The frustration I feel is not congruent with what I am trying to do. I am sitting on my yoga mat trying to hold myself together because for the last hour, my parrot in the next room has been calling for me. He knows I am right around the corner, and yet he still calls. He knows I never respond while I am in the room, and yet he calls. His persistence is admirable. I can’t say I would have the staying power he does to keep calling when I get no answer.
I look for the lesson in this. Find the space between the noise. Appreciate the small silences. Yeah, ok. This is one of those things people like to teach, and maybe some can do it. I’m not one of them. I am frustrated to tears and honestly don’t care what the lesson is at this point.
Maybe the lesson is one of recognizing my limits. How long will I hold on? How hard will I fight the urge to give in or give up?
If this bird is any answer, about 30 minutes. 30 minutes is my limit, and I don’t care what is on the other side of the uncomfortableness.
I don’t need perfect conditions, just considerate ones.
I am a rock in the ocean, and the waves keep slamming…yeah…I don’t care. Today, the waves are chipping away at me, and I don’t care. Today, my threshold for breathing through the hard stuff is in the dirt, and that has to be ok too.
I wrote that in real time this morning. The frustration had brought me to tears, and as I do, I used that emotional energy to create words. I realize there are no spectacular words here, but I would like to reflect with a clear head now that I am hours removed from the experience.
It is funny how, while emotion may drive some of my writing, it also muddies the water of my mind. While I couldn’t see any relevance this morning, this afternoon, with a calmer mind, I am finding some.
For the last six months, my ex-husband has had an obsession with me. For context, we have not seen each other in over six years and have been divorced for 10. This obsession is new and has only escalated this past week when he showed up at my house. He has created an elaborate story in which I have inherited some money from a family I am not related to, which, in turn, drove my current husband and daughter to murder me and create an elaborate cover-up using AI. In the past week, the plot has expanded to include my sister, whom he believes had plastic surgery to pose as me in photos on social media.
I only mention this to draw a comparison between my parrot’s (Romeo) persistence and my ex’s newfound obsession.
It has led me to a question: How much of obsession is driven by instinct? Or, in other words, how much of the brain needs to be online to temper obsession?
Parrots are wild animals. They are extremely intelligent, but if you have lived with one, you know that a lot of their behavior is still very much driven by instinct.
Depending on the species, they will call at predictable times, feel the need to see their flock members at all times, or even decide that all socks are threats and must be eradicated from the nest. While their instinctual behaviors can be interrupted and redirected, as soon as the distraction is gone, they are likely to revert.
I am not comparing my birds to my ex to be ugly or demeaning in any way; I genuinely find the similarities in instinctual drive and obsession a bit fascinating.
For example, one of my parrots may be trying to bite the couch. I go “Aht” and it stops. As long as I am looking at the bird, it leaves the couch alone. As soon as I look away, they try it again. I have observed this type of seemingly defiant behavior enough to think they really just can’t help themselves. Unless someone is keeping their brain focused on anything else, they are self-driven.
I think the same thing is happening with the ex. Because drugs are a factor here, I think they are altering the part of the brain that keeps him from running on instinct, therefore making him run on instinct. I think this because even though the obsession and story-making have been going on for six months now, there have been times of quietness. I can’t help but think that during those times, he was either distracted or not doing whatever it is that is making his brain go primitive.
I realize I am making a lot of jumps and claims about brains and how they work. I have zero training or formal knowledge in this area. I also realize I am not considering a plethora of other possibilities that are playing a role in his behavior. However, the curiosity remains.
Another possibility is that my threshold for Romeo’s antics was exceptionally low because of recent events with the ex. Maybe that was the message. Not a lesson, but a message.
The message being that this whole ordeal is affecting me.
Let’s revisit what I said in the heat of the moment about Romeo: I am frustrated to tears. I don’t need perfect conditions, just considerate ones. I am a rock in the ocean, and the waves keep slamming.
I wasn’t talking about Romeo.
