My brain, I suppose, is Dr. Octopus' fusion reactor here. And almost all the time, it's functioning pretty according to plan. Occasionally, there are little surges of stress, but there is usually an equivalent of Dr. Octopus' tentacles in my head (my superego, I suppose, if you want to get Freudian and jiggy wit' it) to calm and contain such surges. But then occasionally, when everything accumulates or something really sets me off, I have somewhat of a "containment breach", that is simply too large to be held back by mere tentacles, and then, for the next little bit, I have to mediate it accordingly, lest I, as Kristy aptly completed the metaphor, "become Dr. Octopus".
That's a bit of a dark reading - and besides, I think I lack the qualifications to be a disgruntled, insane, homicidal nuclear physicist, let alone one with four artificially intelligent mechanical arms that I designed grafted to my back. At best, I'm qualified to write about such an individual, and what he means ideologically, or whatever. In reality, it's more likely I'll just briefly fixate on being worried about whatever set me off, maybe get some tightness in the chest, and I notice I always feel very deliberate about my breathing. If its really persistent, occasionally I find my stomach getting all knotted up, the chest pain will worsen, and I'll realize my whole body is tensing up to the point where my face and jaw hurt. I haven't had that extreme happen in a while (honestly, barely even the first rung of this has happened for a while), thankfully, though it was fairly common last fall.
I write this not to be indulgent, for a change (don't think I can't see you rolling your eyes, hypothetical reader), but because I was in the midst of feeling pretty stressed when I started writing this, and wanted to see if documenting it - publicly for once; I've written in my journal about this relatively extensively - would help calm me down. In the summer, when it turned out I had been (I think...?) experiencing some psychosomatic anxiety responses, the best remedy was to very factually and deliberately repeat to myself "This is a psychosomatic anxiety response, nothing more", and just let things trickle away. The key was not trying to force it out ("I'm FINE"), but just acknowledging what was going on in my body, and allowing it to exist, "without judgement", as they very helpfully say in yoga. My Dad's buddhism-derived metaphor of letting feelings flow around and out of you like water has also proved a very helpful visualization to gravitate to. And, oddly enough, in my own experience anyway, there actually is some credence to that old maxim of "If you smile long enough, you'll trick yourself into feeling happy". This might not work for everyone or all the time, but it has worked for me from time to time, so it's worth a shot. And, if nothing else, my Mom taught me to drink a shit-ton of water, so your body can pee out the chemicals making you anxious, which will otherwise remain in your system for a while. Again - this can't hurt. Unless you drink too much water and get a stomachache, I suppose. Don't do that.
Writing about things like this is a tricky prospect, though. There's always the fear that the act of putting these feelings into words might make them worse, through interrogating them in more depth. Then, it's natural to be resistant to retrospectively write about such feelings when you're not currently experiencing them, for fear of setting yourself off. I've felt both, and I realize writing things down isn't everyone's cup of tea. But it does work wonders for me. Granted, I am an extrovert, and it generally helps me to dump out the thoughts and feelings in my head, but there's something more privately healing and affirming about doing it through writing, rather than conversationally. It allows me more command over what's going on with me, rather than getting sidetracked in conversation, and I worry less about blathering on for too long and capsizing the conversation.
So, I suppose I started writing this more to help calm myself down (which it mostly has), but also on the off chance that anyone else might care for some stress solidarity on a gloomy Monday morning, or care to pilfer any of my means of addressing and rectifying surges of stress. Feel free, and, if anyone actually is reading this silly tome regularly, I encourage you to comment in regards to your own experience or means of keeping equilibrium if you feel comfortable doing so.
Or, if you're just here to enhance yo brains, I even found a fact for you! Now wasn't that nice of me?
#52: There are currently no Canadian women on any monetary bills.
Obviously the Queen still adorns the $20 bill, but she, at this rate, is the only woman on our money period. There have been no Canadian women on any bank notes in Canada since 2011, where the first Canadian women depicted on money, The Famous 5 celebrating the Persons case and Thérèse Casgrain (on the reverse side of the $50 bill from William Lyon Mackenzie King), were replaced by an image of an icebreaker. Namely, the only representation of famous Canadian women on our money was replaced by an old old wooden ship. Ron Burgundy's words could not be more topical.
There was a big deal when women WERE included on monetary bills in the U.K. recently, but even they did it in reaction to the fact that Canada ditched all of theirs. D'oh...
Anyway, if you are similarly miffed by such things, there is a petition here to implement more Canadian women on our money, if you'd care to express your two cents to the government. If not, seeing as I'm feeling much calmer, I'm going to delve into my massive workload du jour. Sayonara!
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