Tuesday, October 14, 2008


I know my words tumble out sometimes like ill-behaved children rolling down a hill after church while wearing their Sunday finery. Messy, messy words.
Pg. 94
Instant Love
By Jami Attenberg

For years I committed foul acts of messy, messy words. I spewed them freely, telling stories and details to countless friends and acquaintances. I considered myself interesting and outgoing. People would admire and hang on my words and exploits. My opinions were golden. My advice unfailing.

I am a verbal processor, but one still needs to use discretion with who's the processee. Share-check-share.

I think I had stuffed so much inside that I spewed all the current experiences and details because there was no room. The data cells had run out of memory--nowhere to put any more.

I would hate myself after a spew. I would walk away and think, "Why did I give that person such a huge piece of myself?" I imagined carelessly breaking off and handing off huge pieces of me, indiscriminately.

We never addressed this directly in therapy. It just stopped. With an appropriate listener, I no longer had need for inappropriate processees. I feel more whole, more relaxed, less regret, less fragmented.

There are no extra pieces of me available; no fire sales or giveaways. I save me for myself and those I hold dear.

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