I don't have much to say, but I know people check here for updates and I feel like it's been long enough since I posted that at this point something is better than nothing. So here's something which is only barely better than nothing.
The basic gist of things is that there are storm clouds all around my head lately, and wasps swarming inside of it, and concrete on my feet and in my eyelashes. It's been this way for about 2 or 3 weeks now. Things sometimes clear up for a few hours, but once the clouds roll back in it's hard to get anything done. Also I hate writing blog posts when I feel this way, because I always think they sound over-dramatic and ridiculous.
Objectively, my life is pretty decent. This is a fact. But these things start slowly and then take on a life of their own. It seems like sometimes my brain sets the stage, circumstances provide a little push, and that's all it takes to get the ball rolling. Like when you wake up in the morning and some big stupid thing happens, like you drop an iron on your foot, and then you're pissed, and then everything that happens after that is colored by the fact that you dropped an iron on your foot, and then you're just a mud puddle or a missed bus away from throwing a shit fit in your favorite deli because they don't have the bread you like. Except in my case the dropped iron is a family problem I can't really talk about, and the minor annoyances are perceived rejections and insults from various friends and loved ones, and the shit fit I'm throwing is a lot of sleeping and eating and watching Criminal Minds re-runs.
So I don't know what my point is. I guess just to say that I'm still here and I think of you often, but you're better off that you don't have to read nonsense like this every day. Eventually the clouds will roll out or whatever they do, and I'll be back to posting photos of my running shoes. I'm thinking of buying a new pair, and you'll be the first to know.
Showing posts with label mental health. Show all posts
Showing posts with label mental health. Show all posts
Friday, May 27, 2011
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
Why I Abandoned My Quest for Omniscience
I used to be a big believer in the importance of knowing THE TRUTH. It always seemed very important to me to know the truth about things, particularly other people's feelings and opinions about me. Because I am super self-absorbed, apparently. I wanted to know things like, Do my friends secretly think my haircut is stupid? Does my boyfriend really think I'm the prettiest girl in the world? Does my mom think I'm obnoxious? I felt very strongly that I would rather know THE TRUTH and be miserable, than be misled and deluded and happy. (I also felt that most constantly happy people were probably happy because they were too stupid to know better.) Unfortunately, my strongly-held convictions were based on two faulty assumptions:
1) That people have absolute feelings and opinions that are unchanging and completely knowable.
2) That my happiness should in some way be dependent on the feelings and opinions of others.
I don't really believe those things anymore, for a lot of reasons. One big reason for my change in philosophy was the end of a 4-year-long, mostly disastrous relationship. A lot of my happiness at the time depended on what my boyfriend thought of me, and when the relationship imploded for the final time, all I wanted was validation. I was basically OK with the fact that the relationship was over, but it had ended badly enough that I wasn't sure if he had ever actually loved me. I felt that I needed to know whether he had or not; it felt like everything hinged on that fact. If he had never loved me, then the last 4 years of my life had been a waste and I should be appropriately miserable and ashamed. If he had loved me at some point, then that made everything OK. Until I knew THE TRUTH, I couldn't let it go.
Unfortunately, there were some serious obstacles between me and THE TRUTH. For one, I had vowed (in a quite dramatic fashion, as is my way) never to speak to my ex-boyfriend again. For another, even if I broke my promise and asked him directly, there was no guarantee that he would answer the question honestly. During our relationship he had lied to me about a wide variety of things, and would change his mind often and abruptly. He could also be pretty manipulative. So it was possible that even if he never loved me, he would lie and say he did in an attempt to earn my forgiveness. Or if he had loved me, he might lie and say he didn't in an attempt to hurt me. And I'd never know for sure if he was telling me the truth.
This puzzle drove me crazy for quite awhile. Finally, after a lot of obsessing, I was forced to accept a simple fact:
There is no objective way for me to know, without a doubt, the true thoughts, feelings, and opinions of another person. There is no knowable TRUTH when it comes to someone else's inner life.
Once I accepted that fact, I was immediately faced with another problem. If my happiness depended upon knowing THE TRUTH about my last relationship, and there was no way for me to know THE TRUTH, then how was I supposed to know how to feel? Briefly, I considered the possibility of floating through the rest of my life in an emotional limbo. If anyone asked me how I was doing, I'd say, "Well, I'm either completely worthless or I'm doing alright - the answer is locked in my ex-boyfriend's head." I ultimately rejected that idea as being potentially off-putting to future acquaintances. Then I considered just assuming the worst (that he'd never loved me), in accordance with Neurotics' Rule #547, and just feeling shitty about myself for the rest of my life. I had to reject that possibility as well, because it seemed like it would require a lot of energy, and was probably unsustainable. Finally, I settled on a solution that had quite possibly never occurred to me before.
I could just say fuck it and be happy anyway.
My self-esteem, self-image, happiness, all that, didn't have to depend on other people! I didn't have to have all the facts, all the time! I could choose to be happy just because! I was on the verge of alerting the news media about my discovery when I realized that this was probably what the constantly happy people had realized ages ago. I'll be honest, for a moment I contemplated punching all those people in the face. "Let's see you choose to be happy after I give you a black eye, sucka!" In the end, though, I decided to put my new knowledge to use and just get over it.
So now instead of constantly searching for the THE TRUTH upon which to base my happiness, I live by these two rules instead:
1) Don't ask questions you don't want to know the answer to.
2) Don't let your happiness depend on anyone else; they're all liars anyway.
Also, rainbows and puppy dogs or whatever.
1) That people have absolute feelings and opinions that are unchanging and completely knowable.
2) That my happiness should in some way be dependent on the feelings and opinions of others.
I don't really believe those things anymore, for a lot of reasons. One big reason for my change in philosophy was the end of a 4-year-long, mostly disastrous relationship. A lot of my happiness at the time depended on what my boyfriend thought of me, and when the relationship imploded for the final time, all I wanted was validation. I was basically OK with the fact that the relationship was over, but it had ended badly enough that I wasn't sure if he had ever actually loved me. I felt that I needed to know whether he had or not; it felt like everything hinged on that fact. If he had never loved me, then the last 4 years of my life had been a waste and I should be appropriately miserable and ashamed. If he had loved me at some point, then that made everything OK. Until I knew THE TRUTH, I couldn't let it go.
Unfortunately, there were some serious obstacles between me and THE TRUTH. For one, I had vowed (in a quite dramatic fashion, as is my way) never to speak to my ex-boyfriend again. For another, even if I broke my promise and asked him directly, there was no guarantee that he would answer the question honestly. During our relationship he had lied to me about a wide variety of things, and would change his mind often and abruptly. He could also be pretty manipulative. So it was possible that even if he never loved me, he would lie and say he did in an attempt to earn my forgiveness. Or if he had loved me, he might lie and say he didn't in an attempt to hurt me. And I'd never know for sure if he was telling me the truth.
This puzzle drove me crazy for quite awhile. Finally, after a lot of obsessing, I was forced to accept a simple fact:
There is no objective way for me to know, without a doubt, the true thoughts, feelings, and opinions of another person. There is no knowable TRUTH when it comes to someone else's inner life.
Once I accepted that fact, I was immediately faced with another problem. If my happiness depended upon knowing THE TRUTH about my last relationship, and there was no way for me to know THE TRUTH, then how was I supposed to know how to feel? Briefly, I considered the possibility of floating through the rest of my life in an emotional limbo. If anyone asked me how I was doing, I'd say, "Well, I'm either completely worthless or I'm doing alright - the answer is locked in my ex-boyfriend's head." I ultimately rejected that idea as being potentially off-putting to future acquaintances. Then I considered just assuming the worst (that he'd never loved me), in accordance with Neurotics' Rule #547, and just feeling shitty about myself for the rest of my life. I had to reject that possibility as well, because it seemed like it would require a lot of energy, and was probably unsustainable. Finally, I settled on a solution that had quite possibly never occurred to me before.
I could just say fuck it and be happy anyway.
My self-esteem, self-image, happiness, all that, didn't have to depend on other people! I didn't have to have all the facts, all the time! I could choose to be happy just because! I was on the verge of alerting the news media about my discovery when I realized that this was probably what the constantly happy people had realized ages ago. I'll be honest, for a moment I contemplated punching all those people in the face. "Let's see you choose to be happy after I give you a black eye, sucka!" In the end, though, I decided to put my new knowledge to use and just get over it.
So now instead of constantly searching for the THE TRUTH upon which to base my happiness, I live by these two rules instead:
1) Don't ask questions you don't want to know the answer to.
2) Don't let your happiness depend on anyone else; they're all liars anyway.
Also, rainbows and puppy dogs or whatever.
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
Fat and Fitness, Love and Hate
You know how sometimes you stumble upon something interesting on the internet, and it links to something else interesting, which links to something else... and then 2 hours later you come to your senses and now you're an expert on some completely unexpected topic? Of course you do. And as one of the distinguished few who holds a black belt in Time-Wasting, it happens to me all the time. The most recent journey I took along the well-worn side paths of the internet is one I been thinking about a lot, so I wanted to share it with you.
It all started with a post by Black Hockey Jesus, who has run at least a mile every day since January 1st of this year. At the risk of oversimplifying, the gist of his post was that if a person is overweight or obese, they shouldn't waste their time trying to achieve "fat acceptance." Instead, he or she should muster the "courage to change," because no one will ever be proud to weigh 300 lbs, nor should they be. BHJ believes that his disgust with himself is what motivated him to change his life, and his post seemed to suggest that others should also try to harness the energy of their self-hate and use it to power an ambitious fitness regimen.
While I don't fully agree with that standpoint, I found that in the comments on the post, many people did. Some even commended him for having the courage to state the unpleasant truth. Someone speculated that if a woman had written the same post, it would have resulted in a much more vitriolic free-for-all. BHJ agreed and referred to this post, which was written by a female fitness blogger named Kristen, who I had never read before. That post (the second stop on my tour of the internet) didn't say quite the same thing as BHJ's. Kristen did say, however, that she didn't buy the argument that anyone was genetically predisposed to being a certain size. She seems to feel that anyone can be fit provided they put in the work, and anyone that isn't putting in the work is just making excuses not to do something that they unquestionably ought to be doing.
From that post I bounced to this one by Swistle (who was also new to me), in which she "came out" as a plus-size woman. Swistle's post itself was, in my opinion, kind of uplifting. But once someone in the comments started criticizing Sundry (perhaps my favorite blogger) for joining the "religion of fitness," it all devolved into the same old genetics versus laziness debate.
Finally, at the end of my journey, I found Shapely Prose, which is a very well-written blog about feminism and fat acceptance, among other things. The stance at SP is that genetics do play a part in determining a person's size, that diets don't work, that exercise (not weight) determines one's health and fitness level, and that people should practice an approach to diet and exercise that emphasizes Health at Every Size.
So, now that you know what I know (and have been subjected to more links than you could possibly get through in a month), allow me to share my take on all this. From where I'm sitting, the subtext of a lot of this back and forth is that the people on the side of fat acceptance are saying, "This is just who I am" while the people on the side of concentrated fitness efforts are saying "It's hard, but I did it and so can you. If you're not fit it's because you don't want it badly enough to work as hard as I do." The fitness people are offended that fat people are discounting all of their hard work and chalking the results up to genetics; the fat people are offended that the fitness people judge them as lazy and unambitious. As far as I can tell, people on both sides are pissed because they feel as though they're being judged by people who really don't know anything about them.
What's interesting is that a lot of these arguments, when not read carefully, can lead the reader to think in terms of a false dichotomy, wherein you either a) love yourself and accept your imperfections and are therefore doomed to languish in mediocrity and obesity, or b) hate yourself for your imperfections and use that self-hate as motivation to work really REALLY hard for self-improvement.
I simply don't believe that these are our only options. For instance, the worst case scenarios are the people who truly do hate themselves because of their alleged faults, but don't find this hate to be a source of motivation for self-improvement. For some, self-hate isn't motivating at all; it's a reason to give up entirely. On the other hand, it's also possible to truly love yourself while simultaneously working to better yourself. I think that ultimately, the sincere belief that you are a valuable person who deserves good things in life can be a far more powerful impetus for change than any amount of self-loathing.
I want to point out, too, that when I say "better yourself," I'm not necessarily talking about losing weight. In my opinion, this isn't just about fat or fitness or obesity or health or however you choose to refer to it. In fact, it almost seems laughable that so many people are yelling at each other on the internet about calories and exercise, when the ways of thinking I've outlined here are really related to everything we do.
Instead of focusing exclusively on fat acceptance, as if the only people that need to worry about acceptance are fat people who've tried everything else, I think it would be far more useful if everyone focused on simple acceptance, period. Acceptance of ourselves as we are, and acceptance of others as they are. I think that rather than dooming you to mediocrity, self-acceptance makes it possible for you to work with what you've been given and make something beautiful from it. If you love yourself for who you are now, you're working for happiness now, as opposed to working tirelessly toward some abstract future in which you'll be thin/successful/awesome enough to deserve love.
And as for accepting others? I think it's really our only option. After all, is there any way you could ever truly understand the factors contributing to someone else's decisions? And whether someone chooses to work out 7 days a week or weigh 300lbs or live somewhere in between, do their personal choices really affect you at all?
It all started with a post by Black Hockey Jesus, who has run at least a mile every day since January 1st of this year. At the risk of oversimplifying, the gist of his post was that if a person is overweight or obese, they shouldn't waste their time trying to achieve "fat acceptance." Instead, he or she should muster the "courage to change," because no one will ever be proud to weigh 300 lbs, nor should they be. BHJ believes that his disgust with himself is what motivated him to change his life, and his post seemed to suggest that others should also try to harness the energy of their self-hate and use it to power an ambitious fitness regimen.
While I don't fully agree with that standpoint, I found that in the comments on the post, many people did. Some even commended him for having the courage to state the unpleasant truth. Someone speculated that if a woman had written the same post, it would have resulted in a much more vitriolic free-for-all. BHJ agreed and referred to this post, which was written by a female fitness blogger named Kristen, who I had never read before. That post (the second stop on my tour of the internet) didn't say quite the same thing as BHJ's. Kristen did say, however, that she didn't buy the argument that anyone was genetically predisposed to being a certain size. She seems to feel that anyone can be fit provided they put in the work, and anyone that isn't putting in the work is just making excuses not to do something that they unquestionably ought to be doing.
From that post I bounced to this one by Swistle (who was also new to me), in which she "came out" as a plus-size woman. Swistle's post itself was, in my opinion, kind of uplifting. But once someone in the comments started criticizing Sundry (perhaps my favorite blogger) for joining the "religion of fitness," it all devolved into the same old genetics versus laziness debate.
Finally, at the end of my journey, I found Shapely Prose, which is a very well-written blog about feminism and fat acceptance, among other things. The stance at SP is that genetics do play a part in determining a person's size, that diets don't work, that exercise (not weight) determines one's health and fitness level, and that people should practice an approach to diet and exercise that emphasizes Health at Every Size.
So, now that you know what I know (and have been subjected to more links than you could possibly get through in a month), allow me to share my take on all this. From where I'm sitting, the subtext of a lot of this back and forth is that the people on the side of fat acceptance are saying, "This is just who I am" while the people on the side of concentrated fitness efforts are saying "It's hard, but I did it and so can you. If you're not fit it's because you don't want it badly enough to work as hard as I do." The fitness people are offended that fat people are discounting all of their hard work and chalking the results up to genetics; the fat people are offended that the fitness people judge them as lazy and unambitious. As far as I can tell, people on both sides are pissed because they feel as though they're being judged by people who really don't know anything about them.
What's interesting is that a lot of these arguments, when not read carefully, can lead the reader to think in terms of a false dichotomy, wherein you either a) love yourself and accept your imperfections and are therefore doomed to languish in mediocrity and obesity, or b) hate yourself for your imperfections and use that self-hate as motivation to work really REALLY hard for self-improvement.
I simply don't believe that these are our only options. For instance, the worst case scenarios are the people who truly do hate themselves because of their alleged faults, but don't find this hate to be a source of motivation for self-improvement. For some, self-hate isn't motivating at all; it's a reason to give up entirely. On the other hand, it's also possible to truly love yourself while simultaneously working to better yourself. I think that ultimately, the sincere belief that you are a valuable person who deserves good things in life can be a far more powerful impetus for change than any amount of self-loathing.
I want to point out, too, that when I say "better yourself," I'm not necessarily talking about losing weight. In my opinion, this isn't just about fat or fitness or obesity or health or however you choose to refer to it. In fact, it almost seems laughable that so many people are yelling at each other on the internet about calories and exercise, when the ways of thinking I've outlined here are really related to everything we do.
Instead of focusing exclusively on fat acceptance, as if the only people that need to worry about acceptance are fat people who've tried everything else, I think it would be far more useful if everyone focused on simple acceptance, period. Acceptance of ourselves as we are, and acceptance of others as they are. I think that rather than dooming you to mediocrity, self-acceptance makes it possible for you to work with what you've been given and make something beautiful from it. If you love yourself for who you are now, you're working for happiness now, as opposed to working tirelessly toward some abstract future in which you'll be thin/successful/awesome enough to deserve love.
And as for accepting others? I think it's really our only option. After all, is there any way you could ever truly understand the factors contributing to someone else's decisions? And whether someone chooses to work out 7 days a week or weigh 300lbs or live somewhere in between, do their personal choices really affect you at all?
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Run, Don't Walk, To Your Nearest Mental Health Professional
I ran across this article on The Onion today, and I like it because sometimes I worry that this is what it's like to talk to me:
"Rhetorical Pleasantry Elicits 45-Minute Response"
Some would agree that that is, in fact, what it's like to talk to me. But those people can GO TO HELL AND DIE.
*****
Speaking of extremely inappropriate responses, the Asshole Voice in My Head had a bit of a renaissance this past weekend. Maybe he was trying to help me celebrate my birthday, I don't know. All I know is that on Friday night, Lee and I were supposed to hang out with my friends Cristina and Todd, because Todd was also having a birthday last weekend, but that was all preempted by The Asshole's treacherous muttering. On Thursday, Cristina was originally a little vague on the plan for the evening, mentioning only that we "might go out somewhere" and that she would call me Friday. She really seemed excited for us all to hang out. So my plan was to have dinner and spend time with Lee until I heard from Cristina, and then later tag along for Todd's birthday festivities.
On Friday night, however, it got later and later and I still hadn't yet heard from Cristina. I didn't want to call her and ask what the deal was though, because she had seemed so vague, and for all I knew they had changed their minds and decided to do something that was just the two of them. Finally, around 10 pm, when Lee and I were busy amending our plans to just watching a movie and getting drunk in my apartment, I finally got a text from Cristina saying, "We're going to head to Boozetown in about an hour." I wasn't sure how to take this. Could she not have filled me in on the plan earlier? What had she been doing all this time? Luckily, before I could get too confused, the Asshole in My Head graciously stepped up and offered his own explanation. Obviously, he said, they've been having a fantastic time doing super-fun things with other people that are NOT YOU and you weren't invited along for that because Cristina and Todd don't actually like you and would prefer if you were not a part of their lives at all. Actually, he went on, all of your other "friends" probably feel the same way about you, too. Happy birthday!
(My personal brand of Crazy. It's like paranoid schizophrenia, but without all the excitement of auditory hallucinations and delusions of grandeur.)
I expressed this reasonable interpretation of the events to Lee. He, in turn, expressed some skepticism, but told me that he would go along with whatever I wanted to do. We sat in silence for a little while, as I'm sure Lee wondered just how irrational I planned to get this time, and I listened attentively as the Asshole In My Head expounded on his central thesis of how and why I have no friends. Finally, he concluded with: ...So you see, really all you can do is stay home and feel sorry for yourself, since obviously they don't actually want you there anyway. You should probably also drink half a bottle of wine, to teach everyone a lesson.
"Yeah, that'll show 'em!" I agreed. "What??" Lee said. My eyes narrowed with resolve. "Take me to get some wine."
I texted Cristina back and told her that I wasn't sure if we would join them, but to let me know when they were on their way to the bar. In the meantime, I followed the advice of The Asshole and drank me some wine while we watched the first half of The Day The Earth Stood Still. (The remake with Keanu Reeves. I find him attractive and I SHALL NOT apologize for it.) (The movie, however, was mediocre.) By the time Cristina notified me that they were on their way to the bar I was feeling (thankfully) much more jovial and forgiving, and I think The Asshole was taking a wine-induced nap, or something. "Well, we ought to at least make an appearance," I told Lee. "Just to be nice."
And so we joined them and I celebrated with more booze and even though it wasn't ideal I considered the evening a success because at least I got to get drunk and flirt with my boyfriend. And I didn't throw up. The end.
My main point ('Oh, here it is!' you may be saying to yourself) is that I'm a little concerned that The Asshole in My Head was able to get me so riled up, so long after I declared him to be 84% conquered. I think the reason he got so powerful the first time around is because I was dealing with a major life transition at the time, so I'm kind of worried that he's going to try to stage a coup again soon, since I'll be distracted with all the moving to a new town and getting a new roommate and starting grad school and slowly draining my bank account. So I think that what we have to do is come up with a few ways to protect myself from The Asshole and his Crazy-making monologues. Here's what I've got so far...
Ways to Protect Myself From The Asshole in My Head
1. Tinfoil hat. Duh.
2. Ooh! Entire tinfoil SUIT OF ARMOR. Is someone writing this down?
3. Eating magic mushrooms until I develop a new Voice in My Head that can drown out The Asshole. Preferably one that has the commanding, yet compassionate voice of Mr. T. Or Morgan Freeman. Or Sidney Poitier. I need a distinguished black actor, basically.
4. Counting. Constant counting.
5. Repeated hand-washing. That's healthy, right?
6. Teaching The Asshole to speak in a language that I don't know. Maybe one of the African click-languages.
7. Sedatives. Sedatives that were designed for large jungle mammals.
8. Hitting myself in the face with a shovel until I escape into sweet, merciful unconsciousness.
Ok, so the list so far leaves a bit to be desired. But I don't move until the beginning of August, so I've got a little time to come up with some more alternatives. Feel free to leave your ideas in the comments.
"Rhetorical Pleasantry Elicits 45-Minute Response"
Some would agree that that is, in fact, what it's like to talk to me. But those people can GO TO HELL AND DIE.
*****
Speaking of extremely inappropriate responses, the Asshole Voice in My Head had a bit of a renaissance this past weekend. Maybe he was trying to help me celebrate my birthday, I don't know. All I know is that on Friday night, Lee and I were supposed to hang out with my friends Cristina and Todd, because Todd was also having a birthday last weekend, but that was all preempted by The Asshole's treacherous muttering. On Thursday, Cristina was originally a little vague on the plan for the evening, mentioning only that we "might go out somewhere" and that she would call me Friday. She really seemed excited for us all to hang out. So my plan was to have dinner and spend time with Lee until I heard from Cristina, and then later tag along for Todd's birthday festivities.
On Friday night, however, it got later and later and I still hadn't yet heard from Cristina. I didn't want to call her and ask what the deal was though, because she had seemed so vague, and for all I knew they had changed their minds and decided to do something that was just the two of them. Finally, around 10 pm, when Lee and I were busy amending our plans to just watching a movie and getting drunk in my apartment, I finally got a text from Cristina saying, "We're going to head to Boozetown in about an hour." I wasn't sure how to take this. Could she not have filled me in on the plan earlier? What had she been doing all this time? Luckily, before I could get too confused, the Asshole in My Head graciously stepped up and offered his own explanation. Obviously, he said, they've been having a fantastic time doing super-fun things with other people that are NOT YOU and you weren't invited along for that because Cristina and Todd don't actually like you and would prefer if you were not a part of their lives at all. Actually, he went on, all of your other "friends" probably feel the same way about you, too. Happy birthday!
(My personal brand of Crazy. It's like paranoid schizophrenia, but without all the excitement of auditory hallucinations and delusions of grandeur.)
I expressed this reasonable interpretation of the events to Lee. He, in turn, expressed some skepticism, but told me that he would go along with whatever I wanted to do. We sat in silence for a little while, as I'm sure Lee wondered just how irrational I planned to get this time, and I listened attentively as the Asshole In My Head expounded on his central thesis of how and why I have no friends. Finally, he concluded with: ...So you see, really all you can do is stay home and feel sorry for yourself, since obviously they don't actually want you there anyway. You should probably also drink half a bottle of wine, to teach everyone a lesson.
"Yeah, that'll show 'em!" I agreed. "What??" Lee said. My eyes narrowed with resolve. "Take me to get some wine."
I texted Cristina back and told her that I wasn't sure if we would join them, but to let me know when they were on their way to the bar. In the meantime, I followed the advice of The Asshole and drank me some wine while we watched the first half of The Day The Earth Stood Still. (The remake with Keanu Reeves. I find him attractive and I SHALL NOT apologize for it.) (The movie, however, was mediocre.) By the time Cristina notified me that they were on their way to the bar I was feeling (thankfully) much more jovial and forgiving, and I think The Asshole was taking a wine-induced nap, or something. "Well, we ought to at least make an appearance," I told Lee. "Just to be nice."
And so we joined them and I celebrated with more booze and even though it wasn't ideal I considered the evening a success because at least I got to get drunk and flirt with my boyfriend. And I didn't throw up. The end.
My main point ('Oh, here it is!' you may be saying to yourself) is that I'm a little concerned that The Asshole in My Head was able to get me so riled up, so long after I declared him to be 84% conquered. I think the reason he got so powerful the first time around is because I was dealing with a major life transition at the time, so I'm kind of worried that he's going to try to stage a coup again soon, since I'll be distracted with all the moving to a new town and getting a new roommate and starting grad school and slowly draining my bank account. So I think that what we have to do is come up with a few ways to protect myself from The Asshole and his Crazy-making monologues. Here's what I've got so far...
Ways to Protect Myself From The Asshole in My Head
1. Tinfoil hat. Duh.
2. Ooh! Entire tinfoil SUIT OF ARMOR. Is someone writing this down?
3. Eating magic mushrooms until I develop a new Voice in My Head that can drown out The Asshole. Preferably one that has the commanding, yet compassionate voice of Mr. T. Or Morgan Freeman. Or Sidney Poitier. I need a distinguished black actor, basically.
4. Counting. Constant counting.
5. Repeated hand-washing. That's healthy, right?
6. Teaching The Asshole to speak in a language that I don't know. Maybe one of the African click-languages.
7. Sedatives. Sedatives that were designed for large jungle mammals.
8. Hitting myself in the face with a shovel until I escape into sweet, merciful unconsciousness.
Ok, so the list so far leaves a bit to be desired. But I don't move until the beginning of August, so I've got a little time to come up with some more alternatives. Feel free to leave your ideas in the comments.
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Bummers and Buddhism
I haven't posted in the past couple of days because I'm in a little bit of a rough spot and it's making it difficult to write. I know that one of my favorite things about reading other people's blogs, the really good blogs, is the author's ability to express even their pain and hardship in a way that makes it accesible to everyone, and provides a cathartic experience for both the author and the reader. Unfortunately, whenever I try to write about tough subjects, or share my darker emotions, I don't feel like I'm able to find that rewarding balance between expressing my feelings in an artful way, and just whining like a tween who got lost on her way to myspace. On top of which, this particular situation I'm in is a transitional sort of situation, where I just sit around in limbo, waiting to find out whether things are going to go the way I expected them to, or if my life is going to change in a pretty big way. I have trouble throwing my angst up all over the internet when it could turn out that everything is fine, and then I'll have to just kind of blush and say, "Oh, uhh... never mind!" On the other hand, it's hard for me to think about much else, so you can see my dilemma: write posts that are boring and depressing and possibly pointless, or write nothing at all.
However, in dealing with all this, I've had some thoughts that might be useful to other people, so I thought I might share those here. One of the aspects of life I have the most difficulty with is the fact that I can't control it. I can't control other people, I can't control whether my car breaks down, I can't even control how many of these nectarines will go bad before I get a chance to eat them. Whenever I'm faced with really important things that are out of my control, I have a tendency to panic. My mind goes into overdrive, trying to come up with some way, any way, that I can make sure things turn out the way I want them to. Usually this starts out simply, and then devolves into a series of increasingly desperate and unhelpful plans of action. I might think, Oh no, what if my parents die young? How can I prevent this? Ok, I'll just calmly suggest to them that they ought to stop smoking and take better care of themselves.... but what if they ignore me? Alright then, I'll just come over and steal all their cigarettes and throw them away.... but they'll probably just buy more. Fine, I'll just have to quit my job and move in with them, so that I can monitor them 24 hours a day. And if that doesn't work, I'll threaten to cut myself if they don't stop smoking.
This process, as you might have guessed, requires a lot of mental energy and is entirely unhelpful. Sometimes, I put an end to it all by just saying to myself, "EVERYTHING IS UNDER CONTROL." But that's lying to myself, really, because there's no way I could have everything under my control, at all times, and the fact that I have to convince myself of that in order to sleep easy is problematic.
I don't think that I'm alone in feeling this way sometimes. But the fact that I am not the Supreme Decider of How Things Will Be, although unfortunate, is something that will never change, so getting worked up about it is like starting a letter-writing campaign to make it so that the Amazon River now flows through my backyard, rather than through 9 countries in South America.
From a Buddhist perspective (based on my very limited reading)*, unhappiness and suffering is caused by attachment to things: other people and places, our hopes and dreams, our own bodies. Attachment would be fine if we could ensure that the things we're attached to always do what we want, but obviously we can't do that. So we get our happiness inextricably wrapped up in things that are inconstant, things that we cannot guarantee will always behave the way we like, or turn out the way we hope. Things we can't control. And so we're repeatedly frustrated, hurt, and disappointed by these things we hold so dear. Buddhist practice incorporates a variety of ways to avoid this; simply avoiding attachment to things is the obvious option. But the thing I've been thinking about lately is equanimity.
*Full disclosure: I'm about to talk about things I learned from a book all about touchy-feely hippie nonsense that was recommended to me by my Mental Health Professional, so if you want to write me off as a new age nut job and go have yourself a chocolate milkshake instead I TOTALLY UNDERSTAND.
The idea I have of equanimity is one I got from Sharon Salzberg's book, which I think I've mentioned before. Based on her description, equanimity is an understanding that you cannot control anything outside of yourself, and an acceptance of all the things that happen that are outside of your control. So, you love people, you treat them with generosity and kindness, you hope for good things, you do your best to ensure that good things happen, but always with an awareness of the fact that you're not in control, and bad shit is going to occur from time to time. Or at least, that's my understanding based on my limited reading on the subject.
This way of looking at things is something I've been trying to focus on over the past couple of weeks, while I wait patiently (ok, not always so patiently) to find out whether my immediate future will be what I imagined it to be (not that it makes any sense for me to try to imagine the future in the first place) or if it will be something very different. In an effort to keep myself calm and sane, I have to keep reminding myself that there's no use in spending every hour of every day trying to come up with some way to make things turn out the way I want, because I've done what I can, and the rest is out of my control. In the book I was just talking about, the author suggests a meditation meant to cultivate equanimity. It involves focusing on a few key ideas, which I've paraphrased here:
May I accept things as they are.
May I be undisturbed by the coming and going of people, places, and things in my life.
Although I wish for the happiness of others, may I remember that I cannot make their decisions for them.
Although I haven't really been doing much focused meditating lately, I've found that just repeating those phrases can help keep me calm and my mind clear. I can stop struggling to 'make things ok,' and just stay grounded in the knowledge that all that scrambling for control is wasted effort. All I can really do is wait to see what happens, and accept whatever comes my way.
I apologize if this has been insanely boring for you, but I thought that if it's helped me, there might be other people out there that needed to hear it too.
However, in dealing with all this, I've had some thoughts that might be useful to other people, so I thought I might share those here. One of the aspects of life I have the most difficulty with is the fact that I can't control it. I can't control other people, I can't control whether my car breaks down, I can't even control how many of these nectarines will go bad before I get a chance to eat them. Whenever I'm faced with really important things that are out of my control, I have a tendency to panic. My mind goes into overdrive, trying to come up with some way, any way, that I can make sure things turn out the way I want them to. Usually this starts out simply, and then devolves into a series of increasingly desperate and unhelpful plans of action. I might think, Oh no, what if my parents die young? How can I prevent this? Ok, I'll just calmly suggest to them that they ought to stop smoking and take better care of themselves.... but what if they ignore me? Alright then, I'll just come over and steal all their cigarettes and throw them away.... but they'll probably just buy more. Fine, I'll just have to quit my job and move in with them, so that I can monitor them 24 hours a day. And if that doesn't work, I'll threaten to cut myself if they don't stop smoking.
This process, as you might have guessed, requires a lot of mental energy and is entirely unhelpful. Sometimes, I put an end to it all by just saying to myself, "EVERYTHING IS UNDER CONTROL." But that's lying to myself, really, because there's no way I could have everything under my control, at all times, and the fact that I have to convince myself of that in order to sleep easy is problematic.
I don't think that I'm alone in feeling this way sometimes. But the fact that I am not the Supreme Decider of How Things Will Be, although unfortunate, is something that will never change, so getting worked up about it is like starting a letter-writing campaign to make it so that the Amazon River now flows through my backyard, rather than through 9 countries in South America.
From a Buddhist perspective (based on my very limited reading)*, unhappiness and suffering is caused by attachment to things: other people and places, our hopes and dreams, our own bodies. Attachment would be fine if we could ensure that the things we're attached to always do what we want, but obviously we can't do that. So we get our happiness inextricably wrapped up in things that are inconstant, things that we cannot guarantee will always behave the way we like, or turn out the way we hope. Things we can't control. And so we're repeatedly frustrated, hurt, and disappointed by these things we hold so dear. Buddhist practice incorporates a variety of ways to avoid this; simply avoiding attachment to things is the obvious option. But the thing I've been thinking about lately is equanimity.
*Full disclosure: I'm about to talk about things I learned from a book all about touchy-feely hippie nonsense that was recommended to me by my Mental Health Professional, so if you want to write me off as a new age nut job and go have yourself a chocolate milkshake instead I TOTALLY UNDERSTAND.
The idea I have of equanimity is one I got from Sharon Salzberg's book, which I think I've mentioned before. Based on her description, equanimity is an understanding that you cannot control anything outside of yourself, and an acceptance of all the things that happen that are outside of your control. So, you love people, you treat them with generosity and kindness, you hope for good things, you do your best to ensure that good things happen, but always with an awareness of the fact that you're not in control, and bad shit is going to occur from time to time. Or at least, that's my understanding based on my limited reading on the subject.
This way of looking at things is something I've been trying to focus on over the past couple of weeks, while I wait patiently (ok, not always so patiently) to find out whether my immediate future will be what I imagined it to be (not that it makes any sense for me to try to imagine the future in the first place) or if it will be something very different. In an effort to keep myself calm and sane, I have to keep reminding myself that there's no use in spending every hour of every day trying to come up with some way to make things turn out the way I want, because I've done what I can, and the rest is out of my control. In the book I was just talking about, the author suggests a meditation meant to cultivate equanimity. It involves focusing on a few key ideas, which I've paraphrased here:
May I accept things as they are.
May I be undisturbed by the coming and going of people, places, and things in my life.
Although I wish for the happiness of others, may I remember that I cannot make their decisions for them.
Although I haven't really been doing much focused meditating lately, I've found that just repeating those phrases can help keep me calm and my mind clear. I can stop struggling to 'make things ok,' and just stay grounded in the knowledge that all that scrambling for control is wasted effort. All I can really do is wait to see what happens, and accept whatever comes my way.
I apologize if this has been insanely boring for you, but I thought that if it's helped me, there might be other people out there that needed to hear it too.
Friday, May 15, 2009
Perfect People
"To avoid situations in which you might make mistakes may be the biggest mistake of all."
- Peter McWilliams
For awhile in high school I had a crush on a guy, 'Mitchell,' who was 2 years younger than me. We didn't have a whole lot in common, but he laughed at my jokes, which is right up there with 'Buy me cookies' on the list of Ways to Win Me Over. He ended up getting adopted into my group of friends, and we all spent a lot of good times together, doing marching band things, eating mexican food, and having big co-ed sleepovers at each other's houses. The sleepovers weren't ever illicit or anything, it was just easier to all crash at one person's house after hanging out all evening. However, one night me and Mitchell somehow ended up by ourselves while everyone else was in another room. We were just goofing off, wrestling, tickle-fighting, and doing whatever else goofy teenagers do when they're flirting. It would have been an excellent opportunity for one of us to put the moves on the other, but it just didn't happen. Later, I very casually hinted at the fact that we totally should have made out, and why didn't we? He said, "Well I knew you weren't going to make a move because you're the type of person that won't do anything unless you can be smooth about it."
I never had any reason to think that Mitchell was a particularly insightful person, but in this case his assessment was disturbingly apt. At the time, I would rather have missed the opportunity than go for it and face the consequences of 'failure,' whatever that might have been. I recognized that maybe this wasn't the best attitude for me to have, but on the other hand, his comment had kind of implied that I was "smooth," so obviously it was working, right? Still, to be honest, it was a little disheartening that my secret strategy was perhaps so obvious that even a self-absorbed high school freshman could see it.
It's frustrating that my approach to life hasn't changed much since that damn Mitchell made his unusually astute observation in high school. I wouldn't ordinarily refer to myself as a 'perfectionist,' because to me perfectionists are people that clean tile grout with toothbrushes, or obsess over getting the placement of every period and comma in an assignment just right, or insist on making all of their food from scratch, even if that means they have to churn butter. But in a way, I am a perfectionist. A really efficient perfectionist. I, too, have very high expectations for myself, and would like to do everything I do perfectly. But unlike less astute perfectionists, I realize that there's no way I can do everything perfectly. So I've resolved to just not even bother doing things that I don't have a reasonable chance of doing really well. And just like that, problem solved, I'm perfect!
I know what you're wondering, and yes, being perfect is really pretty great, and you should totally give it a try. You get free box seats at sporting events, you never have to wait for a dinner table, people are constantly taking their shirts off and throwing themselves at you, and bartenders are required to give you complimentary shots. The only problem is that this approach to life sort of limits you a little. For example, if you get home from work and you're a little tired, you won't be allowed to go to the gym, because you wouldn't be able to give it your all, and Perfect People don't half-ass their workouts, they stay at home. Also, you can't ever try anything you've never done before, because you'll probably make some mistakes, and Perfect People don't make mistakes. And of course, as we learned at the beginning of this post, you can never ever make the first move in a relationship, because you might screw it up or get rejected, and I think we all know that Perfect People never get rejected.
Now that I think it through, though, being 'perfect' is actually kind of a pain in the ass, in spite of all of the (completely imaginary) perks that come with it. Before you adopt this lifestyle, I'm going to look into what it takes to be 'whatever the hell I feel like,' and then I'll get back to you.
- Peter McWilliams
For awhile in high school I had a crush on a guy, 'Mitchell,' who was 2 years younger than me. We didn't have a whole lot in common, but he laughed at my jokes, which is right up there with 'Buy me cookies' on the list of Ways to Win Me Over. He ended up getting adopted into my group of friends, and we all spent a lot of good times together, doing marching band things, eating mexican food, and having big co-ed sleepovers at each other's houses. The sleepovers weren't ever illicit or anything, it was just easier to all crash at one person's house after hanging out all evening. However, one night me and Mitchell somehow ended up by ourselves while everyone else was in another room. We were just goofing off, wrestling, tickle-fighting, and doing whatever else goofy teenagers do when they're flirting. It would have been an excellent opportunity for one of us to put the moves on the other, but it just didn't happen. Later, I very casually hinted at the fact that we totally should have made out, and why didn't we? He said, "Well I knew you weren't going to make a move because you're the type of person that won't do anything unless you can be smooth about it."
I never had any reason to think that Mitchell was a particularly insightful person, but in this case his assessment was disturbingly apt. At the time, I would rather have missed the opportunity than go for it and face the consequences of 'failure,' whatever that might have been. I recognized that maybe this wasn't the best attitude for me to have, but on the other hand, his comment had kind of implied that I was "smooth," so obviously it was working, right? Still, to be honest, it was a little disheartening that my secret strategy was perhaps so obvious that even a self-absorbed high school freshman could see it.
It's frustrating that my approach to life hasn't changed much since that damn Mitchell made his unusually astute observation in high school. I wouldn't ordinarily refer to myself as a 'perfectionist,' because to me perfectionists are people that clean tile grout with toothbrushes, or obsess over getting the placement of every period and comma in an assignment just right, or insist on making all of their food from scratch, even if that means they have to churn butter. But in a way, I am a perfectionist. A really efficient perfectionist. I, too, have very high expectations for myself, and would like to do everything I do perfectly. But unlike less astute perfectionists, I realize that there's no way I can do everything perfectly. So I've resolved to just not even bother doing things that I don't have a reasonable chance of doing really well. And just like that, problem solved, I'm perfect!
I know what you're wondering, and yes, being perfect is really pretty great, and you should totally give it a try. You get free box seats at sporting events, you never have to wait for a dinner table, people are constantly taking their shirts off and throwing themselves at you, and bartenders are required to give you complimentary shots. The only problem is that this approach to life sort of limits you a little. For example, if you get home from work and you're a little tired, you won't be allowed to go to the gym, because you wouldn't be able to give it your all, and Perfect People don't half-ass their workouts, they stay at home. Also, you can't ever try anything you've never done before, because you'll probably make some mistakes, and Perfect People don't make mistakes. And of course, as we learned at the beginning of this post, you can never ever make the first move in a relationship, because you might screw it up or get rejected, and I think we all know that Perfect People never get rejected.
Now that I think it through, though, being 'perfect' is actually kind of a pain in the ass, in spite of all of the (completely imaginary) perks that come with it. Before you adopt this lifestyle, I'm going to look into what it takes to be 'whatever the hell I feel like,' and then I'll get back to you.
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Gratitude, Days 29 & 30: Anytime Happy Fun-Time Magic
Tonight I'll be staying with Lee in order to be closer to the airport, so that tomorrow morning I can get up bright and early and pick up Kellie before we embark on our 9-hour drive to FLORIDA, BITCHES. (Pity me not for the 9-hour car drive, rather be jealous of the 4 days in Florida.) This means that tonight and tomorrow I'll be very busy and probably unable to internet some gratitude in your general direction. Thus, in order to close out this month of gratitude, I wanted to do something a little different. Since I've generally been writing about things for which I'm grateful that are sort of time-specific (for example, what I ate that day, the nap I took, a conversation I had, what I ate that day), I'm going to mix it up for the final post and make a list of 10 things I can do on any day that never fail to make me feel grateful for and happy about life. You know, like Chicken Soup for the Soul, but with less stories about children with cancer. So, here we go...
Ten Things That Generally Make Me Less Likely to Kick Someone
1) Running / exercising. Makes me feel like a champion.
2) Cleaning. It's soothing in its mindlessness, and at the end of it you get a sparkly apartment.
3) Crocheting. Similar to cleaning in mindlessness, except the end result is usually more like a coaster, or a hat that doesn't quite fit your giant head.
4) Blogging. Come up with stupid joke. Laugh at your own stupid joke. Repeat.
5) Walking around outside. Drink in the wonder of the natural world, feel at one with all living beings, and remember what sunshine feels like.
6) Journaling. Word-vomiting all of your insane neuroses into a private place sort of calls attention to how insignificant most of that stuff is. It's true what they say, that sometimes all it takes is just getting things off your chest, even if you can't fix any of it. Who knew?
7) Meditating. The act of focusing on clearing my mind and slowing myself down often emphasizes how scattered and amped up I usually am. Also, 'practicing' that calm feeling makes it a little bit easier to call it up whenever you need it.
8) Cooking a recipe I've never tried before. Sometimes I narrate it in my head as if I'm on Food Network.
9) Doing something creative. I guess some of the other things on this list fall into this category, too, but I just mean to say that a lot of relatively silly 'creative' activities can make me feel good. Such as: painting (even by numbers), making a collage from magazine photos (why? I don't know), and taking artistic photos of the gerbils (which sounds sort of dirty, but isn't really). No, I don't get out much. Why do you ask? Speaking of which...
10) Going out with friends. Sometimes I get anxious about hanging out with large groups of people, and it seems easier to just not do it, but I'm always glad that I did. For one thing, it's reassuring to be proven wrong when you think something isn't going to go well. And for another thing, it's a reminder that there are plenty of awesome people in the world, so you're never really alone in your rage and/or despondency.
What's interesting about a lot of these things is that most of the time when I contemplate them they sound suspiciously like 'work.' But I've hardly ever done them and not felt good afterward. I figure that starting grad school in the Fall is going to mean a large increase in the number of causes of compulsive fretting, so this list may come in handy as a reminder of simple (non-alcoholic!) things I can do to evaporate some of my Storm Cloud of Nervous Energy and Doom.
... And thus concludes Sharing Time Station's Month of Gratitude and Happy Thoughts to Help You Fly Like Peter Pan. Thanks again to Schmutzie for having a great idea that I could totally rip off and use for my own blog. We here at Sharing Time Station hope that you've enjoyed this exercise as much as we have, and that it hasn't been too terribly saccharine-sweet for the cynics out there. As a part-time hateful old codger myself, I understand how retch-inducing it can be to have someone else's unadulterated joy pushed on you like those Jesus pamphlets that guerilla Christians leave in public places.*
But that's not all! Today's blog has a surprise price of admission! It's sort of like a free stay at a timeshare that sounds like a lot of fun but then involves a lot of painful surprise high-pressure sales pitches. Since you willingly read this blog entry, you are now contractually obligated** to leave a comment telling me a) something you're grateful for today, b) some secret trick you have that always lifts your spirits, or, if you're feeling saucy, c) something that never fails to PISS YOU RIGHT OFF. And don't think you can just sneak away without leaving a comment. I can check the stats, I WILL KNOW.
*If anyone reading this has lived for any length of time in a U.S. state outside of the Bible Belt, do you know if people do this elsewhere? I have a feeling that people in New Jersey, for example, aren't always being accosted in the bathroom of their local Subway Sandwich Shop with literature about the fate of their eternal soul.
**I'll have to check this with my resident law student, but for now, just assume that it's true.
Ten Things That Generally Make Me Less Likely to Kick Someone
1) Running / exercising. Makes me feel like a champion.
2) Cleaning. It's soothing in its mindlessness, and at the end of it you get a sparkly apartment.
3) Crocheting. Similar to cleaning in mindlessness, except the end result is usually more like a coaster, or a hat that doesn't quite fit your giant head.
4) Blogging. Come up with stupid joke. Laugh at your own stupid joke. Repeat.
5) Walking around outside. Drink in the wonder of the natural world, feel at one with all living beings, and remember what sunshine feels like.
6) Journaling. Word-vomiting all of your insane neuroses into a private place sort of calls attention to how insignificant most of that stuff is. It's true what they say, that sometimes all it takes is just getting things off your chest, even if you can't fix any of it. Who knew?
7) Meditating. The act of focusing on clearing my mind and slowing myself down often emphasizes how scattered and amped up I usually am. Also, 'practicing' that calm feeling makes it a little bit easier to call it up whenever you need it.
8) Cooking a recipe I've never tried before. Sometimes I narrate it in my head as if I'm on Food Network.
9) Doing something creative. I guess some of the other things on this list fall into this category, too, but I just mean to say that a lot of relatively silly 'creative' activities can make me feel good. Such as: painting (even by numbers), making a collage from magazine photos (why? I don't know), and taking artistic photos of the gerbils (which sounds sort of dirty, but isn't really). No, I don't get out much. Why do you ask? Speaking of which...
10) Going out with friends. Sometimes I get anxious about hanging out with large groups of people, and it seems easier to just not do it, but I'm always glad that I did. For one thing, it's reassuring to be proven wrong when you think something isn't going to go well. And for another thing, it's a reminder that there are plenty of awesome people in the world, so you're never really alone in your rage and/or despondency.
What's interesting about a lot of these things is that most of the time when I contemplate them they sound suspiciously like 'work.' But I've hardly ever done them and not felt good afterward. I figure that starting grad school in the Fall is going to mean a large increase in the number of causes of compulsive fretting, so this list may come in handy as a reminder of simple (non-alcoholic!) things I can do to evaporate some of my Storm Cloud of Nervous Energy and Doom.
... And thus concludes Sharing Time Station's Month of Gratitude and Happy Thoughts to Help You Fly Like Peter Pan. Thanks again to Schmutzie for having a great idea that I could totally rip off and use for my own blog. We here at Sharing Time Station hope that you've enjoyed this exercise as much as we have, and that it hasn't been too terribly saccharine-sweet for the cynics out there. As a part-time hateful old codger myself, I understand how retch-inducing it can be to have someone else's unadulterated joy pushed on you like those Jesus pamphlets that guerilla Christians leave in public places.*
But that's not all! Today's blog has a surprise price of admission! It's sort of like a free stay at a timeshare that sounds like a lot of fun but then involves a lot of painful surprise high-pressure sales pitches. Since you willingly read this blog entry, you are now contractually obligated** to leave a comment telling me a) something you're grateful for today, b) some secret trick you have that always lifts your spirits, or, if you're feeling saucy, c) something that never fails to PISS YOU RIGHT OFF. And don't think you can just sneak away without leaving a comment. I can check the stats, I WILL KNOW.
*If anyone reading this has lived for any length of time in a U.S. state outside of the Bible Belt, do you know if people do this elsewhere? I have a feeling that people in New Jersey, for example, aren't always being accosted in the bathroom of their local Subway Sandwich Shop with literature about the fate of their eternal soul.
**I'll have to check this with my resident law student, but for now, just assume that it's true.
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Gratitude: Special Reflection Edition!
I've been working on this self-imposed gratitude project, dutifully listing my 5 things I'm grateful for every day for the past few weeks, kind of like an elaborate elementary school essay assignment. I'm not sure exactly what I expected to get out of it when I started, I just figured it would be something different to do, and something my legions of readers would be able to follow along with. And I guess I thought maybe it would give me some more zest for life, make me more the sort of person who stops and stares in wonder at tulips, or something. (Although the idea that I need anything to make me any more sentimental is kind of ridiculous. Do you have any idea how often I cry??) I'm not sure that I've experienced any kind of dramatic effect on my life (yet!), but I have noticed some habits of mine that I didn't previously pay much attention to.
For example, occasionally when I'm writing my daily list I feel an urge to spice it up, lest I be mistaken for some kind of giiiirl with earnest feeeeeelings. Yuck. For some reason it is a little disheartening and distasteful for me to just say, "These things fill me with joy: sunshine and lollipops and newborn puppies - er, guinea pigs. So there. The end." On the one hand, I think this is because I don't feel like it's entertaining, and when I have someone's attention (via blog or eyeholes or whatever), I feel compelled to entertain them. Also, it's a kind of vulnerability, telling people what you like. Telling people what you don't like makes you seem kind of badass, like some kind of Supreme Judge-y Judgerperson. People may disagree with you, but they will also fear that they will someday become the focus of your righteous ire, so they probably won't mess with you too much. On the other hand, bitching about things also makes me nervous I'm inadvertantly insulting someone I love, so pretty much it's best if I never share my thoughts ever, unless they're of the "Hitler was pretty mean guy" variety.
What was I saying? Sharing feelings, right. Anyway, sharing negative feelings makes you seem badass, but sharing positive feelings can make you vulnerable. You're saying, "This element of life is precious to me, it touches my soul in the most tender places." There's a fear that people can use this knowledge of what is precious to you to get to those tender places and jack them all up. This is why people fear being the first person to say 'I love you.' Because then the other person knows that they have gained access to an unprotected doorway to your heart, and they can use this knowledge however they like. Like when you're playing a video game and you're fighting the main boss guy and he's like a giant turtle or something and you figure out that if you jump on his shell in this one specific place it hurts him REALLY BAD. Point being, now that I've revealed my true feelings, nefarious types know that if they want to make me cry, all they have to do is murder baby guinea pigs in front of me.
If you're just tuning in, you're reading "Trust Issues," with Ms. Pizzazz.
At any rate, I realized that I feel a little uncomfortable sharing pure, unadulterated positive feelings (at least in the form of gratitude-related posts). It makes me feel weak and vulnerable. So, there's that to reflect upon.
Another thing I've noticed is that when I sit down and start trying to think of good things about my day, or things that I'm feeling satisfied with, I mostly think of things that didn't happen. What I mean is, instead of thinking of good things I experienced that day, all I can think of our bad things I expected to experience, but which ultimately didn't occur. Examples include: 'at least I didn't have to spend $500 on my car like I thought I would,' or 'I expected to get fired today but I didn't,' or 'at least I wasn't murdered in my sleep.' I could understand this sort of attitude from someone whose life is legitimately difficult (Quadruple amputee: "I'm just grateful I wasn't decapitated today"), but I think that I'm probably spoiled enough that I should be able to be grateful for actual positive things, and not just a lack of shittiness. So in that sense it's been a useful exercise, because it's made me question my usual attitude toward life. I mean, how happy can you really be when you just spend the whole day waiting for bad things to happen? So let's turn that it into some sort of positive resolution to live life better: I'm gonna try to... uhh... not be so... pessimistic and anxious? Wait. I think I already made that resolution once. Every year of my life since 6th grade.
Moving on... the final thing I've noticed as a result of this gratitude exercise is that when I finally move past the "well at least the gerbils didn't burst into flames today" mentality, 90% of the things I manage to come up with are either food- or TV-related. This explains why I keep having the nagging sensation that I am chunky and uninteresting. It also makes me grateful for the fact that in August I'll be moving in with someone who is a) a human being, capable of conversation and socialization and b) super-active and fit and marathon-y. Bam! Two birds with one stone! She can teach me how to do things like be tall and thin and leave the house, and I'll teach her how to do things like share all her feelings with the unconditionally accepting glow of the internet.
In conclusion, making a daily list of things for which you are grateful will make you stronger, more fearless, and more optimistic. You will also lose weight and make more friends. If that sounds like too much trouble though, you can still get all of these benefits from just reading my blog. YOU'RE WELCOME.
For example, occasionally when I'm writing my daily list I feel an urge to spice it up, lest I be mistaken for some kind of giiiirl with earnest feeeeeelings. Yuck. For some reason it is a little disheartening and distasteful for me to just say, "These things fill me with joy: sunshine and lollipops and newborn puppies - er, guinea pigs. So there. The end." On the one hand, I think this is because I don't feel like it's entertaining, and when I have someone's attention (via blog or eyeholes or whatever), I feel compelled to entertain them. Also, it's a kind of vulnerability, telling people what you like. Telling people what you don't like makes you seem kind of badass, like some kind of Supreme Judge-y Judgerperson. People may disagree with you, but they will also fear that they will someday become the focus of your righteous ire, so they probably won't mess with you too much. On the other hand, bitching about things also makes me nervous I'm inadvertantly insulting someone I love, so pretty much it's best if I never share my thoughts ever, unless they're of the "Hitler was pretty mean guy" variety.
What was I saying? Sharing feelings, right. Anyway, sharing negative feelings makes you seem badass, but sharing positive feelings can make you vulnerable. You're saying, "This element of life is precious to me, it touches my soul in the most tender places." There's a fear that people can use this knowledge of what is precious to you to get to those tender places and jack them all up. This is why people fear being the first person to say 'I love you.' Because then the other person knows that they have gained access to an unprotected doorway to your heart, and they can use this knowledge however they like. Like when you're playing a video game and you're fighting the main boss guy and he's like a giant turtle or something and you figure out that if you jump on his shell in this one specific place it hurts him REALLY BAD. Point being, now that I've revealed my true feelings, nefarious types know that if they want to make me cry, all they have to do is murder baby guinea pigs in front of me.
If you're just tuning in, you're reading "Trust Issues," with Ms. Pizzazz.
At any rate, I realized that I feel a little uncomfortable sharing pure, unadulterated positive feelings (at least in the form of gratitude-related posts). It makes me feel weak and vulnerable. So, there's that to reflect upon.
Another thing I've noticed is that when I sit down and start trying to think of good things about my day, or things that I'm feeling satisfied with, I mostly think of things that didn't happen. What I mean is, instead of thinking of good things I experienced that day, all I can think of our bad things I expected to experience, but which ultimately didn't occur. Examples include: 'at least I didn't have to spend $500 on my car like I thought I would,' or 'I expected to get fired today but I didn't,' or 'at least I wasn't murdered in my sleep.' I could understand this sort of attitude from someone whose life is legitimately difficult (Quadruple amputee: "I'm just grateful I wasn't decapitated today"), but I think that I'm probably spoiled enough that I should be able to be grateful for actual positive things, and not just a lack of shittiness. So in that sense it's been a useful exercise, because it's made me question my usual attitude toward life. I mean, how happy can you really be when you just spend the whole day waiting for bad things to happen? So let's turn that it into some sort of positive resolution to live life better: I'm gonna try to... uhh... not be so... pessimistic and anxious? Wait. I think I already made that resolution once. Every year of my life since 6th grade.
Moving on... the final thing I've noticed as a result of this gratitude exercise is that when I finally move past the "well at least the gerbils didn't burst into flames today" mentality, 90% of the things I manage to come up with are either food- or TV-related. This explains why I keep having the nagging sensation that I am chunky and uninteresting. It also makes me grateful for the fact that in August I'll be moving in with someone who is a) a human being, capable of conversation and socialization and b) super-active and fit and marathon-y. Bam! Two birds with one stone! She can teach me how to do things like be tall and thin and leave the house, and I'll teach her how to do things like share all her feelings with the unconditionally accepting glow of the internet.
In conclusion, making a daily list of things for which you are grateful will make you stronger, more fearless, and more optimistic. You will also lose weight and make more friends. If that sounds like too much trouble though, you can still get all of these benefits from just reading my blog. YOU'RE WELCOME.
Thursday, April 9, 2009
Gratitude, Day 9
I was just thinking, "Man, I'd really like to choke a bitch," when I realized that I had almost forgotten to be grateful today. So, here's hoping that taking some time out to appreciate life will stop me from planning elaborate violence on a hooker.*
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1) I get tomorrow off! If you, like me, get time off for Easter, you should probably join me in being thankful to Jesus. Even if you're not a Christian and you're skeptical about whether or not he died for your sins, I think you can agree that at the very least he died for your day off.
2) I'm lucky to have a boyfriend who is as honest and open with me as he is, out of respect to my slight insanity.
3) Two - TWO! - new episodes of The Office tonight!
4) All of my plants appear to be really healthy, in spite of the fact that I don't really water them on what you'd call a 'regular schedule.' Having plants around really adds some vibrance to a living situation. Especially when your other decorative efforts include a slipcover you made yourself and some half-burned candles.
5) I've been rereading 'Lovingkindness' by Sharon Salzberg, and I think it's having a positive effect on how I interact with people and react to daily nonsense. For one thing, I think recently reading this book is one of the reasons I'm not more actively hostile right now (see above, re: hookers*). I'd recommend it to anyone who is into touchy-feely self-improvement type things.
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*When I say 'hooker,' I don't necessarily mean 'a woman who performs sexual acts in exchange for money' (although yeah, possibly that too, in this case). What I really mean is 'a woman who is currently cruisin for a bruisin from my fists of justice and vengeance.'
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1) I get tomorrow off! If you, like me, get time off for Easter, you should probably join me in being thankful to Jesus. Even if you're not a Christian and you're skeptical about whether or not he died for your sins, I think you can agree that at the very least he died for your day off.
2) I'm lucky to have a boyfriend who is as honest and open with me as he is, out of respect to my slight insanity.
3) Two - TWO! - new episodes of The Office tonight!
4) All of my plants appear to be really healthy, in spite of the fact that I don't really water them on what you'd call a 'regular schedule.' Having plants around really adds some vibrance to a living situation. Especially when your other decorative efforts include a slipcover you made yourself and some half-burned candles.
5) I've been rereading 'Lovingkindness' by Sharon Salzberg, and I think it's having a positive effect on how I interact with people and react to daily nonsense. For one thing, I think recently reading this book is one of the reasons I'm not more actively hostile right now (see above, re: hookers*). I'd recommend it to anyone who is into touchy-feely self-improvement type things.
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*When I say 'hooker,' I don't necessarily mean 'a woman who performs sexual acts in exchange for money' (although yeah, possibly that too, in this case). What I really mean is 'a woman who is currently cruisin for a bruisin from my fists of justice and vengeance.'
Friday, March 13, 2009
Fact: Significant Other Not a Replacement For Inner Calm
Everybody and their mother (figuratively speaking) is currently on Spring Break. They're all out traveling and having a great time and I (poor, pitiful me!) had to keep coming to work all this time.
Although I sort of made up for it by not coming in before 10, staying up late, and eating out all week, and drinking on a Wednesday night.
Lee was here Monday night through Thursday morning, and the combined effort of carrying on with my life while trying to squeeze in as much Boyfriend Time as possible reduced me to just flying by the seat of my pants for 4 days. We would have dinner late, stay up even later watching TV or a movie, and finally go to bed around 1. Then I'd oversleep, come in to work around 10, and work for a little while. Then I'd leave work and meet Lee for lunch. Then work some more. Then come home and pick up all the junk in my apartment, because my apartment is big enough to contain either a) two people or b) one person and their clutter, but not both. Rinse, repeat.
I had a lot of fun while he was here, but I wasn't getting a whole lot done at work, and I didn't meditate for 4 days because I was spending so little time doing actual work that I didn't feel like I had the 15 minutes to spare. (I usually meditate sometime in the morning once I get to work. ...On the days that I actually do it.) I kind of convinced myself that I didn't actually need to meditate, because I was feeling pretty good about life, as long as you don't count the anxiety of not really being 'prepared' for work every day. I was even ready to come on the internet and tell you all about it. Who needs meditation?!? I'd say. When you can make out with someone every day, your chi is naturally balanced! Your mind is clear and calm! Your panties are unbunched!
Except for that yesterday, when Lee left, I found myself a little... relieved? Sad, of course, but also a lot more relaxed, knowing I wouldn't be responsible that night for feeding and entertaining someone, and if I wanted to sit brain-dead in front of the television and then go to bed early, I could. (I did watch TV all night, but I did not go to bed early, and I still came in to work today later than I'd like. Oh well, can't win 'em all.)
I'm not entirely sure how to interpret this revelation. I'm pretty sure this is what it's like for anyone who's hosting a guest while they still have to go to work and all. And I'm sure it has something to do with the fact that I usually only see Lee once a week, so I felt compelled to focus all my attention on spending time with him. But it also makes me wonder if maybe I should be glad that we don't have any plans to live together any time soon. Perhaps I still need more time to figure out how to take care of myself and put myself first, before I complicate my life any further. But what I know I've learned for sure is that just because I'm having a great time doesn't mean I should totally neglect my inner stability and forget to slow down once in awhile. When I put my health and sanity first, my other relationships just kind of fall into place on their own. Consider that a free piece of wisdom, from me to you.
Although I sort of made up for it by not coming in before 10, staying up late, and eating out all week, and drinking on a Wednesday night.
Lee was here Monday night through Thursday morning, and the combined effort of carrying on with my life while trying to squeeze in as much Boyfriend Time as possible reduced me to just flying by the seat of my pants for 4 days. We would have dinner late, stay up even later watching TV or a movie, and finally go to bed around 1. Then I'd oversleep, come in to work around 10, and work for a little while. Then I'd leave work and meet Lee for lunch. Then work some more. Then come home and pick up all the junk in my apartment, because my apartment is big enough to contain either a) two people or b) one person and their clutter, but not both. Rinse, repeat.
I had a lot of fun while he was here, but I wasn't getting a whole lot done at work, and I didn't meditate for 4 days because I was spending so little time doing actual work that I didn't feel like I had the 15 minutes to spare. (I usually meditate sometime in the morning once I get to work. ...On the days that I actually do it.) I kind of convinced myself that I didn't actually need to meditate, because I was feeling pretty good about life, as long as you don't count the anxiety of not really being 'prepared' for work every day. I was even ready to come on the internet and tell you all about it. Who needs meditation?!? I'd say. When you can make out with someone every day, your chi is naturally balanced! Your mind is clear and calm! Your panties are unbunched!
Except for that yesterday, when Lee left, I found myself a little... relieved? Sad, of course, but also a lot more relaxed, knowing I wouldn't be responsible that night for feeding and entertaining someone, and if I wanted to sit brain-dead in front of the television and then go to bed early, I could. (I did watch TV all night, but I did not go to bed early, and I still came in to work today later than I'd like. Oh well, can't win 'em all.)
I'm not entirely sure how to interpret this revelation. I'm pretty sure this is what it's like for anyone who's hosting a guest while they still have to go to work and all. And I'm sure it has something to do with the fact that I usually only see Lee once a week, so I felt compelled to focus all my attention on spending time with him. But it also makes me wonder if maybe I should be glad that we don't have any plans to live together any time soon. Perhaps I still need more time to figure out how to take care of myself and put myself first, before I complicate my life any further. But what I know I've learned for sure is that just because I'm having a great time doesn't mean I should totally neglect my inner stability and forget to slow down once in awhile. When I put my health and sanity first, my other relationships just kind of fall into place on their own. Consider that a free piece of wisdom, from me to you.
Thursday, March 5, 2009
Self-Improvement Update
I meditated last night and this morning, but rather than feeling an increased fondness for my fellow man, I have already been mildly annoyed by no less than 3 separate people today. In fact, I'd even go so far as to say that perhaps I'm more irritable than usual.
But maybe that's just because it takes a little while to start seeing an effect. I can't remember how long I did it last time before it started making a big difference. Or maybe I'm not more cranky, I'm just more attuned to my emotions today! Yeah, that must be it.
It's either that, or the sudden drop in lady hormones. I'll get back to you next week.
But maybe that's just because it takes a little while to start seeing an effect. I can't remember how long I did it last time before it started making a big difference. Or maybe I'm not more cranky, I'm just more attuned to my emotions today! Yeah, that must be it.
It's either that, or the sudden drop in lady hormones. I'll get back to you next week.
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
On Spring and Self-Improvement
On Sunday, North Carolina had it's first (and probably only) big snow of the season. One thing you should know about North Carolina: if it's going to snow big, it will do it in March, just so Winter can say, "See? I know you're sick of me, but I'm good for something!" Anyway, I got a snow day! It was awesome. Some people worked from home, but I slept in and played video games. It's my responsible decision-making that's gotten me where I am today.
In spite of the snow still lying on the ground, meteorologists are telling me that it's supposed to get into the 70s this weekend! Not to mention that my mom's birthday, which usually falls on or near the first day of Spring, is approaching. This means that this neverending mother effing Winter is about to end. Hooray! Fact: Winter is the time when God abandons us to fend for ourselves like savages, while he tends to the other hemisphere for awhile. This is why it's best to live as close to the equator as possible, where it's more likely that God is looking out for you all year long.
Anyway, the idea that Spring is finally coming (combined with my acceptance to a second grad school!) has reinvigorated my sense of purpose. I'm reminded that back in January I wrote some nonsense about setting concrete, short-term goals rather than vague, year-long goals like, "Be more like Harvey Keitel." So I've decided to set myself some goals for the month of March. And they are:
1) Meditate for 15 minutes daily, focusing on compassion, and
2) Go to the gym at least 3 times a week.
These goals are really just an attempt for me to get back into habits that I actually already had established sometime last year, but then somehow lost track of because did I mention how Winter beats me down and makes me cry and take long naps instead of being a contributing member of society? Oh, and also I'm lazy. Last fall, I was meditating pretty regularly at the suggestion of my Mental Health Professional, and I really think it was doing something good for me, since I've noticed I'm a lot bitchier now that I've stopped doing it. So I'm giving that a shot. The gym thing is just because I've gotten a lot less consistent with working out since Winter came and I'm reluctant to go back out in the cold and the dark once I've come home from work. Also, I've set myself a long-term goal of reaching [GOAL WEIGHT REDACTED] lbs by the time I head off to grad school. (Because why? I'll tell you why. A) Losing weight means I get to buy new clothes! and B) I'm assuming I'll have less time to exercise once I'm buried in a mountain of books, so I better get while the gettin's good.) If I ever actually reach my goal weight, I'll tell you all about it, promise.
Perhaps reading about my goals is boring. But I figured that maybe if I told the internet about them, I'd be more inclined to stick with them. Maybe I'll update you on my progress. Maybe I'll forget. Who knows?? Blogs: they're unpredictable!
In spite of the snow still lying on the ground, meteorologists are telling me that it's supposed to get into the 70s this weekend! Not to mention that my mom's birthday, which usually falls on or near the first day of Spring, is approaching. This means that this neverending mother effing Winter is about to end. Hooray! Fact: Winter is the time when God abandons us to fend for ourselves like savages, while he tends to the other hemisphere for awhile. This is why it's best to live as close to the equator as possible, where it's more likely that God is looking out for you all year long.
Anyway, the idea that Spring is finally coming (combined with my acceptance to a second grad school!) has reinvigorated my sense of purpose. I'm reminded that back in January I wrote some nonsense about setting concrete, short-term goals rather than vague, year-long goals like, "Be more like Harvey Keitel." So I've decided to set myself some goals for the month of March. And they are:
1) Meditate for 15 minutes daily, focusing on compassion, and
2) Go to the gym at least 3 times a week.
These goals are really just an attempt for me to get back into habits that I actually already had established sometime last year, but then somehow lost track of because did I mention how Winter beats me down and makes me cry and take long naps instead of being a contributing member of society? Oh, and also I'm lazy. Last fall, I was meditating pretty regularly at the suggestion of my Mental Health Professional, and I really think it was doing something good for me, since I've noticed I'm a lot bitchier now that I've stopped doing it. So I'm giving that a shot. The gym thing is just because I've gotten a lot less consistent with working out since Winter came and I'm reluctant to go back out in the cold and the dark once I've come home from work. Also, I've set myself a long-term goal of reaching [GOAL WEIGHT REDACTED] lbs by the time I head off to grad school. (Because why? I'll tell you why. A) Losing weight means I get to buy new clothes! and B) I'm assuming I'll have less time to exercise once I'm buried in a mountain of books, so I better get while the gettin's good.) If I ever actually reach my goal weight, I'll tell you all about it, promise.
Perhaps reading about my goals is boring. But I figured that maybe if I told the internet about them, I'd be more inclined to stick with them. Maybe I'll update you on my progress. Maybe I'll forget. Who knows?? Blogs: they're unpredictable!
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
No More Plastic Sporks, I've Been Cleared to Use REAL SILVERWARE
I just wanted to let the internet know that I had my last visit with my Mental Health Professional this morning, and I am inordinately proud of myself. This isn't the same as saying, "The cancer is gone!" or "That gash in my head has healed!", since technically no one ever told me that I must go see the Mental Health Professional for x number of visits. I made the choice to go, and I have now made the choice to stop going. Plus, I would never go so far as to say that I am completely un-crazy forever and ever. Nevertheless, I feel (and my Mental Health Professional agrees) that I have made some serious progress as far as coping with life and the Uninvited Asshole Voice in my Head and generally just trying to stay in touch with reality, rather than Chicken Little-ing all over the place all the time. So to myself I say, Congratulations, you sassy thing, you! It only took you a couple of months to achieve a level of functioning that most people come by naturally!
Also, I crunched some numbers (no seriously, I can show you my work if you want), and I've determined that as a result of my talking with the Mental Health Professional, I am now 84% less crazy than I was a few months ago. Kickass! Accordingly, I have updated my blog's motto.
Also, I crunched some numbers (no seriously, I can show you my work if you want), and I've determined that as a result of my talking with the Mental Health Professional, I am now 84% less crazy than I was a few months ago. Kickass! Accordingly, I have updated my blog's motto.
Monday, November 17, 2008
Mental Health: A Tricky Thing
(Fair warning: this post is long as damn.)
Alright, so. Now's the time I tell everybody about how I'm crazy. (Every time I say that, Lee says, "You're not crazy," to the point that now every time I say it, even if he's not around, I hear his voice in my head saying, "You're not crazy." So, thanks a lot, Lee. I may not be crazy, but now I'm hearing voices.) I mentioned before that I've been seeing a Mental Health Professional, and I feel a need to elaborate on that for some reason. Partly just for the opportunity to be able to sort through things and look at it all from a different perspective. I think life is a lot easier if you can accept yourself, be honest about who you are, and laugh at yourself, so we'll consider this post an exercise in all of that.
My Mental Health Professional is actually a clinical psychologist. One of the hardest things about seeing a Mental Health Professional is the fact that it's hard to refer to her casually in conversation. My Mental Health Professional and I have had some good conversations, and she has often said things that I think might benefit other people I know. But, alas, I can't tell them, because I can't figure out that best way to refer to my Mental Health Professional, beyond the admittedly cumbersome phrase "Mental Health Professional." Talking about "my psychologist" makes it sound like I've been committed to a state hospital, I think. Other euphemisms I've considered are:
- 'counselor' (sounds too much like 'life coach' or 'person who helps you decide where to apply to college')
- 'therapist' (sounds too much like I lie on a couch and talk about how I wish I had a penis)
- 'shrink' (OK, I've never even actually considered this one, because I think it's actually kind of offensive to the MHP, and also doesn't make a lot of sense to me)
Ultimately, I decided just not to mention her at all. When I talk about her to Lee, I just call her by her name, which we will pretend is Cathy. Because I've been extensively educated about different types of mental health treatment and therapy and how effective it is and how it's a very good thing and not shameful in the least, I was honestly kind of surprised to find that I was sort of ... embarassed about it. I shouldn't have been surprised, I know, but I was. Which is another reason that I wanted to write about it. I've read a lot of things on the internet that left me feeling shocked and soothed by how similar they were to my own experiences, and if anyone feels that way after reading this, then I'll consider it worthwhile.
The real question is: why have I been seeing a MHP? I'm honestly not really all that crazy. I like to think of myself as Medium Crazy. I function well, I'm not a danger to myself or others, I don't need medication, hell, maybe I didn't even need therapy (or counseling or whateverthehell). But. I have this voice I hear sometimes. I guess you could call it 'insecurity' or 'anxiety,' but I prefer to think of it as Some Asshole Who is in My Head Without Permission. It's been there for as long as I can remember, and was probably exacerbated by a four-year tour in the great War of Dating a Mildly Emotionally Abusive Jerkface. But after I graduated from college and moved out on my own, the voice of the Asshole in My Head got really aggressive. It was particularly bad at night, and it would start telling me things like...
"You don't have any friends. What if you never make any more friends? What if you're always alone?"
"No one at work likes you, they only invite you along to be nice."
"Are your parents taking good enough care of themselves? What if they die? You'd be all alone. What would happen to your brother?"
"It's all your fault your ex treated you the way he did. Maybe if you had been a better girlfriend, things would have worked out."
"Lee probably wishes you were more like [insert random girl he knows]. You'd better figure out how to be more like that, or he's going to break up with you."
"You shouldn't have gotten into that argument with Lee, now he's going to think you're crazy/awful/a pain in the ass, and he's going to break up with you."
You know, the kinds of things that all happy, well-adjusted people think about.
It came to a head one day at earlier this year. It was Administrative Professionals' Day, and in the space of a few hours I: 1) accidentally went in and sat down on a meeting I wasn't supposed to be in, 2) realized I had forgotten to get a gift for our secretary, and that someone else had gotten her flowers, and 3) found out everyone was going out to lunch with our secretary to celebrate and I couldn't go because I had to interview a study participant. I left work to go to my appointment, and on the way I started crying, while the Asshole in my Head went on and on about what an idiot I was and how nobody at work liked me because they thought I was unfriendly and rude and not thoughtful.
Later that day (when I was calmer and more rational and the Asshole in my Head was out on a coffee break or something), I got to thinking... you know, I bet most people don't become inconsolably upset every other night about their family dying or their boyfriend leaving them. And possibly, it's not a normal occurrence for people to leave work in the middle of the day crying over, basically, nothing. If I remember correctly, it was at that point that the Asshole piped up and said, "Oh no, what if you're depressed? What if this is just the beginning of a long downward spiral into chronic depression, and you end up like those people you saw in the videos in Abnormal Psych, who are medicated and still can't ever be happy and make everyone around them miserable?" And that was when, for a change, my OWN voice spoke up against the Asshole and said, "ENOUGH. FUCK THIS."
Because, you know, it's not as if I haven't put a lot of effort over the years into trying to shut him up. I bargained with him in much the same way you'd talk to an embarrassing relative. "Just be quiet for a little while," I'd say. "Just stop talking to me when my boyfriend is around, and we'll talk later." "Please just lay off the weirdness for today." "Just don't let any of my friends see you." "What do I have to do to get you to act normally??" But the whole thing got overwhelming and I decided it was time to bring in an expert.
So. That's when I started seeing Cathy. And she's a very nice, intelligent woman in her 30s, and we talk things over, and mostly it's been all about recognizing when things are getting a little irrational and out of hand in my head. Cathy is the source of my recent interest in Buddhist psychology and meditation, because she suggested that maybe meditation would help with everything. And I think it does. I think part of the problem is that by just going on with life and trying to ignore the Asshole, I was implicitly accepting everything he said. Then, it would get entrenched in my mind and become a Belief and THEN eventually it becomes 'the Truth.' On the other hand, when I just sit down and listen to him and look at what he's saying objectively, without being distracted by everyday noise and busy-ness, it becomes much easier to see that the things he says are ridiculous. And I can confront him, and come right out and say, "You know, I highly doubt that it's true that everyone dislikes me, and that I'll never make another friend again. And even if you're right, so what, Asshole? Are they still making new episodes of House? Is the sunset still gorgeous from the hill behind my apartment? Can I still obtain Oreos at my local grocery store? If so, I think I'm gonna be all right."
And it's times like that when it becomes clear: It's not me that's crazy, it's the voice in my head.
Alright, so. Now's the time I tell everybody about how I'm crazy. (Every time I say that, Lee says, "You're not crazy," to the point that now every time I say it, even if he's not around, I hear his voice in my head saying, "You're not crazy." So, thanks a lot, Lee. I may not be crazy, but now I'm hearing voices.) I mentioned before that I've been seeing a Mental Health Professional, and I feel a need to elaborate on that for some reason. Partly just for the opportunity to be able to sort through things and look at it all from a different perspective. I think life is a lot easier if you can accept yourself, be honest about who you are, and laugh at yourself, so we'll consider this post an exercise in all of that.
My Mental Health Professional is actually a clinical psychologist. One of the hardest things about seeing a Mental Health Professional is the fact that it's hard to refer to her casually in conversation. My Mental Health Professional and I have had some good conversations, and she has often said things that I think might benefit other people I know. But, alas, I can't tell them, because I can't figure out that best way to refer to my Mental Health Professional, beyond the admittedly cumbersome phrase "Mental Health Professional." Talking about "my psychologist" makes it sound like I've been committed to a state hospital, I think. Other euphemisms I've considered are:
- 'counselor' (sounds too much like 'life coach' or 'person who helps you decide where to apply to college')
- 'therapist' (sounds too much like I lie on a couch and talk about how I wish I had a penis)
- 'shrink' (OK, I've never even actually considered this one, because I think it's actually kind of offensive to the MHP, and also doesn't make a lot of sense to me)
Ultimately, I decided just not to mention her at all. When I talk about her to Lee, I just call her by her name, which we will pretend is Cathy. Because I've been extensively educated about different types of mental health treatment and therapy and how effective it is and how it's a very good thing and not shameful in the least, I was honestly kind of surprised to find that I was sort of ... embarassed about it. I shouldn't have been surprised, I know, but I was. Which is another reason that I wanted to write about it. I've read a lot of things on the internet that left me feeling shocked and soothed by how similar they were to my own experiences, and if anyone feels that way after reading this, then I'll consider it worthwhile.
The real question is: why have I been seeing a MHP? I'm honestly not really all that crazy. I like to think of myself as Medium Crazy. I function well, I'm not a danger to myself or others, I don't need medication, hell, maybe I didn't even need therapy (or counseling or whateverthehell). But. I have this voice I hear sometimes. I guess you could call it 'insecurity' or 'anxiety,' but I prefer to think of it as Some Asshole Who is in My Head Without Permission. It's been there for as long as I can remember, and was probably exacerbated by a four-year tour in the great War of Dating a Mildly Emotionally Abusive Jerkface. But after I graduated from college and moved out on my own, the voice of the Asshole in My Head got really aggressive. It was particularly bad at night, and it would start telling me things like...
"You don't have any friends. What if you never make any more friends? What if you're always alone?"
"No one at work likes you, they only invite you along to be nice."
"Are your parents taking good enough care of themselves? What if they die? You'd be all alone. What would happen to your brother?"
"It's all your fault your ex treated you the way he did. Maybe if you had been a better girlfriend, things would have worked out."
"Lee probably wishes you were more like [insert random girl he knows]. You'd better figure out how to be more like that, or he's going to break up with you."
"You shouldn't have gotten into that argument with Lee, now he's going to think you're crazy/awful/a pain in the ass, and he's going to break up with you."
You know, the kinds of things that all happy, well-adjusted people think about.
It came to a head one day at earlier this year. It was Administrative Professionals' Day, and in the space of a few hours I: 1) accidentally went in and sat down on a meeting I wasn't supposed to be in, 2) realized I had forgotten to get a gift for our secretary, and that someone else had gotten her flowers, and 3) found out everyone was going out to lunch with our secretary to celebrate and I couldn't go because I had to interview a study participant. I left work to go to my appointment, and on the way I started crying, while the Asshole in my Head went on and on about what an idiot I was and how nobody at work liked me because they thought I was unfriendly and rude and not thoughtful.
Later that day (when I was calmer and more rational and the Asshole in my Head was out on a coffee break or something), I got to thinking... you know, I bet most people don't become inconsolably upset every other night about their family dying or their boyfriend leaving them. And possibly, it's not a normal occurrence for people to leave work in the middle of the day crying over, basically, nothing. If I remember correctly, it was at that point that the Asshole piped up and said, "Oh no, what if you're depressed? What if this is just the beginning of a long downward spiral into chronic depression, and you end up like those people you saw in the videos in Abnormal Psych, who are medicated and still can't ever be happy and make everyone around them miserable?" And that was when, for a change, my OWN voice spoke up against the Asshole and said, "ENOUGH. FUCK THIS."
Because, you know, it's not as if I haven't put a lot of effort over the years into trying to shut him up. I bargained with him in much the same way you'd talk to an embarrassing relative. "Just be quiet for a little while," I'd say. "Just stop talking to me when my boyfriend is around, and we'll talk later." "Please just lay off the weirdness for today." "Just don't let any of my friends see you." "What do I have to do to get you to act normally??" But the whole thing got overwhelming and I decided it was time to bring in an expert.
So. That's when I started seeing Cathy. And she's a very nice, intelligent woman in her 30s, and we talk things over, and mostly it's been all about recognizing when things are getting a little irrational and out of hand in my head. Cathy is the source of my recent interest in Buddhist psychology and meditation, because she suggested that maybe meditation would help with everything. And I think it does. I think part of the problem is that by just going on with life and trying to ignore the Asshole, I was implicitly accepting everything he said. Then, it would get entrenched in my mind and become a Belief and THEN eventually it becomes 'the Truth.' On the other hand, when I just sit down and listen to him and look at what he's saying objectively, without being distracted by everyday noise and busy-ness, it becomes much easier to see that the things he says are ridiculous. And I can confront him, and come right out and say, "You know, I highly doubt that it's true that everyone dislikes me, and that I'll never make another friend again. And even if you're right, so what, Asshole? Are they still making new episodes of House? Is the sunset still gorgeous from the hill behind my apartment? Can I still obtain Oreos at my local grocery store? If so, I think I'm gonna be all right."
And it's times like that when it becomes clear: It's not me that's crazy, it's the voice in my head.
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