Hooked on a Feeling

I can’t stop this feeling
Deep inside of me
Man, you just don’t realize
What you do to me

When it holds me
In its grip so tight
It lets me know
That I’m always right!

I’m hooked on a feeling
I’m high on believing
That you’re an idiot!

I could go on, but I think I’ve made my point.

What, oh what, dear blogoverse, am I high on?
RIGHTEOUS INDIGNATION!
Oh, man, I can get high as a fucking kite off of anger.

So, a few days ago, my possible/hopeful/maybe(?) SLAA sponsor, Lee, and I were discussing anger, and getting high off of righteous indignation.  I brought it up with Sid last night.

Man, I had a whole other post started, mostly in my head, after my session last night.  I felt *good.*  Sid said nice things about me.  And I *gasp* believed him!  Maybe a little.  I mean, I think we covered a lot of ground otherwise, too.  But, yeah, I felt good.  I wanted to write a whole post about that, and then I opted for sleep instead. 😛

He also pointed out that that “spinning,” or hamster wheel, or whatever you want to call it… where I obsess about things (see my last post!) is also a way for me to get high.
Fuck.  He’s right.
And I totally did that this morning, but I’ll come back to that (maybe).

So, today we did a walk-through of the house with our realtor–the one who we bought the house with.

To say it was triggering would be a gross understatement.

It’s always triggering to go back into that house.  4+ years of memories, belongings… all the hopes and dreams that came with the purchase of that house.  The decorating of the nursery (I love that nursery!)…  There’s a lot of pain and sadness in those walls, too.

Well.  When the realtor, her handyman, and I made it to the one bathroom (Seth was picking Emma up from daycare, and waylaid by traffic)… I saw his damn girlfriend’s motherfucking razor, toothbrush, and tiny toiletries bag on the counter.

Fuck.

Seriously?
SERIOUSLY?!

I wanted to throw it, stomp on it… I wanted to place it all right behind my tire so that I’d run it over.  Or maybe behind his tire, so that he’d run it over.  I did none of those things.  But holy shit I wanted to.

RAWR!  ANGRY!  HE’S AN IDIOT!  AND I’M RIGHT!

Ok.  Yeah.  And?  So what if he’s an idiot, and I’m right?

BUT BUT BUT ANGER NUMBS THE PAIN.

Oh.  There it is.  If I focus on being angry then I don’t have to feel the hurt, sadness, betrayal… every teeny tiny stab into my heart.

Ow.

Fuck him.  Fuck her.  Fuck her fucking pink razor and fucking toothbrush and fucking pink toiletries bag.

And I really, really, REALLY don’t want to cry. 😦

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