Feeling Good

Do you remember that book checked out of the library in '98 that had all of the exercises? Cognitive Behavioral Therapy, whatever? So it came up today. Changing mental distortions. I guess I need to buy it.

The premise is that one wants to feel good, but doesn't know how. That's not my problem. Mine is that I don't deserve to feel good. Different matter. But still a cognitive distortion, I suppose (one in and of itself). Its own form of complacency. I do really believe that. I conjure various rationalizations for why this is so, but at root, it is how I go about life. I can't allow myself to be fully (or even minimally) human. This will never end until I can defeat that.

It isn't hard for me to trace my shame at all. All I have to do is remember my Dad staring at me, saying something destructive and hurtful, telling himself all along, I am sure, that I deserved it, or that it was something I had to know, etc. He had this awful stare, the way people do when they are being hurtful but at the same time want to distance themselves from their behavior. The hateful, distancing stare, and then the looking away, to dismiss me. What I wish is that he had held me and stroked me, adored me, told me good things about myself. He couldn't do that. And his hatred spread itself, like a virus. That's what haunts me; the blank stare, that even now my mother gives me, and the hollow, penetrating, aching words. And I repeat it myself. That is what is so horrible. I know I should break the chain, yet my hurt wants words, wants action, wants revenge. Because, at the feeling level (but not at the thinking level) I think that that is how I can reclaim myself. Temporarily, it feels good. But what I should really do is reclaim my power by healing acts. I should face my mother calmly, and tell her that I appreciate her concern, and that it is very thoughtful of her to offer me powder (my nose is too shiny), and that I think I look just fine. That would be triumph. She never knows how to react to my strength; my self-affirmation (which I show her, because I show myself, too rarely).

I guess I'm caught in the conundrum that is the result of abuse from another. You're rendered unwilling to fight your way out.

I don't want to discount the positive anymore. I want to embrace it -- to live it. These are just words now, but if I continue to pronounce them...

If I can learn to be unhealthy, I can unlearn it. If I can learn how to hate myself, and to be ashamed, and to doubt myself, and to expect disappointment and failure and to discount myself, I can learn the antithesis. I can learn love and belonging and fulfillment. Even if I don't really believe any of this yet.

None of the rest of it is valid until I do this. This work. Not the other things. This has to come first. And I have to believe that. If I remind myself everyday, it will come true. Healing begins with me. Solving injustice starts with healing the spirit. Healthy people don't wish harm unto others.

So when I say "complacency," I mean confronting the hurt within ourselves. That's the revolution from within. The power to bring peace and prosperity to all of us. Maybe you're not ready to hear it yet. Maybe I have to do more to bring the message to you. Maybe I have to come out from behind my wall. Every small step, the slightest action that is in the right direction has enormous potential, and speaks very loudly.

Remember how you felt when you fell in love? The potential; the omnipotence, the faith in happiness and good everlasting. That all things were possible. That's what we have to hold onto, because the cynicism will wait in the corner for us. You have to work at it though; it doesn't come for free. It's a fight worth waging.

Don't get corrupted. You don't need leaders; you can do it yourself. We all have so much power. It just gets lost from time to time.

That'll do, Pig.

It's for You

How far should I bend? That is the question.

I was headed to you-know-where Thursday, and a demonstration was headed in my direction down Mount Pleasant Road. My first reaction was, "Crap, it's a 'pro-immigrant' rally." As I got closer, I could see banners with Planned Parenthood's logo, and pink and white balloons. I finally realized that it was a rally against women's oppression. I strained to read the signs, etc., in the growing dark (a lot of them were in Spanish, which in my case is hopelessly rusty). It dawned on me that this was a rally by and for the Hispanic community to support women. I have never seen such a thing, and certainly had been the last thing I'd expected. It took me a few minutes to absorb the whole idea, and I wanted to get to the meeting, but I finally turned around and headed back toward the parade, trying to see what the banners said. A woman came up to me on the curb and tried to give me a domestic violence pamphlet, but it was one I already had, and I told her so. At first she asked me whether I spoke English. It was so sweet. At the tail end was a group of men, all Hispanic, and I smiled at them (I've been forcing myself to do this to people of Color, but these guys in particular deserved it). One of them said to me, in an accent, "You should join us. It's for you." I felt too awkward, even though I wanted to. It was the best anyone had made me feel all day. Another pin prick in my bitterness wall.

The good thing about being tough is that it has helped me to survive. The bad thing is that it may at times cause me to treat people unfairly. It also keeps me isolated. I am so used to ostracization that I am comfortable with it. I don't question rejection anymore, as I have come to see it as my fate. I don't want to be alone, but I don't welcome the alternative. I'm so sick of other people's rules. I'm sick of phonies. People who leap at the chance to prove their superiority to others.

You know? M doesn't know anything about me. Not a thing. Which is not to say that a lot of her points weren't valid, because they were, and I need to do some re-thinking. The irony is that I feel completely ready to change my views. That's not even the point. The point is that there is a right way to do things, and a wrong way, and for myself, if I keep letting people like M dictate terms to me, I deserve whatever happens to me. I'll be goddamned if I let people like David Bowie and Mos Def lecture to me about how to think. How much money have either of them donated to battered women's shelters? How many times have they spoken out about women's repression? No; because it's always racism that has to take a higher priority than saving women's lives.

I respect Tupac because he had the line in "Keep Ya' Head Up" about supporting a woman's right to choose. I assume that's how he really felt. It would have been nice if he could have kept away from the guns, etc., because he'd be around to spread more of this message. Just like it's not "murdering babies" to have an abortion, and it's not anti-semitic to want to reign in Zionism, it's not racist to hold people accountable for their actions. I appreciate that a double standard is being perceived in Jena, in that Black people felt they'd been treated unfairly over an extended period of time. But sometimes victimization and oppression are all in the mind.

I don't know how much longer I can go on like this.

At some point I have to acknowledge -- and work to meet -- my need for human connection. Sexuality. Belonging. Comradery. Achievement. Positive regard. Fulfillment. I just wish I could fucking figure out how to do that.

Everything is so hard all of the time. They don't call it "struggle" for nothing.

Maybe it's not struggle. Maybe it's baby steps. Like me getting on the phone right now, or getting out a sheet of paper and a stamp and mailing someone who is important to me a letter. "How are you? Just wanted to check in. Are you having any problems?" I have to start to do myself some good.

Life is not easy.

http://www.afterthetrauma.org/

Apathy

People are afraid to talk about politics. I guess I'd always known that; you wonder how much worse things have to get before they start to think that it directly affects them. Everybody has to get home and do something. Big hurry. Can't stop and discuss politics. Have they never read Plato?

Anyway, I'm excited that my cousin is interested in socialism. I sent him Socialist Worker. It would be so awesome if he were actually to come to the conference. But my family (except for Tommy, who's dead) has a phobia about coming into the city. Still, I have to start to think more positively.

I guess I'm going to kick back and dig some Clint Eastwood. Maybe there really are heroes. Giddayup.

Continued Indecision

You guessed it, dear anonymous (and mythical) blog audience. I have insomnia again. I started on my Final Project, but my back hurt too much and I felt too tired and frustrated to finish. I still feel good about the class -- I'm getting a lot of articles on my topic, which makes me feel validated. Plus, the first article that I came up with and annotated validated my beliefs at work about the proper role of QA.

Still, I wanted to go out and get some chips (ended up buying a pizza, instead), and I am increasingly worried about when I get things seriously underway, when I will have to devote three hours every single day to classes. I don't know. I try to stay positive about it. But I still say that we go through so much crap with so little substantive reward.

So, I have the bottle placed on my dresser. I was about to take a dose the other day, but I worried about the potential drowsiness, since I was on a two-day insomnia jag. So I decided to postpone until tonight. Then I was feeling so positive after the paper sale that I remembered that there is only one real way to deal with feeling depressed. Now I'm not so sure.

I still want the same thing; you know? As ashamed as I feel for wanting it.

Okay, now I want to start the meds. My instinct to start at night (although I slept well last night) was probably sound. But I'll get cold feet again by tonight.

At least try it, and see what happens.

What if I'm not supposed to be here? What if I was a colossal mistake? How would I know? What's the check?

Well...I was a mistake. My mother has essentially allowed as much to me (supposedly they were using a condom when I was conceived -- she told me this when I was in eight grade, discussing my sex education class with her. People who have children, but don't know how to parent. Don't get me started).

Maybe I just need more courage than I have. Maybe things are getting better, and I don't even realize it.

But you know what -- things aren't better. They have never gotten better. They have only got worse. It's not that I'm not trying, because I am trying.

Maybe I'll just take these pills and see what happens. At least I'll have the victory of saying, "See, I told you so." That would be cool.

To Lamictal, or not?

I have this vial of pills sitting in my kitchen, waiting for me to start them. And I just can't do it. My reasons for not taking them previously were different than they are now, but no less paralyzing. I think I just want someone to prove to me that I'm mentally ill, so that I can face all of the consequences which accrue from that. I feel as though society wants to have it both ways (and that, of course, is not fair).

Dorothy freaking Hamill is the latest depression confession (would you believe that I just thought of that? That is so freaking brilliant). She was on Larry King. I guess I want someone with mental illness that I can look up to (she's not quite it).

On another level, it would be so worth it. Still, I am so afraid. Of course, I had to go look up the profile. Headache, dizziness and insomnia are the side effects, with women more likely to get them. I already have all three of those.

All medication has ever done in the past is to make things more complicated. Nothing really ever changes for me. The very things you need just to keep up the treatment fall further from your grasp once you commit to it (oh, the irony).

My God, just take me out of this, already. Another irony; if I did start to develop the one fatal side effect, I don't think I'd ever report it. If I start on this s---, I'm going to start looking for the rash, and be pissed off if I don't get it. Watch it not take away my suicidal thoughts. That's typical. Not that I really want them taken away anyway. What else do I have? They are my only solace.

What would it be like for things not to get any better, and I start to feel better anyway? That's the essence of mood change. Nothing appreciably changes, but you stop caring. On the one hand, that's great. And in the short term, of course I'd take it. But there is nothing short term about medication.
I can't finish my thoughts now, because the insomnia has worn off. See how frustrating life is? Will I be less frustrated if I go on meds? Will I stop feeling so ashamed? You notice how no one actually promises these things.

Am I going to get in trouble if I link to Derrick Humphrey (Final Exit)'s site? See -- why do I always worry about that? What difference does it make? I pass people every day who live on the sidewalk. Like I'm too good to live like that. Maybe they'd rendition me to Albania, or wherever they're taking people. The point in life is to do the right thing, not to try to avoid the consequences. www.finalexitnetwork.org/  You can't confuse one with the other.

God -- the reason I can't sleep is that I'm thinking about all of the conflicts I'm going to have with folks today. Can't it be avoided? Why always the fights and arguments I always have with everyone? Isn't there something else? That's why I try to keep my mouth shut, except sometimes I can't help it. I have rights, too. That's what my mom says. I love her when she says that, except she doesn't say it enough.

Okay -- do you want some parent memories? I'm really not in the mood...Ken Burns' program brought enough of that back. I guess it can't be avoided (to answer my earlier question).

What am I going to do about school? Do I really want to spend three hours a day on it? It will be a bust, like last time. Assuming I get the approval for tuition reimbursement. Assuming. Life has taught me not to get my hopes up. Hope for the best, but expect the worst. There's a recommendation for continued existence. Barry had a well-meaning counselor who would actually say that to people in the courtroom as they awaited their sentencing hearings. Why not expect the best? That would empower prison inmates to better their lives. Do they want them not to get emotional in the courtroom?

I was going to delve into childhood. I don't think I'm in the mood. Some of the middle class memories aren't so bad. I don't know what poor people do. I really don't.

I do feel a little better. It's risky to feel better. You're never really safe. I'd settle for safety. Okay -- it's time to take a risk. Which one am I going to take today? Crap -- there are too many. Too many decisions to make. Now I'm overwhelmed again. I want to feel good about myself. That's what I want. That's my goal. Great. Now, how best to get it? I still don't know. I'm back where I started.

Time to go to bed, or go to work, or some danged thing. See you :)

Take it easy, but take it.

Revolution From Within

I have been brainwashed.

I have been conditioned to treat myself very harshly, and it is going to require a great act of will for me to learn otherwise. I've become such a slave to depression and anxiety. I have allowed them to guide my choices. Now I have to use self-care as my guide instead. On the one hand I'm terrified, and on the other I know in my traumatized heart that it has to be the right path.

I can do it. I am good, I deserve to take care of myself, I deserve happiness.

All I really have to do is to remember the above. That will free me from the prison of shame that has kept me.

I can make good decisions for myself. I do not hate myself. I do not hate anybody. I can learn to see things through the way my mind was molded; which was far from ideal.

Children should be raised in safety and security. We shouldn't take our problems out on them. If we all learn to love ourselves, we won't have any s--- to take out on them in the first place.

I don't need anyone else to approve of me or to love me. I can love myself. I don't need anything else. It comes from within.

This is my public confession.

I hereby banish all of the hurtful words that were spoken in my direction. I disown them; and I also forgive those who spoke them to me. I don't need anything other than my own forgiveness. I only need my own acts of courage, down to the very smallest of them.

Do you see how that could change the world? Think about it.

The Abuser I Knew

Isn't all of the tribute to What's-His-Face Benoit touching? "Such a great guy." A friend of the cop who killed his girlfriend in Ohio and hid her body told People Magazine that "the Chris I knew" was a great guy. The problem I had with my abuser was that everyone thought he was so great. These guys go around charming the pants off of everyone, because they desperately want love. So their victims (and there was a long history in the Benoit relationship foreshadowing this) face an uphill battle in getting anyone to validate their reality when they try to make the break. Most victims would like the help of others to get their partner to stop abusing, so that the relationship doesn't necessarily have to end. I know that that was always my stance. A fat lot of good it does, though. Generally what you (the victim) get from others when you seek their moral support is a lot of condescension and criticism. The abuser receives very little in the way of negative reaction, and usually gets a lot of sympathy because his girlfriend has the temerity to take their "problems" outside of the relationship.

I myself was in love with the W__ I saw outside of our home. He was a great guy whenever we were around others, because then he was on stage. The performance ended when he walked in the door of our apartment (or of wherever we/I happened to live). There was always an interesting transformation that took place when the phone rang during an argument. Often he would hesitate before answering (I always resented the intrusion while I was trying to gain a negotiating position with him, especially because most of the few phone calls we received were for him). But once he picked up, he never failed to hide the snarling tone I had moments before been subjected to. I would silently will him at these times to slip up. It's the phoniness I think that I resent more than anything. At least my father would periodically have his outburts with strangers and others outside of the home. He was consistent, and didn't try to make us think we were crazy (I guess that's the inherent dilemma with an abuser who has a high IQ :) ). Usually it would be his mother, and instantly his voice would assume meakness and deference. I have heard that many people spew anger toward their intimate partner that they harbor toward their parent. I definitely made it safe for him to mistreat me. In a sick way, I think that was my way of showing love; showing both of us that I was strong and generous enough to take it. But the problem is that you expect something back; you don't do that for free.

My cousin B____ always asks whether I've heard from him. I always tell him no, to which he responds heartily "Good!" This hurts me. I spent five years of my life giving W__ my heart and soul, just as I spent all of my other relationships giving much more than I received (certainly emotionally). Obviously being stalked and pursued by someone dangerous would be awful, but it is just as dizzying to have no contact whatsoever; as if it never happened, or that one or the other of us has fallen off the face of the earth.

I have spent very little time lately thinking about him, and I am not sure how I feel about that. It's good that I'm not ruminating -- I've actually spent very little time in rumination since leaving the relationship for good -- but the cost is that I seem to have short-circuited all of my emotions. My therapist urged me to resume a support group for battered women, which I am going to do. I definitely haven't done enough healing work. This relationship was an anomaly (compared to past relationships) only in that I left him, rather than vice-versa. I guess that's the real humiliation.

I have to learn to practice good self-care, assuming I can figure out what that is. That's my job now.

Still, I know I'll feel very empty until I start a new relationship, as nervous as I am about one. I don't seem able to sustain platonic friendships. Those frighten me almost as much as romantic relationships do. Why is it so easy for everyone else? What chip am I missing? Can I order it somewhere? :)

At least I'm still alive and un-maimed to do all of this figuring out. I was immobilized by my boyfriend and had my breathing cut off also (like Mrs. Benoit), although only for a few seconds, and I wasn't tied up. I might understand if you didn't like what someone had just said to you, and if you were prone to physical aggression, perhaps covering someone's mouth. But he made sure that I couldn't breathe, and that's what's hard to understand. I mean, I'm mad too. My feelings and experience (and life) are no less important than anyone else's. I'm already one-down in the relationship, by virtue of the larger sacrifices I have had to make on a daily basis. And now I am not asking for much. I'm placed myself through the upheaval of relocating, and need just a little cooperation at this point, so that I can keep myself whole. All I wanted to do was love you. All I ever wanted in return was love. How does it come to this? Why don't I count?

Penis Envy

Am I the only one who gets a guilty thrill from insurgency/terrorism? I saw a pic of Hamas guards in the process of taking over a Fatah office, and one guy was in a black vest, very stern looking. Good forearms. The rest were standing alert, ready for action. Way to go! I'm by turns horrified, and enamored of Hamas. Let's face it; we're all suckers for quick, decisive action. We're just hypocritical about who can carry it out violently, and who can't.

Once one embraces the notion of the virtuous warrior, how can one discriminate about which side to support? It's illogical. Why for one minute should the Iraqis (and Iranians, and Afghans, etc.) lay down and take what we're doing? We'd never respect them. We never respect anybody. We coerce, we exploit them. But respect is something we really never understand.

It all comes down to original sin. Some of us suffer its effects more than others of us. If we're not decimated by it, we have to try to defeat it. I think it is really that simple.

And yes -- I am here equating the male organ with sin.

You can't tame the human spirit through intimidation. What the terrorists have is powerful stuff. They are appropriating everything we sell in this culture about acting from your gut and obtaining instant gratification.

I want some, too.

Impulsive self growth

I did a good thing today, apparently (according to my new therapist). I acted in such a way as to deviate from my previous dysfunctionality. At the time, I did not think that much of it, and in fact debated it as rash and unhealthy. Turns out that it was a positive act, spurred by some deeply-buried instinct of self-nurture and esteem.

Maybe I'm finally healing. I heeded a small but ultimately triumphant voice of reason and conviction.

It sounds like something I would have planned and forced myself to do, and instead it happened almost by accident. I just knew that I was angry at what was being done to me. I have been stuck in deliberation for all of my life, and where has it got me?

Just act. Your gut knows what is just, if you are basically moral. And staying moral is really not that hard. Don't hurt anybody for personal gain. Don't take more than you need.

I'm still afraid at what I did, because I also had to sacrifice something (I feel). Maybe it is okay. I love being in love. But I couldn't continue to allow myself to be led. I had to act to regain control of the situation. "If you really care about me, this is what you will be willing to do. Otherwise, I don't need it."

Men always think they have to avoid temporary pain like the plague. They have no appreciation for the long haul. Why is that?

Never let men get the upper hand. They rarely prove themselves worthy.

So I'm glad I started this: I'm going to have plenty to say. I resolve to allow myself to ramble. My voice is important, also.

I had a close call (again).