So, since Monday I've managed to plow through the first two books in this series I found at Walmart in an attempt to stifle my boredom (I technically have very limited internet access...oops). Anyway, I finished the second book today and came to some interesting conclusions, none of which had anything to do with the book whatsoever.
First- I can be such a girl sometimes. I was literally giggling as I read this book. Once I finished this I started laughing and squealing and felt like I had drank three RockStars...and then a Mountain Dew....and a coffee.... You get the idea. I count this as further proof that the written word has more impact on us than we give it credit for.
Second- I used to think that I was a strong and sexy person, that I knew how to do all the right things to get a guy to like me and want me, maybe even love me. I even went so far as to think that, by allowing guys to show me how much they "liked" me, and "wanted" me, and "loved" me, that they would somehow make me like myself. Self-deprecating addiction much? I think I used these guys just as much as they used me, which is rather sickening when I stop and think about it. But today, I realized something: no part of what I was doing had any chance at making me feel better about myself; it did exactly the opposite. I took something that in most cases is beautiful and to be treasured, and I turned it into a cheap weapon meant to make myself feel better while simultaneously bringing myself down. It worked.
What's interesting to note in that is, because I didn't like myself on some level for doing any of the things I was doing, I didn't find joy in anything I did, whether it was good for me or bad. I'm slowly reworking my internal wiring so that I can come to realize that I can be beautiful and brilliant and loved for every part of me by more than some dumb guy. I just have to do all those things myself first.
Thirdly- My friends have been extremely helpful in my process of recovery, some practically integral. In the book, each chapter had a literary quote which related to the main plot point in it, and the one which stood out the most was this: "Friendship is one mind in two bodies." -Meng-tzu
Some people are such close friends, they almost seem like the same person. They know exactly what to say or do. If not that, then they go through similar circumstances which are different on some levels, but very much the same on others. And when that happens, one person becomes the lifeline for the other person. And they are each brutally honest and depressing in turn, but somehow it works.
This book has two male characters who essentially took a sacred oath to be there for each other, to be of one soul essentially; the book even made a reference to David and Jonathon in the Bible, how they were such close friends they were of one soul. While I'm not saying I'm going to jump in front of a bullet for you or anything, it did make me think.
So I've decided. I am the person who will talk to you after you try to drown yourself in the bathtub; the person who will do surgery on the love of your life while a maniac holds a gun to my head telling me to stop, and then keep going when you offer yourself up to be shot and get the love of my life shot instead; the person who will worry about you when you have a miscarriage or you lose the baby you're adopting; the person who will worry about you and break every rule I know because you have your hand on a live bomb inside a guy; the person who freaks out because you gave up and let yourself down in the ocean; the person who defends you and knows you better than you know yourself sometimes; the person who, if you murdered someone, would expect to be the one you'd call to help you drag the corpse across the livingroom floor and do it willingly.
I'm THAT person.
Thursday, December 22, 2011
Tuesday, December 20, 2011
"Talk Yourself Up And Tear Yourself Down"
In the spirit of the Christmas (yeah, CHRISTMAS, not Holiday) season, I'm going to attempt a fairly happy post. We'll see how long that lasts, but I'm optimistic...for once.
I've come to accept an idea that, while I've known it for awhile and have preached it to my friends, I never actually paid any attention to myself. Why? Because I don't take my own advice--I know how crazy I am. Anyway, I have realized that what I think of myself when I look in the mirror is what counts, not what everyone else thinks. And I don't just mean in a physical way, although that counts too.
I want to be able to look at my reflection and know the person I see. Not just know her, but like her, be proud of her. I want to see myself and honestly say "I know who I am, what I stand for, and where I'm going."
And, or course, to actually believe myself when I say I'm pretty.
That's a lot to ask for, but it all starts with small changes. It starts by doing things for me, because of me.
On Saturday, I changed how I look. I didn't do it so people would notice me more, or to change who I am on the inside. I did it because I wanted a look that reflects who I am on the inside, or at least as much of that person as I know. So now, I have layered, shoulder-length, purple hair.
Because I am that much of a rock star.
I've come to accept an idea that, while I've known it for awhile and have preached it to my friends, I never actually paid any attention to myself. Why? Because I don't take my own advice--I know how crazy I am. Anyway, I have realized that what I think of myself when I look in the mirror is what counts, not what everyone else thinks. And I don't just mean in a physical way, although that counts too.
I want to be able to look at my reflection and know the person I see. Not just know her, but like her, be proud of her. I want to see myself and honestly say "I know who I am, what I stand for, and where I'm going."
And, or course, to actually believe myself when I say I'm pretty.
That's a lot to ask for, but it all starts with small changes. It starts by doing things for me, because of me.
On Saturday, I changed how I look. I didn't do it so people would notice me more, or to change who I am on the inside. I did it because I wanted a look that reflects who I am on the inside, or at least as much of that person as I know. So now, I have layered, shoulder-length, purple hair.
Because I am that much of a rock star.
Wednesday, December 14, 2011
"And I Know These Voices Inside My Head Are Mine Alone"
I have this habit of having conversations in my head that I know I will never have with the actual person its directed toward. I say what I feel without editing it, and I plug in what I feel/want that person to say. I literally just had one with an imaginary version of one of my exes. It went something like this:
Me: I really don't like you. I may not hate people, but I dislike you enough to be right on the edge of it.
Him: So you're saying you dislike me so much that if I was in the hospital about to die, you wouldn't come see me or be worried?
Me: I'd come to your funeral. But only so I could pour a beer over your grave and light it on fire.
Right after that, I realized that, if I didn't have any self control, I probably would have told him that at some point. Then it hit me. If I didn't have the amount of self control I do, what would stop me from acting on my impulses and continuing my addictions?
There are days where that's all I can think of. "I really want to do____", or "I really wish I had____". So what exactly is stopping me from just doing it? Some of it is probably that if my friends ever found out, they'd kill me. We could also include the hours of psychoanalysis from my therapist which would follow any and all addictive acts. But what's stopping me?
If I had the answer to that question, I'd tell you; but I don't. One day, maybe I'll figure it out. Until then, I suppose I have to be content with the fact that there is something stopping me.
Stopping me from being stupid. Stopping me from hurting myself.
Stopping me from going back to him.
Me: I really don't like you. I may not hate people, but I dislike you enough to be right on the edge of it.
Him: So you're saying you dislike me so much that if I was in the hospital about to die, you wouldn't come see me or be worried?
Me: I'd come to your funeral. But only so I could pour a beer over your grave and light it on fire.
Right after that, I realized that, if I didn't have any self control, I probably would have told him that at some point. Then it hit me. If I didn't have the amount of self control I do, what would stop me from acting on my impulses and continuing my addictions?
There are days where that's all I can think of. "I really want to do____", or "I really wish I had____". So what exactly is stopping me from just doing it? Some of it is probably that if my friends ever found out, they'd kill me. We could also include the hours of psychoanalysis from my therapist which would follow any and all addictive acts. But what's stopping me?
If I had the answer to that question, I'd tell you; but I don't. One day, maybe I'll figure it out. Until then, I suppose I have to be content with the fact that there is something stopping me.
Stopping me from being stupid. Stopping me from hurting myself.
Stopping me from going back to him.
Tuesday, December 13, 2011
" 'Cause these words are my diary, screaming out loud"
You know that feeling you get when you're in the middle of doing something and you suddenly have this urge to do something else? Like...add something you've never tried before, and you're not sure whether or not it will actually work? It's not my favorite feeling in the world right now. Not even a little.
What's worse is that sinking feeling right after you listen to the stupid voice in your head; you realize that this could backfire, or severely ruin what you've accomplished up to this point, but it's too late to do anything about it. You can literally feel your heart sink.
Then, someone else who was involved or saw everything asks you why you did that, why you added that one piece that could have screwed everything up, and you cringe internally because you know if that person saw, then someone else who is much higher up definitely saw too. So you start beating yourself up, and the negative thoughts and feelings you've worked so hard to bypass come flooding back like you've locked them away behind a tall damn that you thought would never break...but it did, and now you're drowning.
But maybe you've never had that feeling. I wouldn't know, really. Most people, when they ask a "have you ever..." question and no one answers try to play it off as if they haven't either, even though everyone knows they really have. Since I'm not most people, I'm not going to do that. The stupid mistake and the sinking feelings and the overwhelming negativity...that was my entire evening up to this point. And you might be asking yourself, "why is she posting this online for all the world to see?" or "didn't anyone tell her not to air her dirty laundry?", and you have a point. I've even been told not to be depressed or upset if no one comments on a blog post that I write, and I've been encouraged to write a diary and keep it to myself, maybe share some parts of it with only my therapist or a close friend.
The thing is, I don't write this so that you feel the need to comment or feel sorry for me. I write it so that I get it somewhere that is outside of me. Yes, a diary would essentially do the same thing, but how often does a diary remind you to keep trying? How often does it speak out to someone else who may be having a day like mine and silently say "hey, I've been there, and it sucked, but I'm still kicking?" The answer: only when you're dead and you had some sort of great historical event take place that you write about in it (i.e. Anne Frank). And even then, that's still not really why I'm doing this. I don't even know why I'm doing it.
I just am.
I sleep. I eat. I write on this blog. And I remember how to breathe.
That's about all I can really ask of myself right now.
What's worse is that sinking feeling right after you listen to the stupid voice in your head; you realize that this could backfire, or severely ruin what you've accomplished up to this point, but it's too late to do anything about it. You can literally feel your heart sink.
Then, someone else who was involved or saw everything asks you why you did that, why you added that one piece that could have screwed everything up, and you cringe internally because you know if that person saw, then someone else who is much higher up definitely saw too. So you start beating yourself up, and the negative thoughts and feelings you've worked so hard to bypass come flooding back like you've locked them away behind a tall damn that you thought would never break...but it did, and now you're drowning.
But maybe you've never had that feeling. I wouldn't know, really. Most people, when they ask a "have you ever..." question and no one answers try to play it off as if they haven't either, even though everyone knows they really have. Since I'm not most people, I'm not going to do that. The stupid mistake and the sinking feelings and the overwhelming negativity...that was my entire evening up to this point. And you might be asking yourself, "why is she posting this online for all the world to see?" or "didn't anyone tell her not to air her dirty laundry?", and you have a point. I've even been told not to be depressed or upset if no one comments on a blog post that I write, and I've been encouraged to write a diary and keep it to myself, maybe share some parts of it with only my therapist or a close friend.
The thing is, I don't write this so that you feel the need to comment or feel sorry for me. I write it so that I get it somewhere that is outside of me. Yes, a diary would essentially do the same thing, but how often does a diary remind you to keep trying? How often does it speak out to someone else who may be having a day like mine and silently say "hey, I've been there, and it sucked, but I'm still kicking?" The answer: only when you're dead and you had some sort of great historical event take place that you write about in it (i.e. Anne Frank). And even then, that's still not really why I'm doing this. I don't even know why I'm doing it.
I just am.
I sleep. I eat. I write on this blog. And I remember how to breathe.
That's about all I can really ask of myself right now.
Sunday, December 11, 2011
"I May Be Bad...But I"m Perfectly Good At It"
Usually, staying busy is a good thing. It takes your mind off the other things in life which can lead you down roads with endings that are less than happy. Dark, twisty roads that end in pain and misery. The only problem with being so busy it that once you've run out of things to do, your mind goes all over the place.
My mind likes to visit the dark twisty roads it wasn't allowed to when I was busy. Frequently, this evolves into a waking nightmare of sorts. A better description would be that my mind takes a bad situation which will probably never happen, and make it worse. For instance, earlier today my mind decided to reintroduce my ex into my life. At the current point of this (for lack of better words) day-mare, I had moved out of my current residence and into another one not far away, something my ex was not aware of until showing up and asking for me. He was then directed to my new place, and I didn't find that out until I was driving up with my new boyfriend after a date. Yeah, my brain hates me. New boyfriend is stable, and healthy, and good for me; the ex is a jerk who used me and liked to get me into trouble.
Generally, in this situation, you'd choose the stable guy who loved you for all the right reasons, wouldn't you? My problem is, this ex is one of my addictions. I am literally addicted to being with him, even when I'm sitting there telling myself that I'm only going to get hurt in the end (which I always did).
Thankfully, I managed to stop that train of thought before it got any worse; ironically, it was also stopped before I had to make any form of choice between stable and healthy, and insane and addictive. I'm not quite sure what that means about my mental-emotional state, but I'll leave the analysis to my therapist.
The other problem with having the door to the dark and twisty mind roads open is that I now have access to other dark and twisty roads which are either equally bad to the addictive ex, or significantly worse than him (the title of this blog is taken from a song by Rihanna about the subject of said dark and twisty road).
This week, I took two steps backward from where I was when I started. But, on the bright side, I didn't actually do anything stupid; I just thought about it. A lot.
My mind likes to visit the dark twisty roads it wasn't allowed to when I was busy. Frequently, this evolves into a waking nightmare of sorts. A better description would be that my mind takes a bad situation which will probably never happen, and make it worse. For instance, earlier today my mind decided to reintroduce my ex into my life. At the current point of this (for lack of better words) day-mare, I had moved out of my current residence and into another one not far away, something my ex was not aware of until showing up and asking for me. He was then directed to my new place, and I didn't find that out until I was driving up with my new boyfriend after a date. Yeah, my brain hates me. New boyfriend is stable, and healthy, and good for me; the ex is a jerk who used me and liked to get me into trouble.
Generally, in this situation, you'd choose the stable guy who loved you for all the right reasons, wouldn't you? My problem is, this ex is one of my addictions. I am literally addicted to being with him, even when I'm sitting there telling myself that I'm only going to get hurt in the end (which I always did).
Thankfully, I managed to stop that train of thought before it got any worse; ironically, it was also stopped before I had to make any form of choice between stable and healthy, and insane and addictive. I'm not quite sure what that means about my mental-emotional state, but I'll leave the analysis to my therapist.
The other problem with having the door to the dark and twisty mind roads open is that I now have access to other dark and twisty roads which are either equally bad to the addictive ex, or significantly worse than him (the title of this blog is taken from a song by Rihanna about the subject of said dark and twisty road).
This week, I took two steps backward from where I was when I started. But, on the bright side, I didn't actually do anything stupid; I just thought about it. A lot.
Friday, December 2, 2011
Circle the Drain
Addiction defined by Merriam Webster: persistent compulsive use of a substance known by the user to be harmful
Addiction defined by yours truly: consistent return to anything known by the person to be harmful to the body/mental-emotional state; can be a person
When you're addicted, and you know you are, you always tell yourself "I know this is bad, but it's the last time." And it is. Until the next time. Then you tell yourself that this is the very last time, you swear. But it happens again, and again, and again.
The problem with my addiction is that I'm addicted to quite a few things, so I have just as many triggers. My therapist and I have lumped everything under the generic category of "Addiction to Self-Deprecation" : basically, I like to do things I know will either hurt me, or bring me down in some way.
I've gone through cycles where I'm fine, sometimes for years, but usually only for a handful of months. I used to think that there was no way I could get through it, that I would never manage and I would continue on in an endless downward spiral to be another statistic. I've tried eliminating things which could aid in my addictions; I've even had one of my exes (also an addiction) advise me to keep those things around to remind me that, while it is an option, I don't really need whatever it is that I'm thinking of. Apparently, he did this with his alcohol, and it worked out so well that...well, I took my own advice and eliminated all chances of that addiction.
My point? Addiction sucks. Life sucks. And some days, it is all you can do to just get through the day without grabbing a razor or a drug or a (typically) stupid guy and doing something incredibly stupid--if you even manage to force yourself to leave the safety of the cocoon erected in your bed to brave the hell that is the rest of the world. I've given up on that. I look at myself when I'm in those situations, and I just shake my head and wish that the scathing and annoyed lectures I give my friends when they're being ridiculous worked half as well on me as they seem to do on them.
So, I'm going to do something about it.
I don't like myself when I get in these moods, and it is way past time to change that. So life sucks and at least once a week I start to think thoughts that end with me being really stupid, oh well. It's time I take it one day at a time and make it through each hour, then each day, each week, each month, until I have made it for so long that I've forgotten what any of my addictions even felt like.
I'm going to cope.
I'm going to cope until I can move past coping to whatever comes next. And then I'll do that until I can move on further.
And if I screw up? Well...that's what you're for, now isn't it?
Addiction defined by yours truly: consistent return to anything known by the person to be harmful to the body/mental-emotional state; can be a person
When you're addicted, and you know you are, you always tell yourself "I know this is bad, but it's the last time." And it is. Until the next time. Then you tell yourself that this is the very last time, you swear. But it happens again, and again, and again.
The problem with my addiction is that I'm addicted to quite a few things, so I have just as many triggers. My therapist and I have lumped everything under the generic category of "Addiction to Self-Deprecation" : basically, I like to do things I know will either hurt me, or bring me down in some way.
I've gone through cycles where I'm fine, sometimes for years, but usually only for a handful of months. I used to think that there was no way I could get through it, that I would never manage and I would continue on in an endless downward spiral to be another statistic. I've tried eliminating things which could aid in my addictions; I've even had one of my exes (also an addiction) advise me to keep those things around to remind me that, while it is an option, I don't really need whatever it is that I'm thinking of. Apparently, he did this with his alcohol, and it worked out so well that...well, I took my own advice and eliminated all chances of that addiction.
My point? Addiction sucks. Life sucks. And some days, it is all you can do to just get through the day without grabbing a razor or a drug or a (typically) stupid guy and doing something incredibly stupid--if you even manage to force yourself to leave the safety of the cocoon erected in your bed to brave the hell that is the rest of the world. I've given up on that. I look at myself when I'm in those situations, and I just shake my head and wish that the scathing and annoyed lectures I give my friends when they're being ridiculous worked half as well on me as they seem to do on them.
So, I'm going to do something about it.
I don't like myself when I get in these moods, and it is way past time to change that. So life sucks and at least once a week I start to think thoughts that end with me being really stupid, oh well. It's time I take it one day at a time and make it through each hour, then each day, each week, each month, until I have made it for so long that I've forgotten what any of my addictions even felt like.
I'm going to cope.
I'm going to cope until I can move past coping to whatever comes next. And then I'll do that until I can move on further.
And if I screw up? Well...that's what you're for, now isn't it?
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