(How To) De-compartmentalize Your Emotions

"And the strain of the primitive remained alive and active. Faithfulness and devotion, things born of fire and roof were his, yet he retained his wildness and wiliness. And from the depths of the forest, a call still sounded." – Jack London, Call of the Wild

Even if it’s been weeks or months since you neatly tucked away neuroticism in the crisper drawer, and separated vengeance, pain and rage with Tupperwares—must keep those apart for sure—and heaped grief and un-requited love into separate zip-lock bags, and betrayal, well, that’s still in the pot, in the back of the figurative fridge, even after all of that mental tidying, there remains an innate need to re-open and taste the seeping, moldy, noxious humors of your own emotional leftovers. Great, you’re thinking, how the hell do I do that?

I recommend howling. No, seriously. I’ve been researching wolves lately, well wolves and crows—crows have and always will follow me (insert maniacal laugh), which is another story for another blog. But I have always been fascinated by wolves, and, also have grown increasingly envious. I wish I could go somewhere and howl. Even if wolves rarely tilt-back and screech for emotional reasons, the necessity to howl for communication remains.

How liberating would it be just to climb a rock and scream at the sky—the world? To purge emotion through sound and not temporary tidying is something I need to do—we all probably do, either that or we’ll die young of bowel disorders.

My neighbors either acquired a trampoline or had an orgy last night, or both. Probably both. So in revolt to their constant partying and wee-hour stereo blasting—I swear if I hear Party in the USA one more time—I picked up my cello. We all know I play loudly, but how loudly? Well, believe it or not (I recommend believing it) but I actually managed to drown out the thump-thumpery and giggling. But once I figured out I could actually win, in a way, (winning, will be blasting Carmina Burana, Spice Girls, and every Boy Band song EVER—on repeat—during finals week, and no, I have yet to open and deal with the vengeance Tupperware) I couldn’t stop.

Like howling, cello-ing is a necessity for me. Cello playing is my howling. I howled for hours. I didn’t think I still had it in me, but I did. The more I played the better I sounded, and felt, which in turn caused me to play more. I felt such peace, which lasted until 4 am when the stereo blasting returned to full volume. Then I took Tylenol PM and passed out. Like I said, Carmina Burana.

Hey, I’m not afraid of confrontation. So why not just confront the thirty or so drunken football players and cheerleaders and kindly ask them to quiet down? Hmm? Probably because it would go something like this:

0200 Fictional Random Party Night, Neighbor's Room

“Knock-knock.”
“BOOM-BOOM.”
“Knock-knock-knock-KNOCK!”
“Thump-boom-thump-boom-yea Smitty!”
“KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK!”
“Hold on, yea, it’s that bitchy blonde chick who never talks to us and just goes from class to her room yea the one that walks with her ass out.”
“Hello?”
“Hi. I live next door and my eardrums are bleeding. Could you please turn down your, um, ‘music’?”
“Uh, sure. Want to play some pong?”
“Wha-no. Don’t you people think I’m a bitch or something?’
“Yeah, but you’re also hot.”
“I’ve always appreciated the Greek take on Theatre; they keep the violence off stage.”

Exit Naomi.

Yea, something like that. Maybe I can take out the moldy emotions and use them as ordinance? Mixed metaphor? Whatever. Back to the question at hand; how does one de-compartmentalize emotions? Howling, check. Now what? Howling is a start, but I have a feeling that tears will soon be a part of this process as well as ultimately opening the creepy pot of betrayal in the dark recesses of the fridge. Lord only knows what lifting that lid will unleash. Like Vulcans purging all emotion, de-compartmentalizing offers a luxury. But, unlike Vulcans, this is temporary for humans.

I’ll just admit it now, I’m afraid of the fridge. I’m afraid of what I’ll find. I don’t know if I have the strength to deal with that mess when simply maintaining this compartmentalization has exhausted me. And if admitting that the events of the last months have significantly affected me and still bother me by more than simple petulance, means I am weak or neurotic, then I accept that. At least I’m man enough to admit I have issues. I bear my weaknesses, not with pride, but with candles of hope.

I can't end this like that, I'm just not feeling it. I also need to point out that you never get a 12-step plan from me when I post "how to" blogs. That's because despite my judging preference, I usually skip steps 2-9 anyway. Which is going to make this even more interesting.