Two-Faced
I was gonna get all experimental with this post and have it be like a back and forth between the various forces in my head, but fuck it. Blogging isn't creative writing. It can be about creative writing, but trying to get cute with it and be all artsy with my presentation only dilutes my attempts to convey my thoughts.
I currently exist in a paradoxical state. I have improved to the point where I am increasingly aware of my own machinations of self-loathing and self-repression, but I do not yet have the willpower to truly take them apart.
That's a frustrating valley to live in. Every conversation I have makes me more aware of how awkward and skittish I am. Every time I step outside makes me more aware of just how thoroughly afraid I am. Every time my back aches just from sitting makes me more aware of how this regression - and it is very much a regression - is wreaking havoc on my physical health.
I used to walk, god damn it! I used to get exercise! I used to not eat like shit all the fucking time!
But then my therapy program ended, and I couldn't see that particular counselor any more, and the one I transferred to is not at all capable of filling that same role, and I think that says more about what I did wrong with that program than anything else.
I took full advantage of the counseling, and I made a shit-ton of progress with it, but I ultimately ignored what was supposed to be the key element: mindfulness.
I didn't practice any of those skills like I was supposed to. I didn't exercise any of those psychological muscles to pry my ass out of my amygdala so I could breathe.
This is not a new realization, either. I knew at the time I wasn't doing-
Fuck. This isn't helping. This is just another excuse to shit on myself because that is what my brain is addicted to. My natural inclination is to inflict emotional violence on myself because that's what I know.
And no, this isn't gonna turn into another 'how could he do this to me?' rumination. We know how, and we know why, and it doesn't do any good to dwell on it. You can't help that man.
Do you understand me when I say that to you? You can't help that man. The people who could and should have helped him didn't, but that does not put the onus on you. That does not require you to dwell on the injustice that led to his, and thus your, situation.
You can't help those poor people being put in literal concentration camps on the border, and no, this doesn't make you like those people who silently consented to Nazi rule. You do your fucking part. You keep informed. You're politically active. It doesn't help them to sit here and beat yourself up because you're not some famous writer who can sway public opinion.
And this is the part that you won't get right away, but you do what you can, and it's okay that it's not as much as other people. Because dwelling on it, stewing in it, ruminating in a roiling mass of it doesn't help you. It doesn't make you better. It doesn't score you any karma, it doesn't make up for lost time, and it doesn't lay the groundwork for the future.
You know what you need to do. You know how to do it. Now you need to stop thinking about doing it so you can do it, like we both know you can.
I love you. I'm here for you. You just gotta let me speak to you more often, yeah?
I currently exist in a paradoxical state. I have improved to the point where I am increasingly aware of my own machinations of self-loathing and self-repression, but I do not yet have the willpower to truly take them apart.
That's a frustrating valley to live in. Every conversation I have makes me more aware of how awkward and skittish I am. Every time I step outside makes me more aware of just how thoroughly afraid I am. Every time my back aches just from sitting makes me more aware of how this regression - and it is very much a regression - is wreaking havoc on my physical health.
I used to walk, god damn it! I used to get exercise! I used to not eat like shit all the fucking time!
But then my therapy program ended, and I couldn't see that particular counselor any more, and the one I transferred to is not at all capable of filling that same role, and I think that says more about what I did wrong with that program than anything else.
I took full advantage of the counseling, and I made a shit-ton of progress with it, but I ultimately ignored what was supposed to be the key element: mindfulness.
I didn't practice any of those skills like I was supposed to. I didn't exercise any of those psychological muscles to pry my ass out of my amygdala so I could breathe.
This is not a new realization, either. I knew at the time I wasn't doing-
Fuck. This isn't helping. This is just another excuse to shit on myself because that is what my brain is addicted to. My natural inclination is to inflict emotional violence on myself because that's what I know.
And no, this isn't gonna turn into another 'how could he do this to me?' rumination. We know how, and we know why, and it doesn't do any good to dwell on it. You can't help that man.
Do you understand me when I say that to you? You can't help that man. The people who could and should have helped him didn't, but that does not put the onus on you. That does not require you to dwell on the injustice that led to his, and thus your, situation.
You can't help those poor people being put in literal concentration camps on the border, and no, this doesn't make you like those people who silently consented to Nazi rule. You do your fucking part. You keep informed. You're politically active. It doesn't help them to sit here and beat yourself up because you're not some famous writer who can sway public opinion.
And this is the part that you won't get right away, but you do what you can, and it's okay that it's not as much as other people. Because dwelling on it, stewing in it, ruminating in a roiling mass of it doesn't help you. It doesn't make you better. It doesn't score you any karma, it doesn't make up for lost time, and it doesn't lay the groundwork for the future.
You know what you need to do. You know how to do it. Now you need to stop thinking about doing it so you can do it, like we both know you can.
I love you. I'm here for you. You just gotta let me speak to you more often, yeah?
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