Finding strength in your “weakness”

Reducing the impact of a vice isn’t necessarily trying to eliminate it. We will probably always have at least a fraction of our childhood vices still in us. Instead, try to funnel it into something good, utilizing it differently to accentuate its potentially positive reciprocal.

Couldn’t sleep at all due to the endo pain but was able to fill eight pages in a random notebook with this before typing it up. Help me sleep. Please.

I have long maintained that many beautiful concepts have deep tragedies to them. I see, acknowledge, and appreciate the oft-ignored nooks and crannies of experience and of being, a strong witness to their darknesses, shadows, and the gems enveloped (or even later produced) by them. I’ve come to believe it’s part of the INFJ type, and perhaps among the reasons we are nicknamed “the Mystic” is because we are likelier to be privvy to the otherwise lost or forgotten gifts of deeper universal significance.

My personal outlook on this has taken a long time to develop. Aspect I share with others that I saw as valuable, beautiful, or forgiveable in them were not in myself. I couldn’t see my victories — small or big — as events or processes worth celebrating but congratulated others for things they themselves reportedly saw as minute gestures. Much of this stemmed from self-loathing, feelings of worthlessness and futility. I had higher expectations for myself than I had for those around me, marginally so. But I criticized my efforts, thoughts, feelings, and conduct in ways completely counterintuitive and ultimately counterproductive to growth. I was angry at myself for imagined attributes I didn’t really have or attributes I associated to others in completely inaccurate ways. I think it’s pretty normal for children and younger adolescents to make faulty connections like this. Normal but unhealthy and sadly, I’d say unhealthy habits, thought processes, self talk, etc are all extremely normal, even in adults.

Having C-PTSD and growing up with abuse from pretty much all directions however, I took those faulty connections to some pretty devastating extremes. (Trigger warning: Disordered thoughts – eating disorder + c-ptsd & casual descriptions of SI behaviors)

Continue reading “Finding strength in your “weakness””

The commitment to move forward & guilt vs shame

On accountability and the benefits of remorse, its surprising relationship (or lack thereof) to shame, and thoughts regarding working towards making a better future for ourselves by learning from our past.

Note: I use past tense for some people who are still currently in my life as I am going to eventually separate myself from them by legal means. This is a process so it takes time but want to clarify that emotionally, I am finally done letting my remaining toxic interpersonal relationships affect me. That being said, you can love someone still and know it is an unhealthy relationship and thus separate yourself from them. This will be another post at a later time but some notes on toxic interpersonal relationships here.

I have made many egregiously bad choices in my life. Among them are selfish and destructive choices I feel rightfully guilty over, such as the long-term and vile harassment of another person online, spurred by insecurity, both self-loathing and conceit, and self-righteousness. Another is blatantly dismissing the testimonial of an abuser’s little sister who had entrusted me with the secret that her older sister had broken her arm. This should not have remained a secret, and she and I both suffered for my denial of a very real problem. Out of more self-righteous thinking and behavior, I have meddled in situations that are not mine, further worsening some people’s circumstances in the process. While I would like to think they were purely well intentioned, I know my self-righteousness and own feelings of victimization have played a huge role in these particular actions, which is a major reason why my approaches to helping have sometimes caused further damage instead. Little works in crises when one is letting their inner (and still-hurting) child lead the way.

These wrongs that I committed hurt and even worse, potentially traumatized or helped traumatize others. My guilt here is justified and teaches me to not commit these sins again. Guilt is a positive emotion when it is about true heartfelt remorse. It is inspired by awareness, both of self and others, accountability, and is more central to ethical behavior than religion or law. The reason for this is that guilt is an internal measurement, and regardless of whether someone is more extroverted feeling, like me, and pays close attention to external rules and cues, or is more of an introverted feeler and pays close attention to internally formed rules and cues, guilt is what betters all of us socially when, like all discomfort and pain, we choose to grow from it.

For someone whose auxiliary function is extroverted feeling, (Fe), I learn too slowly. I effect change too slowly. And when I am unusually sick or stressed, I sometimes fall back on unhealthy and harmful behaviors, often again spurred by self-righteousness and unresolved feelings of victimization. I do recognize the urgent need to stop it, as those behaviors help no one and cause more hurt than resolution. I raise my voice, and when I say “raise my voice,” I mean I yell when I get angry.  And I become someone I myself can’t stand because I know I am causing hurt, and for reasons that at the end of the day, conflict with the behavior. I want people to listen and understand because when I yell, I feel hurt and ignored or misunderstood. But I know – when I am thinking rationally – all anyone does when they yell like that is hurt others and themselves. That’s why I have asked people to tell me when I am starting to raise my voice, so I can check myself and quiet myself down. It’s no one’s responsibility but mine, but I lose awareness, the sight of the goal (positive inter & intrapersonal development), and rationale in the heat of the moment and still need external reminders to calm the f*ck down. I have only gotten loud like this in the past three years. I’ve come to realize why but reasons for an unhealthy behavior do not and should not ever be confused with excuses. Still, unlearning this has been hard, and I have made only minimal progress since it was brought to my attention almost a year ago. Guilt, or perhaps the more specific term and meaning — remorse — is powerful and can greatly help to rectify bad behavior, but it is not the lone motivating force. I am making progress however and through identification and an implementation of coping skills, I hope to make this a past behavior more quickly.

Guilt vs shame

There is another feeling many people may relate closely to guilt – I used to too – but I caution strongly against making them so close. I can’t really remember where I first learned of the vital difference of meaning of these two words, but I know that actually proactively learning the difference took a long time even after. I do remember staring at the worksheet/handout in my early teens, trying to sift through events and circumstances in my head while utilizing the words’ very different meanings but having great difficulty in doing so. (Note: TRIGGER WARNING for disordered thoughts, including thoughts related to disordered eating and sexual trauma.) Continue reading “The commitment to move forward & guilt vs shame”

All my plants are dying.

The depression is finally lifting to a tolerable degree. I believe being more honest with myself and others about my health, values, and belief system has helped tremendously. Being authentic has always been very important to me, and when I am less than completely genuine about my identity, my energies become fragmented and chaotic. I start doubting myself, and I denounce my positive traits, most of which come with their own duality of darknesses: I have wisdom because of what I have experienced, and I am loving towards people because of what I have needed to experience and didn’t. I set high standards for myself and demand better of myself because of past sins and mistakes. I create extraordinary things from extraordinary pain. One cannot exist without the other. Yin to yang, I am made of major dualities and opposing intensities, much like my own life and what I have lived through.

But all my plants are dying.

I have not watered them in so long. I have a rose plant and a glass bowl of succulents. They were both beautiful in their prime, and the rose plant even blossomed again this autumn, providing us with two wonderfully scented yellow flowers. I was always very good about watering them. I am a nurturer. It’s in my nature to take care of living entities, whether they be human, feline, or photosynthetic in nature. I have forgotten to give my furbaby Oskar his medicine routinely, as he has a respiratory infection right now. I’ve been giving him enough medicine for it to be clearing up, but I could have helped him heal much faster had I kept up the routine. This depressive episode turned me into someone I’m not.

I guess that’s the modus operandi of mental illness: They try to kill you from the inside out.

Unlike personality disorders, other mental illnesses are less embedded in one’s behavior, character, and system of living. Personality disorders often are developed in response to trauma or something occurring in utero, (e.g. serotonin syndrome), with the addition of witnessing violence at a young age, (which one might call trauma also), etc. But it’s also true that standard mental illnesses affect your behavior, as well. Depression causes fatigue, loss of interest, social withdrawal, negativity, suicidality, all sorts of things that make one a different person than they were. Alternatively, mania causes a spike in energy, impulsivity, hyperfocusing, inflated confidence, and sometimes even dangerous delusions that lead to the person’s suicide.

All my plants are dying, my cat is still sick, all of my art supplies are scattered everywhere and have been untouched for months. I haven’t been making jewelry or papercrafting. I haven’t been shooting at all. I painted two paintings since I can’t even remember when. I have always been severely depressed, and I’ve been chronically suicidal for most of my life. I live with the heaviness and sadness every day of my life. I have learned to cope with it to some degree, but sometimes it gets so heavy, it is suffocating.

I’m going to water my plants and hope they forgive me and hope that Oskar’s next doses will help him kick the infection. I hope the plants overcome the odds and Oskar heals soon. Life is resilient. I’ve learned that. If it can fight, it will fight, whether it wins or loses. Oskar will be fine soon; I know that. He’s almost completely well. But here’s to hoping the plants have a chance. I hope within the next few posts, I can tell you

“My plants are alive again.”

Without faith

It is late, and snow is falling. It is very light, and it won’t stick anyway, but neighbors have bought their emergency milk and bread regardless. It’s not like the north where we were buried in snowfall, and I still had to walk to school. I remember the real cold, the brisk and bitter wind, the icicles hanging from the sad-looking houses. I miss winter. I miss the fall there. But I do not miss that town.

 

I’ve written about many people in my life, and some I’ve written about many times. I’ve written lives over, dreams over, nightmares over. I’ve rewritten songs to beats I could not keep and have cried over a thousand one too many melodies. Too many lyrics. Too many words. Too many thoughts. Millions. Millennia, all swimming in me, as if this moment will never matter, but it still hurts.

 

There are shadows I grasp at. There are apparitions too heavy to hold. I am a bearer of many observations, and I see things other people have not, cannot, and will never see. I hear radio interference, hissing voices bullying the airwaves. I pick up on pain you never knew you had.

Continue reading “Without faith”

The Analog Identity — Mothletter Studios

I never rest. Dreams are fragments to me of undercover lives; these lives lived, under covers, atop bedspreads, wear worlds only slightly off from the world in which I am writing this now. The realities are difficult to separate sometimes, twisting in me like bedsheets enduring a sleeping nightmare or a white-knuckled waking one. I […]

via The Analog Identity — Mothletter Studios

The flaw.

Fifteen years of therapy, eleven hospitalizations, in and out of partial programs, so many different services and different therapies (DBT, CBT, talk, etc.) Hell, I’ve even undergone ECT, (electroconvulsive therapy), and have had MRI, CT scans, EEGs, test after test, been on medication after medication, dose after dose, and I am sitting here on my couch, full of weeping lethargy but sleeplessness; a restless, nauseated anxiety and hunger for cessation and quiet. I feel so sad and so broken. Beyond tired, beyond depressed, beyond reparation. I know myself well. Years of [self-]interrogation, years of being poked and prodded by doctors, neurologists, psychiatrists, psychotherapists, counselors, and my own reflection have given me near crystalline photographs of my subconscious. I am betting I know myself more than most people know themselves. I am betting I understand myself more than most people understand themselves. And I am sure as hell that at this point, if I can be saved, only I can do it; and that, that is torture. 

Continue reading “The flaw.”

So, we fall; but we can rise again, as well.

I’m sorry I haven’t posted in a few days, guys. Truth is, I came back from my eleventh hospitalization yesterday. That’s right: I was hospitalized. “The Plan” didn’t go too well. In an effort to make things easier on me, Bf ate a big plate of steamed vegetables at work so I didn’t have to cook for him. I wasn’t cleaning. I was so tired from crying and so overwhelmed. I wasn’t putting away the laundry that was still in the dryer, because my back hurt so badly, and I was so tired. All these excuses kept circling in my head, because my depression was hungry, and I felt the need to feed it, so these excuses kept feeding the monster. They kept fueling the vision that my life and self were worthless.

Continue reading “So, we fall; but we can rise again, as well.”