want to cry every time Clover randomly catches my eye and smiles, or runs to my side when a loud sound invades from the outside, or enjoys the healthy food Susan makes for em. My instinct is to throw myself into a wall of activity, or to lash out at memories that seem to fade more and more each year. But I don't want to do that anymore. So I am being still.
In moments of stillness, I feel the energy in me in a counter-spin to the non-maiki existence outside. The fabric of my being feels fragile, like any amount of force will cause the whole cloth of my body to be shredded by these two maelstroms slamming into each other. But no force is to be had. Because while it is painful and harrowing and occupying and exhausting, I am the world, and there isn't any force, internal or out.
So I go back to chopping wood and carrying water. And finding a therapist (and watching movies alone, so I can cry is a dark room among strangers).