What are 11 things your life doesn’t need in 2011? How will you go about eliminating them? How will getting rid of these 11 things change your life?
---
11 things? What an arbitrary number. I've been staring at this prompt for the greater part of a day, and I still have very little idea of what to write. There are things I would love to not have to deal with in my life. But the reality of it is, I will never be able to eliminate those things.
Stress. Stress will always be here, in some form or another... I can't rid my life of it. I can't eliminate it. I can try to reduce it, sure. But a large amount of it is completely beyond my control.
Pain. Yeah, life is painful. That's just kind of a given. Nothing to do about that.
Judgement. I'd have to rewrite humanity to rid myself of that one... We judge. It's how we survive. Whether those judgements are correct or not is besides the point. We have to make them. Even of ourselves.
Labels. Again, another one of those staples of life. I would love to not have to use labels to describe myself to other people. But without using labels, I'd have to spend hours and hours explaining, without even having the context of other labels to use as a jumping off point. We categorize. It's our nature, to label and sort and try and get things into some kind of order we can understand. Without those labels, we're lost.
That's 4 so far... How am I supposed to come up with 11 without getting into really really shallow nonsense?
My life does not need dirty dishes. I'm tired of washing them, or having to prod other people to wash them. I wish I could just have them magic themselves into the dishwasher, and then into the cupboards again when they're clean. But that's not going to happen. Instead, they will pile up on the counter, cleverly avoiding getting into the dishwasher when it's run, breeding, until I finally break and can't stand it anymore and just wash them myself, no matter who's job it was originally to take care of them.
Dust mites. I could really do without dust mites. If they would all just up and die, I could save $50 a month for my allergy prescription, and not have to worry about ending up with eosinophilic pneumonia or crippling widespread chronic pain ever again. Again, not gonna happen. And no amount of vacuuming or spraying or washing things will even get rid of the ones in my house. So, pointless to even think about that one...
Ugh. This list feels like an exercise in futility... And I just can't bring myself to be superficial enough to make it easier. So fuck it. I'm done. 6 is more than half. That's good enough.
Thursday, February 24, 2011
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Wisdom
What was the wisest decision you made this year, and how did it play out?
---
I spent a couple hours this afternoon griping about this prompt, and wound up telling myself that I need to shut the hell up already and stop with the self-defeating nonsense.
See, there's a part of me that doesn't see any of the decisions I've made as particularly wise. There's another part of me that feels I didn't really make much in the way of decisions, that I just kind of got swept up in life and "things happened" without so much as a say so from me. Maybe that's true, maybe it's not. It's probably not, but it's how I feel, regardless. I even feel that I've knowingly gone along with bad ideas because I didn't really think there was another viable option.
I mean, so many things happened that really just felt entirely outside of my control, that I found myself saying "oh boy, this is a bad idea. Shit, nothing else to be done though. Here goes nothing..." at least, in the back of my mind, if not outwardly so. It's a crappy place in life to be, and I hate it.
That being said: Progress, towards what I'm not entirely sure at this point, is being made. The biggest thing was kiddo coming to live with us. This was not exactly my decision, and it wasn't even exactly my desire. But it needed to happen, and I went with it, despite the "oh boy this is a bad idea" nagging at the back of my head. Things with his dad were SO BAD that I couldn't just sit back anymore and not do anything. And, admittedly, the change in location as well as living situation, has been good for the kiddo. But it hasn't been so great for me or M.
Ugh. This is fresh in my mind right now, after an evening battling with kiddo trying to get him to pay attention to the world around him long enough to do simple things like brush his teeth without it taking a half an hour. Maybe the frustration is coloring my view of things. But that's it, isn't it. This level of frustration... I don't know what to do with it, or where to channel it.
By having the kiddo here with me, his life is better. He's healthier, and his emotional state is healthier. But mine... My emotional state is worse, drastically. My freedom is gone. I cannot just up and go somewhere, I have to worry about if he's home or not, if he's fed or not, if his homework is done, and so on and so forth. My peace is gone. If he's not eating away at it directly, then he's doing so indirectly with video games or tv or playing loudly or what have you. Things do not run smoothly here any longer -- everything is a battle. Everything. From getting him to eat dinner, to getting him to get ready for bed, to getting him to do homework, or take a shower... Nothing is simple anymore.
There are nights that I can't sleep because I've had to endure so much frustration, all the while attempting to be a good mom and not lash out at him about it, that I'm an aching ball of stress. Tonight is one of those nights. And while I know that having him here is the best possible option, the only real option, the wisest decision even, I can't help but hear that voice in the back of my head saying "oh, this was a bad idea..."
---
I spent a couple hours this afternoon griping about this prompt, and wound up telling myself that I need to shut the hell up already and stop with the self-defeating nonsense.
See, there's a part of me that doesn't see any of the decisions I've made as particularly wise. There's another part of me that feels I didn't really make much in the way of decisions, that I just kind of got swept up in life and "things happened" without so much as a say so from me. Maybe that's true, maybe it's not. It's probably not, but it's how I feel, regardless. I even feel that I've knowingly gone along with bad ideas because I didn't really think there was another viable option.
I mean, so many things happened that really just felt entirely outside of my control, that I found myself saying "oh boy, this is a bad idea. Shit, nothing else to be done though. Here goes nothing..." at least, in the back of my mind, if not outwardly so. It's a crappy place in life to be, and I hate it.
That being said: Progress, towards what I'm not entirely sure at this point, is being made. The biggest thing was kiddo coming to live with us. This was not exactly my decision, and it wasn't even exactly my desire. But it needed to happen, and I went with it, despite the "oh boy this is a bad idea" nagging at the back of my head. Things with his dad were SO BAD that I couldn't just sit back anymore and not do anything. And, admittedly, the change in location as well as living situation, has been good for the kiddo. But it hasn't been so great for me or M.
Ugh. This is fresh in my mind right now, after an evening battling with kiddo trying to get him to pay attention to the world around him long enough to do simple things like brush his teeth without it taking a half an hour. Maybe the frustration is coloring my view of things. But that's it, isn't it. This level of frustration... I don't know what to do with it, or where to channel it.
By having the kiddo here with me, his life is better. He's healthier, and his emotional state is healthier. But mine... My emotional state is worse, drastically. My freedom is gone. I cannot just up and go somewhere, I have to worry about if he's home or not, if he's fed or not, if his homework is done, and so on and so forth. My peace is gone. If he's not eating away at it directly, then he's doing so indirectly with video games or tv or playing loudly or what have you. Things do not run smoothly here any longer -- everything is a battle. Everything. From getting him to eat dinner, to getting him to get ready for bed, to getting him to do homework, or take a shower... Nothing is simple anymore.
There are nights that I can't sleep because I've had to endure so much frustration, all the while attempting to be a good mom and not lash out at him about it, that I'm an aching ball of stress. Tonight is one of those nights. And while I know that having him here is the best possible option, the only real option, the wisest decision even, I can't help but hear that voice in the back of my head saying "oh, this was a bad idea..."
Party
What social gathering rocked your socks off in 2010? Describe the people, music, food, drink, clothes, shenanigans.
---
Party? Bwahahahahaha... Right. No parties for me. No social gatherings.
Next?
---
Party? Bwahahahahaha... Right. No parties for me. No social gatherings.
Next?
Beautifully Different
Think about what makes you different and what you do that lights people up. Reflect on all the things that make you different – you’ll find they’re what make you beautiful.
---
Different... I know there are lots of things that make me different. Tons and hundreds and gallons and whatever large measurement you could possibly come up with. But somehow, very few of them seem all that "unique" on their own. There are tons of people who enjoy Industrial Gothic Death metal. There are even more people who love food, or "getting lost" in the woods. There are even more people than that who are obsessed with technological gadgets.
I think... I think the main thing that makes me different, that lights people up, is that I am so accepting of who they are, taking them faults and all with no judgement. I care, unconditionally, even about people that piss me off. Heck, some of the better friends I have I've gotten after arguing with them over something. And I care deeply, very easily.
I've been told, several times lately in fact, that there is a kindness in me that is something that's hard to find in people. I'd have to agree with that. I am kind. And loving. And affectionate. And passionate.
I feel the world just a little bit more intensely than other people seem to. As a result, I feel pain just that much more strongly than other people seem to. And because I know just how badly it can hurt, I'm loathe to make anyone else feel that way, and will go out of my way to alleviate any discomfort someone is experiencing if I can. Even if I can't, I'll commiserate, let them know they're not alone, all the while never once looking down on them. Despite the additional pain it puts me through.
I suffer so much at my own hands, and I suffer in ways that I don't have to. I choose, even if it's subconsciously, to drown myself in other people's troubles/sorrows/fears/faults, to take on their pain as if it were my own. I know it's not necessarily a healthy thing to do, that there are ways of making other people feel better without making myself feel worse. But, I have a hard time keeping that kind of distance without completely removing myself from the situation. And... I can't keep pulling that far away anymore, despite being tempted.
I have a friend right now who's struggling greatly with Borderline Personality Disorder (Angel, if you read this, don't take it the wrong way, please). Many times the conversations we have leave me feeling worn, and raw, and hurting. Not because of anything to do with me, or because of anything he's done, but simply because I can see the sheer amount of pain he's in, and I lack the ability to distance myself from that pain. Sometimes I find myself wanting to shy away, to retreat, run from that friendship, because I am afraid of being hurt that way. But then... I'll hear him laugh, because I've said or done something that managed to cut through whatever else was going on in his head and made him happy, even for just a split second. And all that fear of being hurt disappears. It's worth it to me, if me giving just that little bit of love and support can bring a little bit of light to someone.
If I were to look at myself through other people's eyes, see myself as if I were looking at someone else, I'd say they were kind, and caring, and giving to a degree that bordered upon selflessness. And beautiful because of it.
Maybe I should look at myself through other people's eyes more often...
---
Different... I know there are lots of things that make me different. Tons and hundreds and gallons and whatever large measurement you could possibly come up with. But somehow, very few of them seem all that "unique" on their own. There are tons of people who enjoy Industrial Gothic Death metal. There are even more people who love food, or "getting lost" in the woods. There are even more people than that who are obsessed with technological gadgets.
I think... I think the main thing that makes me different, that lights people up, is that I am so accepting of who they are, taking them faults and all with no judgement. I care, unconditionally, even about people that piss me off. Heck, some of the better friends I have I've gotten after arguing with them over something. And I care deeply, very easily.
I've been told, several times lately in fact, that there is a kindness in me that is something that's hard to find in people. I'd have to agree with that. I am kind. And loving. And affectionate. And passionate.
I feel the world just a little bit more intensely than other people seem to. As a result, I feel pain just that much more strongly than other people seem to. And because I know just how badly it can hurt, I'm loathe to make anyone else feel that way, and will go out of my way to alleviate any discomfort someone is experiencing if I can. Even if I can't, I'll commiserate, let them know they're not alone, all the while never once looking down on them. Despite the additional pain it puts me through.
I suffer so much at my own hands, and I suffer in ways that I don't have to. I choose, even if it's subconsciously, to drown myself in other people's troubles/sorrows/fears/faults, to take on their pain as if it were my own. I know it's not necessarily a healthy thing to do, that there are ways of making other people feel better without making myself feel worse. But, I have a hard time keeping that kind of distance without completely removing myself from the situation. And... I can't keep pulling that far away anymore, despite being tempted.
I have a friend right now who's struggling greatly with Borderline Personality Disorder (Angel, if you read this, don't take it the wrong way, please). Many times the conversations we have leave me feeling worn, and raw, and hurting. Not because of anything to do with me, or because of anything he's done, but simply because I can see the sheer amount of pain he's in, and I lack the ability to distance myself from that pain. Sometimes I find myself wanting to shy away, to retreat, run from that friendship, because I am afraid of being hurt that way. But then... I'll hear him laugh, because I've said or done something that managed to cut through whatever else was going on in his head and made him happy, even for just a split second. And all that fear of being hurt disappears. It's worth it to me, if me giving just that little bit of love and support can bring a little bit of light to someone.
If I were to look at myself through other people's eyes, see myself as if I were looking at someone else, I'd say they were kind, and caring, and giving to a degree that bordered upon selflessness. And beautiful because of it.
Maybe I should look at myself through other people's eyes more often...
Community
Where have you discovered community, online or otherwise, in 2010? What community would you like to join, create or more deeply connect with in 2011?
---
Hm. Another hard one.
Community, or rather the lack thereof, in my life has been somewhat of a sore spot lately. Online communities have been, for the past couple of years anyway, my only real form of socialization. I've joined some, left some, investigated some, not really finding a "home" in any of them. Always remaining on the fringes, no matter how much I've tried to participate.
I have a love/hate relationship with people, you see. As much as I need to be around them, need them to talk to, or find validation or companionship with them, there are aspects of humanity that disgust me. Groupthink being a big part of that, clique-ish tendencies, judgement and ostracizing of anyone who doesn't "fit in".
And then there's the whole thing about true selves. I value the true self, as much as I run from my own. Honesty is the keystone of my interaction with anyone and everyone around me. But I don't feel that I can be my true self with many people. Which means I can't be honest, at least not to the degree I feel I should be. And I don't like being put in that position. The one where I feel I either have to lie, or be alone. So, I often just go with the path of least resistance and keep to myself.
I started trying to change that a little bit last year, finding a chat room for an online literary group that I read fairly often. I've made friends there. Good ones, ones that over the past few months I've spilled my guts to about all the chaos in my head, ones that I've cried to, and sobbed to, and who have been patient and understanding with me, even offering very good advice. And I've been there for these friends too, listening to their troubles, helping as best I can, even if it's just being willing to answer my phone at 4am when they need someone to talk to. It's not really community though, as these are one on one friendships that aren't really shared with anyone else -- not even with M.
I want, desperately, to be part of a group. I'm feeling really isolated right now, and I don't like the crazy shit that ends up going through my head because of that isolation. But it has to be a group that would be accepting of me, the way I am. And that's not so easy to find when I don't even really know who I am.
I'm making the effort still, though. I joined two message boards for people who share a particular defining characteristic of my lifestyle (what that characteristic is, I'm not entirely sure I'm willing to share too openly yet, at least not without being able to explain in detail so there's no confusion). But they're small groups. There's not a lot of activity. And as such, it's harder to become part of it in a meaningful way. I'd like to expand on that, find things for me to be a part of in real life. It's just so hard...
I don't trust easily. I never have. The idea of opening up enough to be able to be part of a "community"... Scares me a little. I need it though. I used to have it, to a degree, and I want it back. Need it back.
---
Hm. Another hard one.
Community, or rather the lack thereof, in my life has been somewhat of a sore spot lately. Online communities have been, for the past couple of years anyway, my only real form of socialization. I've joined some, left some, investigated some, not really finding a "home" in any of them. Always remaining on the fringes, no matter how much I've tried to participate.
I have a love/hate relationship with people, you see. As much as I need to be around them, need them to talk to, or find validation or companionship with them, there are aspects of humanity that disgust me. Groupthink being a big part of that, clique-ish tendencies, judgement and ostracizing of anyone who doesn't "fit in".
And then there's the whole thing about true selves. I value the true self, as much as I run from my own. Honesty is the keystone of my interaction with anyone and everyone around me. But I don't feel that I can be my true self with many people. Which means I can't be honest, at least not to the degree I feel I should be. And I don't like being put in that position. The one where I feel I either have to lie, or be alone. So, I often just go with the path of least resistance and keep to myself.
I started trying to change that a little bit last year, finding a chat room for an online literary group that I read fairly often. I've made friends there. Good ones, ones that over the past few months I've spilled my guts to about all the chaos in my head, ones that I've cried to, and sobbed to, and who have been patient and understanding with me, even offering very good advice. And I've been there for these friends too, listening to their troubles, helping as best I can, even if it's just being willing to answer my phone at 4am when they need someone to talk to. It's not really community though, as these are one on one friendships that aren't really shared with anyone else -- not even with M.
I want, desperately, to be part of a group. I'm feeling really isolated right now, and I don't like the crazy shit that ends up going through my head because of that isolation. But it has to be a group that would be accepting of me, the way I am. And that's not so easy to find when I don't even really know who I am.
I'm making the effort still, though. I joined two message boards for people who share a particular defining characteristic of my lifestyle (what that characteristic is, I'm not entirely sure I'm willing to share too openly yet, at least not without being able to explain in detail so there's no confusion). But they're small groups. There's not a lot of activity. And as such, it's harder to become part of it in a meaningful way. I'd like to expand on that, find things for me to be a part of in real life. It's just so hard...
I don't trust easily. I never have. The idea of opening up enough to be able to be part of a "community"... Scares me a little. I need it though. I used to have it, to a degree, and I want it back. Need it back.
Make
What was the last thing you made? What materials did you use? Is there something you want to make, but you need to clear some time for it?
---
Alright. This prompt is just, lame.
I make things constantly. I don't always finish making them right away, but I do make them. I've made so many things in the past year, I don't know that I can really count them all.
Hats and scarves for not just myself but M and the kiddo too. A sweater for M. I've made baskets out of recycled CAT-5 cable. Started a quilt, and at least finished the top, even if I'm still working on all the hand quilting (omg that's time consuming. wtf was I thinking?). I've made other things, not that they really jump to mind right away, but... If there's something we need that we don't have the money for that I could feasibly make, I do.
Do I need to clear time for these things? No. Time I have. Focus and motivation I do not always have. Especially when the only purpose behind a particular project is "I feel like doing this", and it ends up being a lot harder than I'd originally thought it would be.
Example: Zulu baskets. I started one, using recycled CAT-5 cable that I split up myself, and old speaker wire. Unfortunately, there are no online tutorials about how to make these. But, being stubborn I looked at them, studied what I could, found documentaries about Zulu craftsmen making them, said "I can do that" and dove right in. OH MY GOD. No I can't do that. Don't get me wrong. I have the physical capability, and the intelligence to figure out the stitch patterns, and how to get the thing started. The one I started is 75% done, in fact. The problem? I don't know how to finish it. None of anything I read talked about how to decrease the thing to get the flat bottom. None of the videos I saw came close to showing how to do that. Something I conveniently overlooked in my decision to start the damned thing. I tried to figure it out on my own. I experimented with different techniques I already knew, played with different ways of coiling the wire, even went so far as to try and weave in ends to decrease by actually reducing the number of strands I was working with. All to no avail. None of it looked right. So it's sat, unfinished, it's lack of being finished staring at me, judging me, for getting in over my head, for months now. I'm sorely tempted to just rip the whole thing out, and re-use the materials to do something more conventional (like my last few), but I can't quite bring myself to admit defeat yet. And yet, at the same time, I'm not quite motivated enough to push forward with any particular decision. Bah.
So yeah. Time is not the issue here.
---
Alright. This prompt is just, lame.
I make things constantly. I don't always finish making them right away, but I do make them. I've made so many things in the past year, I don't know that I can really count them all.
Hats and scarves for not just myself but M and the kiddo too. A sweater for M. I've made baskets out of recycled CAT-5 cable. Started a quilt, and at least finished the top, even if I'm still working on all the hand quilting (omg that's time consuming. wtf was I thinking?). I've made other things, not that they really jump to mind right away, but... If there's something we need that we don't have the money for that I could feasibly make, I do.
Do I need to clear time for these things? No. Time I have. Focus and motivation I do not always have. Especially when the only purpose behind a particular project is "I feel like doing this", and it ends up being a lot harder than I'd originally thought it would be.
Example: Zulu baskets. I started one, using recycled CAT-5 cable that I split up myself, and old speaker wire. Unfortunately, there are no online tutorials about how to make these. But, being stubborn I looked at them, studied what I could, found documentaries about Zulu craftsmen making them, said "I can do that" and dove right in. OH MY GOD. No I can't do that. Don't get me wrong. I have the physical capability, and the intelligence to figure out the stitch patterns, and how to get the thing started. The one I started is 75% done, in fact. The problem? I don't know how to finish it. None of anything I read talked about how to decrease the thing to get the flat bottom. None of the videos I saw came close to showing how to do that. Something I conveniently overlooked in my decision to start the damned thing. I tried to figure it out on my own. I experimented with different techniques I already knew, played with different ways of coiling the wire, even went so far as to try and weave in ends to decrease by actually reducing the number of strands I was working with. All to no avail. None of it looked right. So it's sat, unfinished, it's lack of being finished staring at me, judging me, for getting in over my head, for months now. I'm sorely tempted to just rip the whole thing out, and re-use the materials to do something more conventional (like my last few), but I can't quite bring myself to admit defeat yet. And yet, at the same time, I'm not quite motivated enough to push forward with any particular decision. Bah.
So yeah. Time is not the issue here.
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
Let Go
What (or Whom) have you let go of?
---
Well, damn. These prompts are getting difficult.
My first thought was that I haven't let go of anything, or anyone. At least, not entirely. That whatever things, people, concepts, ideas, I might describe as having "let go" of are things that I'm still actively attempting to hold onto in some regard, even if only subconsciously. But that's not really true. It's just that what I have let go of is so tangentially related to all the bullshit I've gone through, and took place slowly enough, that I don't think I even realized I was letting go of it. Not until now, when I really stopped to think about it.
I have, for the vast majority of my life, struggled with "emotional stability". I have bipolar disorder and complex PTSD. Being "normal" when it comes to emotional responses to situations is not something I've ever really been capable of.
I tried. Oh god how I tried. I went to therapist after therapist, took medication after medication, went through behavior modification training, cognitive therapy... All trying to be "normal", trying to get my range of emotions to fit into the range that "everyone else's" do.
And when none of those things worked, when the medications and the "therapy" just made things worse, I faked it, or avoided it, or distracted myself from it. I tried to convince myself that if I could just pretend hard enough to be happy, I would be. Eventually. So I forced the smile, forced the laughter, pushed away every "bad" feeling I could manage to for as long as I could manage. I was going to be "normal", dammit, even if I had to destroy myself doing it.
[Aw hell. Anyone noticing a theme for me here? I sure as heck am, and I don't think I like it very much. Aren't I the person who always said that normal was boring? Didn't I always pride myself on being different, and special, and going against the grain? wtf happened here?]
But I couldn't keep it up. Especially with the added stresses of the past year or three. I finally had to let it show to the people around me. I was shocked when they didn't run screaming from the amount of "crazy" (I thought it was "crazy" in any case) that I dumped in their laps. But not only did they not run screaming, they seemed to like me more for it, trust me more, open up to me more.
When M's mom was starting to move up here is, I think, the point when I finally gave up trying to hide the fact that I felt badly about stuff. She's a hoarder, and her house... Her living situation... Was... Too gruesome to really go into. And her financial situation was fucked beyond belief. And I was bending over backwards, tying my own life into knots, to help her (through M) get things figured out so she could get out of her mess. Right when my life had gotten just that much more difficult, with my kid moving in with me again. It was a breaking point for me. I simply was feeling too much hurt, anger, frustration, to hold it in any more. And so I found myself sitting at my favorite distraction (World of Warcraft) one afternoon, and it all just boiled over. I dumped it all into guild chat when someone gave me the opening by asking how I was. And nothing bad happened. The world did not implode. No one died. Instead I got a song written just for me, to cheer me up a bit, and one of my best friends out of the deal too.
So I let go of the impenetrable front I'd been putting up (admittedly, I wasn't putting it up very well) of "nothing phases me, I'm happy."
I'm still deprogramming myself though. So while I've let go of the idea that I need to be a "shining happy people" all the time, I'm still working on how exactly showing the rest of my emotions to other people (people who aren't M -- he sees a fair amount of my insanity, and always has) is supposed to work. It seems that, between hiding my inner self and my outer self being so isolated, I've forgotten a lot of the nuances. Most specifically the ones about what level of honesty is appropriate when. So I fuck up. A lot. Especially when alcohol gets involved.
Yeah... Oops.
---
Well, damn. These prompts are getting difficult.
My first thought was that I haven't let go of anything, or anyone. At least, not entirely. That whatever things, people, concepts, ideas, I might describe as having "let go" of are things that I'm still actively attempting to hold onto in some regard, even if only subconsciously. But that's not really true. It's just that what I have let go of is so tangentially related to all the bullshit I've gone through, and took place slowly enough, that I don't think I even realized I was letting go of it. Not until now, when I really stopped to think about it.
I have, for the vast majority of my life, struggled with "emotional stability". I have bipolar disorder and complex PTSD. Being "normal" when it comes to emotional responses to situations is not something I've ever really been capable of.
I tried. Oh god how I tried. I went to therapist after therapist, took medication after medication, went through behavior modification training, cognitive therapy... All trying to be "normal", trying to get my range of emotions to fit into the range that "everyone else's" do.
And when none of those things worked, when the medications and the "therapy" just made things worse, I faked it, or avoided it, or distracted myself from it. I tried to convince myself that if I could just pretend hard enough to be happy, I would be. Eventually. So I forced the smile, forced the laughter, pushed away every "bad" feeling I could manage to for as long as I could manage. I was going to be "normal", dammit, even if I had to destroy myself doing it.
[Aw hell. Anyone noticing a theme for me here? I sure as heck am, and I don't think I like it very much. Aren't I the person who always said that normal was boring? Didn't I always pride myself on being different, and special, and going against the grain? wtf happened here?]
But I couldn't keep it up. Especially with the added stresses of the past year or three. I finally had to let it show to the people around me. I was shocked when they didn't run screaming from the amount of "crazy" (I thought it was "crazy" in any case) that I dumped in their laps. But not only did they not run screaming, they seemed to like me more for it, trust me more, open up to me more.
When M's mom was starting to move up here is, I think, the point when I finally gave up trying to hide the fact that I felt badly about stuff. She's a hoarder, and her house... Her living situation... Was... Too gruesome to really go into. And her financial situation was fucked beyond belief. And I was bending over backwards, tying my own life into knots, to help her (through M) get things figured out so she could get out of her mess. Right when my life had gotten just that much more difficult, with my kid moving in with me again. It was a breaking point for me. I simply was feeling too much hurt, anger, frustration, to hold it in any more. And so I found myself sitting at my favorite distraction (World of Warcraft) one afternoon, and it all just boiled over. I dumped it all into guild chat when someone gave me the opening by asking how I was. And nothing bad happened. The world did not implode. No one died. Instead I got a song written just for me, to cheer me up a bit, and one of my best friends out of the deal too.
So I let go of the impenetrable front I'd been putting up (admittedly, I wasn't putting it up very well) of "nothing phases me, I'm happy."
I'm still deprogramming myself though. So while I've let go of the idea that I need to be a "shining happy people" all the time, I'm still working on how exactly showing the rest of my emotions to other people (people who aren't M -- he sees a fair amount of my insanity, and always has) is supposed to work. It seems that, between hiding my inner self and my outer self being so isolated, I've forgotten a lot of the nuances. Most specifically the ones about what level of honesty is appropriate when. So I fuck up. A lot. Especially when alcohol gets involved.
Yeah... Oops.
Wonder
How did you cultivate a sense of wonder...
---
Wonder is my blackberry vine. Can someone rent me some goats?
Okay, so only someone who lives in the Pacific Northwest will get that particular joke. The analogy is apt anyway. See, I've struggled with this prompt. I've stared at it, and stared at it, and stared some more, trying to figure out what to say.
I've never had to "cultivate" wonder in myself. I can't even begin to imagine what it would be like to need to do so. I am constantly, perpetually, curious and awed about the world and just about everything in it. Even the things I dislike strong enough to use the word "hate" about. I'm just driven to want to know, to understand, things. And I find all that more fascinating than anything fictional or made up.
Maybe I should have been a scientist. But I've always found hard science too limiting. It requires too much focus. There's simply no room for generalism and I'm definitely a generalist. Jack of all trades, master of none.
Just this past weekend, driving up to YAL (yet another lake) to explore, I tried my hand at practicing botany, geology, meteorology, climatology, hydrology, topology... Everything I said seemed to start with "Oh wow, what's that?" or "Oh, how pretty, I wonder how..." as I'd wander in for a closer look.
The weekend before, I spent some unknown amount of time standing on a beach along a raging white water river, just looking at the rocks. Staring at the patterns and colors in them, trying to figure out how exactly they got that way, what minerals caused what effect, whether they were volcanic or sedimentary.
The weekend before that, I stood at the bottom of a glacial valley, on the shores of a lake so calm it mirrored the mountains on either side of it, and watched steam plumes from the vents of an active volcano. Just awed by the fact that I was standing there, so seemingly insignificant in comparison to this living mountain that hadn't erupted in millennia.
Even people, as much as they often infuriate me, fascinate me. Sociology, psychology, anthropology. Language, especially, I love learning about. How it affects culture, and how culture affects it in return.
Life, and death as well, hold so much to wonder about. I just can't seem to stop poking at any of it.
But... It has it's downside. I often get lost in my computer screen, drowning my curiosity in google searches and wiki articles. Doing that thing where you start out wanting to know about one specific subject, but you see a link to something else interesting, which links to something else interesting, which links to something else... And before you know it, hours have gone by. Your simple question of "Has Estonia adopted the Euro yet?" has turned into a winding journey that twisted and turned it's way through the web and left you staring at a research paper about the long term effects of hand sanitizer on lab rats.
---
Wonder is my blackberry vine. Can someone rent me some goats?
Okay, so only someone who lives in the Pacific Northwest will get that particular joke. The analogy is apt anyway. See, I've struggled with this prompt. I've stared at it, and stared at it, and stared some more, trying to figure out what to say.
I've never had to "cultivate" wonder in myself. I can't even begin to imagine what it would be like to need to do so. I am constantly, perpetually, curious and awed about the world and just about everything in it. Even the things I dislike strong enough to use the word "hate" about. I'm just driven to want to know, to understand, things. And I find all that more fascinating than anything fictional or made up.
Maybe I should have been a scientist. But I've always found hard science too limiting. It requires too much focus. There's simply no room for generalism and I'm definitely a generalist. Jack of all trades, master of none.
Just this past weekend, driving up to YAL (yet another lake) to explore, I tried my hand at practicing botany, geology, meteorology, climatology, hydrology, topology... Everything I said seemed to start with "Oh wow, what's that?" or "Oh, how pretty, I wonder how..." as I'd wander in for a closer look.
The weekend before, I spent some unknown amount of time standing on a beach along a raging white water river, just looking at the rocks. Staring at the patterns and colors in them, trying to figure out how exactly they got that way, what minerals caused what effect, whether they were volcanic or sedimentary.
The weekend before that, I stood at the bottom of a glacial valley, on the shores of a lake so calm it mirrored the mountains on either side of it, and watched steam plumes from the vents of an active volcano. Just awed by the fact that I was standing there, so seemingly insignificant in comparison to this living mountain that hadn't erupted in millennia.
Even people, as much as they often infuriate me, fascinate me. Sociology, psychology, anthropology. Language, especially, I love learning about. How it affects culture, and how culture affects it in return.
Life, and death as well, hold so much to wonder about. I just can't seem to stop poking at any of it.
But... It has it's downside. I often get lost in my computer screen, drowning my curiosity in google searches and wiki articles. Doing that thing where you start out wanting to know about one specific subject, but you see a link to something else interesting, which links to something else interesting, which links to something else... And before you know it, hours have gone by. Your simple question of "Has Estonia adopted the Euro yet?" has turned into a winding journey that twisted and turned it's way through the web and left you staring at a research paper about the long term effects of hand sanitizer on lab rats.
Friday, February 11, 2011
Moment
Pick one moment during which you felt the most alive this year
---
This has been a tough prompt for me because the moments I feel the most alive have to do with the contents of that Pandora's Box I'm so afraid of facing. Admitting that is hard enough for me, except under the most special of circumstances, that I won't bother narrowing it down to one.
But here we go: Confession time.
I have never felt more alive than when giving up complete and total control of myself to someone else. Submitting entirely and becoming nothing and no one but the subject and object of their desire, their whim, their fantasy, to use as they see fit. The less in control I am, the freer I become -- able to do, and say, and feel all those things that are such guilty pleasures for me.
And then to be encouraged, spurred on, even praised and rewarded for those wants and needs that are so deeply deviant... Electricity courses through my veins, bright white hot flames bathe my skin. Such heat, such passion, that I almost don't need to be touched. Just the faint vibration of a voice, a sigh, a moan, a breath across bare skin, can be enough to trigger waves of euphoria. Throw a little pain into that mix, and I lose myself entirely.
The juxtaposition of humiliation and praise, of pain and pleasure, makes me feel more vibrant than anything else I've ever experienced. So much of it defies words, though. I've tried to figure it out, tried to explain... And always so poorly, I'm loathe to attempt such an endeavor here.
There is, of course, the taboo of it that makes it so seductive. The "so wrong it's right" aspect. Just like how chocolate never tastes quite as good as when you're cheating on a diet. But there's so much more to it than that. The connection, the intimacy with another person that transcends all the boundaries you thought you had. And a level of trust that borders upon divine faith. And the things so many people strive for -- acceptance and belonging. It's more psychological than it is physical, this bizarre contradiction of relationship. And yet, at the same time, it's something so primal, so totally animalistic, calling up an almost prehistoric nature...
Life -- raw, hot, bloody, painful, ugly, real.
Real...
Real...
Real...
Is it any wonder this is the way I feel most alive?
---
This has been a tough prompt for me because the moments I feel the most alive have to do with the contents of that Pandora's Box I'm so afraid of facing. Admitting that is hard enough for me, except under the most special of circumstances, that I won't bother narrowing it down to one.
But here we go: Confession time.
I have never felt more alive than when giving up complete and total control of myself to someone else. Submitting entirely and becoming nothing and no one but the subject and object of their desire, their whim, their fantasy, to use as they see fit. The less in control I am, the freer I become -- able to do, and say, and feel all those things that are such guilty pleasures for me.
And then to be encouraged, spurred on, even praised and rewarded for those wants and needs that are so deeply deviant... Electricity courses through my veins, bright white hot flames bathe my skin. Such heat, such passion, that I almost don't need to be touched. Just the faint vibration of a voice, a sigh, a moan, a breath across bare skin, can be enough to trigger waves of euphoria. Throw a little pain into that mix, and I lose myself entirely.
The juxtaposition of humiliation and praise, of pain and pleasure, makes me feel more vibrant than anything else I've ever experienced. So much of it defies words, though. I've tried to figure it out, tried to explain... And always so poorly, I'm loathe to attempt such an endeavor here.
There is, of course, the taboo of it that makes it so seductive. The "so wrong it's right" aspect. Just like how chocolate never tastes quite as good as when you're cheating on a diet. But there's so much more to it than that. The connection, the intimacy with another person that transcends all the boundaries you thought you had. And a level of trust that borders upon divine faith. And the things so many people strive for -- acceptance and belonging. It's more psychological than it is physical, this bizarre contradiction of relationship. And yet, at the same time, it's something so primal, so totally animalistic, calling up an almost prehistoric nature...
Life -- raw, hot, bloody, painful, ugly, real.
Real...
Real...
Real...
Real.
Is it any wonder this is the way I feel most alive?
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
Writing
What do you do each day that doesn't contribute to your writing.
----
Okay, so maybe this prompt is just badly worded. I'm going to assume that it is, and answer the question I think it's asking instead.
I could give cop-out answers: I'm too busy, I'm not inspired, I don't have any quiet space to do it. But none of those would be true. I never needed extra time set aside before. I found it where I could, or made time. And I've obviously found some, because I'm writing this. Inspiration isn't so important unless there's some end result I'm going for, and there very rarely is. And quiet space? Hah. I used to sit on the most crowded trains and write, no care for my surroundings or how much noise was in them. Heck, I used to use crowded spaces as "inspiration," people watching for ideas. So that excuse really doesn't fly.
So why don't I write more? One word.
Right now is a good example of that. I find myself not really wanting to explain further. "I've answered the question, haven't I?" I justify to myself. I even walked away from this exercise for 20 minutes after writing the word "fear." I had to talk myself into coming back and doing this right. Leaving it unexplained would rather defeat the purpose of this endeavor, after all. So I'm going to give it a shot.
What in all hell am I afraid of? Honestly, myself. I am, as stupid as it may sound, afraid of who and what I think I am or might be.
See, writing has always been very personal for me. Even when writing fiction, I'm actually writing about some facet of myself. And for the past few years I've put an inordinate amount of energy into being who I thought I was supposed to be. Connecting with the thoughts and feelings I have that don't support that facade... It makes it just that much harder to maintain the status quo. So I stopped writing. I distanced myself from those parts of myself; packed them up in a box and shoved them into the darkest corner of my mental closet that I could, only pulling them out when I was in the most desperate need for a reminder of what I was hiding from. I've been doing it more and more lately, wondering...
I guess I convinced myself that doing this was part of growing up, of becoming an adult, like "putting childish things away." I let people around me convince me that mothers, spouses, providers, just didn't feel like this, or want these things, or think this way. That if they did, there was something wrong with them, that they were broken, or unfit in some way. So I've denied myself the most important thing I can imagine -- my own mind -- and it's held me back.
Even realizing why I've tried to shut off my own thoughts and that it may have been the single worst idea on the face of the planet, I'm still afraid. Even with the contents of that box demanding the attention I've denied them all this time, threatening to break free unbidden, I'm hesitant. I've done so much hiding from myself. Do I have the strength, the courage, to embrace the contents of my private Pandora's Box?
I'm coming to the conclusion that I don't have a choice about it anymore. I cannot hide from myself. Thinking that I could was the "childish thing" that I should have "put away." Not the parts of me that make me who I am.
----
Okay, so maybe this prompt is just badly worded. I'm going to assume that it is, and answer the question I think it's asking instead.
"Why don't you write as much as you should/want to?"
So why don't I write more? One word.
Fear.
Right now is a good example of that. I find myself not really wanting to explain further. "I've answered the question, haven't I?" I justify to myself. I even walked away from this exercise for 20 minutes after writing the word "fear." I had to talk myself into coming back and doing this right. Leaving it unexplained would rather defeat the purpose of this endeavor, after all. So I'm going to give it a shot.
What in all hell am I afraid of? Honestly, myself. I am, as stupid as it may sound, afraid of who and what I think I am or might be.
See, writing has always been very personal for me. Even when writing fiction, I'm actually writing about some facet of myself. And for the past few years I've put an inordinate amount of energy into being who I thought I was supposed to be. Connecting with the thoughts and feelings I have that don't support that facade... It makes it just that much harder to maintain the status quo. So I stopped writing. I distanced myself from those parts of myself; packed them up in a box and shoved them into the darkest corner of my mental closet that I could, only pulling them out when I was in the most desperate need for a reminder of what I was hiding from. I've been doing it more and more lately, wondering...
I guess I convinced myself that doing this was part of growing up, of becoming an adult, like "putting childish things away." I let people around me convince me that mothers, spouses, providers, just didn't feel like this, or want these things, or think this way. That if they did, there was something wrong with them, that they were broken, or unfit in some way. So I've denied myself the most important thing I can imagine -- my own mind -- and it's held me back.
Even realizing why I've tried to shut off my own thoughts and that it may have been the single worst idea on the face of the planet, I'm still afraid. Even with the contents of that box demanding the attention I've denied them all this time, threatening to break free unbidden, I'm hesitant. I've done so much hiding from myself. Do I have the strength, the courage, to embrace the contents of my private Pandora's Box?
I'm coming to the conclusion that I don't have a choice about it anymore. I cannot hide from myself. Thinking that I could was the "childish thing" that I should have "put away." Not the parts of me that make me who I am.
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
One Word
Prompted by http://www.reverb10.com/december-1/ -- And a friend who's doing the same. Better late than never, eh?
--------
There are so many words i could use to describe 2010. Pain, stress, confusion, loss, poverty, suffering, chaos, the list goes on. But picking one single word to encapsulate the whole year is hard. I think there's really only one I can think of that is wholly applicable.
Change.
Of course, everything changes, even if only in the smallest of degrees. If it didn't, time would stop entirely and we'd be frozen, unmoving, on this spot for all of eternity. Heck, without change "eternity" is a meaningless concept. But that's besides the point. Change has been abundant for me, for those around me, in even more than just the past year.
In 2009, M and I packed up everything and moved 900 miles north to Bellingham, WA. No one thought we were insane, except my mother and his grandmother. Everyone else understood.
I never felt like I belonged in Cali. Never. Not once since moving to Berkeley from NYC when I was 5-ish did I even come close to feeling like California was "home." But neither was NY after doing the majority of my living in Cali for 25 years. And there was very little for me left in Cali. Everyone knew that. They could see it just as well as I could.
WA we originally picked for financial reasons. And then we drove up here. And I fell in love. It seemed an idyllic conglomeration of the NY childhood setting I'd longed for my whole life and the west coast mentality that had overwritten most of my world view.
So we came here, and life started falling into place. Things began to run smoothly, progress was being made, I started getting better, health-wise. Money was easier, and I was finally starting to feel content, if not happy, for the first time in... Well, ever. Even despite still being sick.
2010 started full of promise. I'd just been put on new medication that fixed me, almost instantly. And I could do the things I hadn't been able to in years. Most importantly, I could THINK again. Unfortunately, what started as such a positive, promising, uplifting year hasn't ended up that way. And being able to fully use my mind again has been a double edged sword. When things started crumbling, I could see it. I comprehended.
Too much has gone on to detail it all. But what started out as the perfect life, just me and M in our spacious (at the time) apartment, with little to no pressure, and plenty of freedom, has been turned on it's ear.
My son moved in with us bringing a whole other person's worth of emotional and social problems with him, I've had to start a custody battle I can't afford, M's mom moved in next door and brought all her financial problems with her. Friends have had medical crises, and family too. My dad is going through his second divorce, and almost got himself killed in a car wreck. Other friends have lost jobs, or worse, lost spouses to cancer.
With all this chaos going on around me, strangely the biggest changes have been inside myself. And I'm not entirely sure what to do about them, or if I should do anything about them at all. That key change last year of having the fog lifted from inside my head... Flipped some switches in me.
I've found parts of myself reawakened that I'd almost forgotten the existence of. Desires refueled, lusts rekindled, needs unearthed. And these things don't fit in to the life I've spent most of my efforts building. At least, I don't think they do. If they do, I have no idea how to integrate them.
So here I find myself at the beginning of another new year, 32 years old, feeling like my own skin doesn't fit. Like a stranger in my own life, not knowing anymore how I even got here and having no clue what, or where, I'm supposed to be.
One friend of mine accused me of having a mid-life crisis a decade early. Maybe he's right. Maybe I've gone through so much of life trying to do "what's right" that I never really got round to considering whether or not it was what's right for me. And I have no idea where to start in doing that, except... Something keeps coming back to me from when I was a little kid and exploring the Cali countryside. I don't even remember who said it, but the saying has been running through my head since getting drunk to the point of catharsis last Friday night.
So, I guess that's what I'm after -- finding out where, exactly, I am. So that I can figure out where I want to be, and how best to get there. Trudging through life aimlessly hasn't served me well thus far. It's time, well past time, for me to give it up.
As for what word I'd like to embody 2011 -- Direction. I'd like to be able to look back on this year and be able to say that I've finally found my internal GPS, turned it on, and at least decided where I want to go. If I haven't started heading there already.
--------
There are so many words i could use to describe 2010. Pain, stress, confusion, loss, poverty, suffering, chaos, the list goes on. But picking one single word to encapsulate the whole year is hard. I think there's really only one I can think of that is wholly applicable.
Change.
Of course, everything changes, even if only in the smallest of degrees. If it didn't, time would stop entirely and we'd be frozen, unmoving, on this spot for all of eternity. Heck, without change "eternity" is a meaningless concept. But that's besides the point. Change has been abundant for me, for those around me, in even more than just the past year.
In 2009, M and I packed up everything and moved 900 miles north to Bellingham, WA. No one thought we were insane, except my mother and his grandmother. Everyone else understood.
I never felt like I belonged in Cali. Never. Not once since moving to Berkeley from NYC when I was 5-ish did I even come close to feeling like California was "home." But neither was NY after doing the majority of my living in Cali for 25 years. And there was very little for me left in Cali. Everyone knew that. They could see it just as well as I could.
WA we originally picked for financial reasons. And then we drove up here. And I fell in love. It seemed an idyllic conglomeration of the NY childhood setting I'd longed for my whole life and the west coast mentality that had overwritten most of my world view.
So we came here, and life started falling into place. Things began to run smoothly, progress was being made, I started getting better, health-wise. Money was easier, and I was finally starting to feel content, if not happy, for the first time in... Well, ever. Even despite still being sick.
2010 started full of promise. I'd just been put on new medication that fixed me, almost instantly. And I could do the things I hadn't been able to in years. Most importantly, I could THINK again. Unfortunately, what started as such a positive, promising, uplifting year hasn't ended up that way. And being able to fully use my mind again has been a double edged sword. When things started crumbling, I could see it. I comprehended.
Too much has gone on to detail it all. But what started out as the perfect life, just me and M in our spacious (at the time) apartment, with little to no pressure, and plenty of freedom, has been turned on it's ear.
My son moved in with us bringing a whole other person's worth of emotional and social problems with him, I've had to start a custody battle I can't afford, M's mom moved in next door and brought all her financial problems with her. Friends have had medical crises, and family too. My dad is going through his second divorce, and almost got himself killed in a car wreck. Other friends have lost jobs, or worse, lost spouses to cancer.
With all this chaos going on around me, strangely the biggest changes have been inside myself. And I'm not entirely sure what to do about them, or if I should do anything about them at all. That key change last year of having the fog lifted from inside my head... Flipped some switches in me.
I've found parts of myself reawakened that I'd almost forgotten the existence of. Desires refueled, lusts rekindled, needs unearthed. And these things don't fit in to the life I've spent most of my efforts building. At least, I don't think they do. If they do, I have no idea how to integrate them.
So here I find myself at the beginning of another new year, 32 years old, feeling like my own skin doesn't fit. Like a stranger in my own life, not knowing anymore how I even got here and having no clue what, or where, I'm supposed to be.
One friend of mine accused me of having a mid-life crisis a decade early. Maybe he's right. Maybe I've gone through so much of life trying to do "what's right" that I never really got round to considering whether or not it was what's right for me. And I have no idea where to start in doing that, except... Something keeps coming back to me from when I was a little kid and exploring the Cali countryside. I don't even remember who said it, but the saying has been running through my head since getting drunk to the point of catharsis last Friday night.
"Before you can figure out where you want to go, you have to find out where you are"
So, I guess that's what I'm after -- finding out where, exactly, I am. So that I can figure out where I want to be, and how best to get there. Trudging through life aimlessly hasn't served me well thus far. It's time, well past time, for me to give it up.
As for what word I'd like to embody 2011 -- Direction. I'd like to be able to look back on this year and be able to say that I've finally found my internal GPS, turned it on, and at least decided where I want to go. If I haven't started heading there already.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)