June 2022 Composed in a Kentucky valley.
I’ve put off posting this for many months. It seemed out of place. Perhaps it still is. Here, nonetheless, is a little lighter fare.
Some time ago, I was told not to use specific ringtones or text tones for love interests. The rationale made sense: the text tone becomes a trigger, an addiction as much as the love interest may be. I deleted personalized tones for a couple of men in my life.
The problem became one of uncertainty: now every nonspecific chime of my phone could potentially be one or the other of them. I had zero desire to associate with and wanted to avoid but wasn’t ready to block Mr. I Don’t Have Time for Your Ish (IDHTFYI).* The other I missed far too much: The Wrong Man (TWM).
Inevitably, I snatched my phone up every time it chimed. Inevitably, I was frustrated by my reaction to the chime and by the chime itself.
Ultimately, I returned TWM’s personalized text tone to functional and left Mr. IDHTFYI on the standard chime. If TWM texted, I would know and emotionally prepare one way or the other. If IDHTFYI texted, I could choose to disregard the standard chime or not. I would answer or not and was no longer given to grabbing the phone every time a text came through attached to that nonspecific chime.
On the rare occasion that TWM texted, my heart pounded. Something about that man triggered heart-racing nervousness that was immediately resolved into utter calm when his voice crawled through the ether. It was a classic, feel-good drug: a high followed by deep relaxation. Just as I had been told I would, I became addicted as much to that text tone as I was to his optimism, sometime-stolidity, and the rich timbre of his voice. I tolerated the addiction. As with most addictions, I usually liked it.
Here is where I find myself amused in a sort of poignant way: I can trigger that anxious, hopeful feeling just by hearing the sound itself.
I didn’t know this without stumbling into it. I might never have known it, had an Apple iOS update not disrupted my settings.
iOS updates are often helpful, but they can reset things or remove functions and files. I have had music ringtones in use for years that have suddenly vanished because of a change in copyright. When this happened recently for a ringtone for a family member, I set about searching for a new tone.
I casually began testing each tone in iOS and in my library, having forgotten the name of the one I used for TWM. At least, having forgotten right up to the split second before my thumb made contact with the glass and my memory neurons said, “Oh no. Abort! Abort! Abort!”
Too late.
And there it was, clanging in my head, that jarring, special tone just for him.
My rational brain absolutely comprehended that I pressed that button. My autonomic nervous system said him him him and responded: heart racing, hands starting to shake, heat rushing to my neck.
(Pause to catch my breath)
This has been a strange and eventful week.
Nothing has happened on the exterior. I’ve been trapped in this valley thinking thinking thinking. What else could I do? Anxiety caused by the mountains kept me frozen. Isolation prevented any socializing.
All the work has been interior; mental games with myself as I sat alone and watched happy or not-so-happy families play on the water. I played out little verbal battles, in my head or on my writing app, over how I got to this space and where I’m going to end up.
I have spent so much time examining the negative aspects of brain chemistry: c-PTSD, trauma response, and relationship recovery. It was important (personal) work and no doubt there is more yet to do.
However, I’ve neglected the positive aspects of brain chemistry: the attachments triggered by the dopamine response, oxytocin, and serotonin receptors with regard to our children, our pets, and our romantic entanglements. I’ve disregarded how Sam’s snuggles can almost instantly cheer me out of a good cry; how my daughter’s sunshine brings me joy and hope; how TWM’s calm demeanor and voice were such a balm on my soul because they triggered the same neurochemical receptors as all those other wonderful things did.
As much of a jolt as that sound was in that moment, realizing how it made me feel, even though completely detached from TWM, made me understand how much “love,” or at least its inception, often relies on chemical response. I birthed my child: oxytocin. My ex-husband once held my hand and promised to “hug all [my] problems away”: oxytocin. Sam looked at me sweetly, imploring my help getting him out of Surfside doggy jail: oxytocin. A beautiful man held me and stared at me for long moments with hardly a word: oxytocin.
Ah well. If I keep thinking about this, I will either turn mushy(er?) or deeply cynical. Instead, I shall put the phone down and make a mental note to commit that text tone name to memory so I don’t jolt myself like that again. Deleting isn’t an option. I refer you to the above-mentioned problem of uncertainty. As long as the text tone is there, I won’t jump at every text. Blocking isn’t an option because—reasons.
*I laugh here because if any of my former “interests” or my ex were to read this, I wonder if any of them would steam when he assumed he was Mr. IDHTFYI? Who wouldn’t care? Since I no longer hear from any of them, it’s clear they don’t have time for my ish, either. 🙂
Last Updated on April 26, 2023 by Lee Ellis
