LLAP

1.
I don't read enough.

I don't know when it went from something fun - the height of luxury was staying in bed all day with a pile of books - to something to be avoided. But that's where I am.

2.
I have to see Therapy Lady tomorrow. I want to confront her about last week, but I go quiet when I get angry. I wish I were one of those people who could express exactly what they're feeling as they're feeling it, instead of having to step back and think it through.

3.
I appreciate the people I live with, and thinking about that - the fact that I didn't know anything about them before the day we all moved in together, I feel very fortunate.

4.
I am envious of Paul Auster's words.

5.
You can't have an emotion without a thought, even if you're not aware of the thought, she says.

But if you're not conscious of a thought, is it actually a thought?

I don't know if that's true.  I feel things all the time without thoughts attached to them. I feel things that contradict my thoughts.

Maybe that's the problem with this scenario. She doesn't understand the separation of thought and feeling.

Also: I don't trust her.

It also became clear in the exercise that I can't differentiate between physical sensation and emotion. Aside from the basics, like anger, I had to keep asking if something was an emotion.

She didn't notice I struggled with that.

This is a waste of my time.

6.
There are days - the good days - when I think, this is all just in my head. I'm imagining the problem, that there is a problem. And all this other stuff - the meds, the appointments - it's just playing into that. I'd be totally fine without it. I'd be better without it.

7.
The crux of my problem with the NHS is they keep asking me what's wrong with me and how to treat it, and it's like, well if I knew that, I wouldn't need you, would I?

That, and that everyone has to go through the system in the same order, regardless of how many times they've done it before, or how useless it is for them.

Like, seeing a counselor 8 times is going to be no help to someone with a long term anxiety disorder. But they send me to them over and over, and then they decide they can't help me but need permission to send me on to someone who might be able to. And if they don't get permission?

So often I just get fed up and discouraged and stop pursuing it. Who does that help?

Where are the diagnosticians?

The more I think about it, the more I realize the only benefit of the NHS system is affordable medication (and even that is beginning to get tight as they keep adding things to the list). There is no care, as such. There is no relationship with my doctors, not trust that they know what's best, or even listen to me. There is no trust that someone with the knowledge and experience is keeping it all on track and making sure I get what I need.

Well, there is, but that's just luck of the draw. The fact is, if my parents didn't have the skills that they do, I would be royally fucked.

And that's a seriously flawed system.

I shouldn't be relying on my mother for therapy, or my dad for medical advice. That's the doctors' job.

8.
I worry that people don't know I'm enjoying myself when I am.

I'm not very expressive.

There's a concrete worry for the Therapy Lady.

But then she'd say, how do you change that?

I don't know. You can't. Not something like that.

You could fake it (sometimes I do, but it's obviously faked expressiveness, and usually at the demand of someone else). But then you have to know when it's expected of you.

And there's the problem.

Maybe I should wear signs and switch them out as appropriate. Happy, sad, sleepy...

9.
Language.
Or the lack thereof.

My thoughts aren't actually thoughts in the way people normally think about them, or at least what I've come to understand about the way people normally think. My thoughts are... experiences. Things come with colours or textures. Feelings. Sometimes a picture. Sometimes all of the above.

It takes time to translate, and sometimes there just isn't any verbal equivalent so it takes... awhile. And I have this thing stirring in my head that I'm completely incapable of communicating to anyone else for weeks, months. They'll pile up until I'm afraid I'll start losing track of them all. And that's where the panic comes in. That I'll be stuck holding all these things in without ever being able to get them out just the way they should be.

It's the only time those breathing exercises actually work, because of the conscious mind is putting all its attention on what the lungs are doing, it's not going to give a shit what the subconscious mind is up to.

10.
Leonard Nimoy gave me a character I could identify with who wasn't a murderer or obnoxious or cruel or just a total ass.

It's strange missing someone you never even met.

Bending Spoons

I had a mini breakdown this morning on the phone with Jinks. I don't remember what he was saying, but it was something that required Cheerleader Sashi and I remember thinking I am too fucking tired for this, which I felt guilty about, but then it all came out in a pretty rambly, disjointed manner. Jinks, though, is a star, and probably the one person who seeks out Cheerleader Sashi who's equally willing to do the same.

It's something I've been realising more and more lately. The lesson of the year, I guess. I put a lot of myself out there for other people. There are a number of people (I'm hesitant to actually call them friends because the situation resembles unpaid therapy more than friendship) who seek me out every time the shit hits the fan, or they're having a bad day, or something's wonky in their relationship with whomever. For the most part, I don't mind. Everyone needs someone to listen to them, and, generally speaking, I'm pretty good at disregarding the emotional parts of a situation and breaking it down so it doesn't seem like an impossible feat. I like helping people. I don't, however, like feeling like the sole food supply for a pack of ravenous vampires, which is how it's been the past few months.

Someone I considered one of my best friends just sort of dropped out of contact at the beginning of the year. I'd get the occasional message here and there, or a like on a status update, but no real attempt to interact with me. Every so often I'd make an overture, and might be rewarded with a few minutes of IMing, but more and more it seemed like if we were going to talk, I had to make the effort. Every time. I know life gets in the way a lot, especially when you're dealing with time differences and different schedules and things like that, but after awhile I just thought why bother?

Why should I be the one always seeking all these people out?

I'm there when they're sobbing at 3 AM. I stay up all night listening to whatever problem they're having and regularly screw up my own sleep schedule (or just go without) for the sake of being a good, supportive friend. Pretty often I'll drop whatever I'm doing (within reason) to make time for them if they need me to. I come up with random and thoughtful gestures when I think they might need cheering up. How many of them do the same thing for me? How many of them call me up just to see how I'm doing, or because we haven't talked in awhile? How many even ask how I'm doing, or what I'm doing?

None. I am the person who pastes on Band-Aids, wipes away tears and then sends them on their way again. I'm their free therapy session.

I think this all really hit home on my birthday a few weeks ago. Now, I'm not one of those people who expects some big thing made out of his birthday. In fact, most years, I'd be happy if the entire day could pass by completely without notice. My birthday, traditionally, attracts disaster. Literally. A few years ago, Hurricane Hanna hit land where I was living at the time on my birthday. So I like to ignore it. A few very persistent people never let me do that, so I suffer through it. Anyway. This year, every single one of my (local) friends - at least one of whom I have definitely gone above and beyond in terms of friend duty - totally ignored it. Not a text. Not an email. Not a single acknowledgement.

I guess the real question is: what is it that compels me to over-extend myself for people who, pretty much, are content to take and not give back a single bit? I honestly don't have an answer to that, because the fact is, I don't have unlimited resources. Spoon Theory sums it up pretty well, except I very rarely take the time to budget my spoons, or even count to see how many I have. I give them out to anyone who asks for one. Additionally, I take a lot on, and I'm pretty much always under some sort of pressure - whether it's related to school, family, work, etc. Well-meaning people keep trying to add more on - I know they're just trying to be helpful but it really is the exact opposite - with mentioning workshops, seminars, classes, competitions and various other things I could add to the pile and I really get tired of saying I can't. I can't. I can't.

Neko said he deals with that by ignoring his obligations and doing something he enjoys just to stay sane. Which is a good solution, except I'm at the point where even the things I enjoy feel like obligations, so I ignore everything and disappear from view for a week or so until the build up of all my neglected responsibilities forces me out in the world to scramble to put it back together again.

Or someone calls and really needs a friend to pump up their ego.

I know a few people have commented on my perseverance and tenacity, admired how I just keep going no matter what. I think a few others interpret that trait as a form of indestructibility - because you don't see what a mess I am that must mean I have everything under control. I would like to pass it off by saying I'm just a very private person, but I think the truth is a little more pathological. I genuinely believe that someone else's - anyone else's - problems, wants and needs have more weight and importance than my own. I don't want to bother them with my issues. Whether it's something trivial like being nervous about yet another doctor's appointment (why I still get nervous about them, who knows) or something bigger like when my father died or my cat was almost killed by a dog (yes, I did just put those two things on the same level), I feel like mentioning it to anyone is tantamount to attention-seeking. But there shouldn't be anything wrong with that. If something goes wrong in your life, you should be able to tell your friends about it and have someone at least try to make you feel better. Or at least make you feel not alone. It's similar to how I feel about letting anyone know about the panic attacks or OCD. I don't view those as valid reasons for the behaviours they cause - no, I know they're valid reasons; I don't think other people do. I worry that people will think I'm using them as an excuse to do A, B or C.

I wouldn't mind actually being as indestructible as everyone thinks I am, though. Most of that resiliency is just because I don't know what to do besides keep going. My attention span is too short to curl up in a ball and give up.

Maybe that's where it all comes from in the end. I don't feel like I can talk about the issues I'm having because very frequently they're caused by one of a set of mood disorders and the general response to that is "get over it". The reaction isn't much more sympathetic from the medical community, either. They either don't listen to a word I say, or, unable to find some dark traumatic cause to this things, throw their hands up and proclaim me cured. And maybe that's why I drop spoons until I've run out and then start writing IOUs for them. Sometimes the hardest thing to find is someone who will hear what you have to say, even if you aren't sure how to say it.

Out of Context

Someone asked me what I would do if I could do exactly what I wanted right now, erasing everything else, just the thing I want most.

My answer: No.

Because even erasing all other commitments and obstacles, it's not possible. And saying it out loud would just be... Painful.

I'm walking a fine line between what is real and what isn't, and I'm not sure I can entirely tell the difference. On one side is logic, rationale, and all those good, tangible things modern society says are all things we should pay attention to. That side is telling me very definite, good, tangible facts. Well, maybe not good, necessarily, but definite and tangible.

And then there is the rest. Unverifiable, illogical, irrational, potentially delusional but Jesus Christ is it strong and it's pulling me in the complete opposite direction.

I have generational Catholics on both sides of the family, but the one I was raised in had a slightly more open-minded bent to the typical Christian interpretation of how the world works. Strange occurrences, ghosts, visions, mysterious creatures, things moving and disappearing or appearing - that was all standard fare among my maternal extended family. I learned about a much more spiritual, raw, earthy side to the world with those people, and then learned to keep those things secret because people look at you funny.

When I was younger, it was easy to tell the difference between my intuition and things my brain just made up and figure out how to integrate them with the "real" world. Basically, I used to know what the universe was telling me.

These days I spend more time second-guessing myself than actually listening.

The fact is, though, either way, for the next five years I am on a very firm, set course with no diversions, no turn-offs, not variations. I'm living in a holding pattern waiting for my life to start again. It's not the first time I've been here, but that doesn't make it any more comfortable, or me any more patient about seeing what happens when I finally get to come in for a landing.

Sometimes I think if I could just say all these things and hear them out loud I would be able to figure it out again, but it is so damn hard to get the words out and there are so few people who truly understand the language of the universe. Particularly, in my case, people who can understand it and wouldn't have some personal bias one way or the other.

I have learned, though, over the years, that if the universe tells me to do something, I better damn well do it or it will drop me into the deep end without a life vest. So I guess the real question is whether or not it's calling the shots, or I'm just pretending it is. 

The Floundering Epic

I'm afraid to write. 

I can't tell you why. I haven't figured out why, only that the layers and layers of muddly things I put between me and what I actually intend to do exist solely to stave off that fear of actually sitting down and committing to something. 

It's risky, of course. It's huge. I've already been piecing it together for nearly two years now and can't even claim to be halfway done. To actually finish it will undoubtedly take several more years of my life, and I've been down that road before. Committing myself to a project wholeheartedly only to have it ripped from my hands at the last moment, nearly there, almost finished still slick and smooth with months of my blood poured in it. 

If I pull this off, there'll be no hiding. It's getting harder to hide as it is; people are starting to catch on that I'm not just all right at stringing a few words together into a passable aesthetic. Word is starting to get out I'm pretty damn great at it. And if I sit down, if I commit to all those words and lives and worlds and minute details I have to figure out because I'm not just creating something new - no, I'm changing the past ten years of what is and dear God 2002 was a long time ago -

If I do that, and finish it, then I'll have to sell it. Sell me. Put myself out there and not shrink back. Not skirt the shadows. I'll have to go chasing it. And what then? What do I do then? It's pass or fail at that point, no grey area to linger in. 

I do so love the grey areas. 

Maybe that's what I'm afraid of. Succeeding and failing. Aren't both equally terrifying? Either way, you don't have what you did anymore. Either way, you have to change. 

I said last time my words aren't worth listening to, and that's true. Mine aren't. But my creatures... That's another story. 

The other question is, and perhaps this is really where the heart of my fear lies - what if I sit down to do this thing and realise I can't?