Posted on by histrionicabutterfly

I’m Naked in the Sun

Hey Friend,

If you’re feeling low, maybe try this thing i stumbled across while blogging a week or so ago…

Since i’ve begun this very intentional journey towards becoming a critical, rational, skeptical thinker, i’ve tried to be more aware of the things i just say. You know, like when someone says Hi! as you’re passing them and you say Hi! back, and then they say How are you, and you say Fine, thanks! They’re not really asking, and you’re not really telling them – not really. It’s just a thing you say.

(As an aside, i am, as a person who prefers to love humanity from a bit of a distance, in favour of these meaningless exchanges. I want to acknowledge your presence and bid you well with the least amount of interaction possible. It’s not that i don’t like you or don’t care about you, i just manage my thoughts and emotions best with a minimum of physical, in-my-actual-bubble involvement, and the more personal we get, the more quickly i need to GTF home and recharge my batteries. This is not to say that i don’t have the time or energy for a deeper exchange – i just tend to reserve those for personal friends. What i’m meaning to say is, i simply don’t have the desire or the wherewithal to engage on a deep level with everyone i say Hi! to. Hm, this still doesn’t read quite right…

If i’ve never seen you before, or have only ever said Hello to you, i’m fine with the basic niceties and some small talk. There. That seems clearer. I guess this is a bit of insight for you, lucky reader, into how my brain works. Heh.

I’m working on being more conscious regarding what i think and what i say. I question whether i have enough reason and evidence to believe the thing i just thought/said. Is it something i just say? Is it only something i’ve heard my whole life and i’m parroting? Is it something i was taught is true and never questioned? While it is a long, arduous, and exhausting endeavour, i’m completely committed, and i’m happy to say it has borne some good fruit.

This is not to proselytise or preach, that you should be trying to achieve the same things as i am. I want to be right about as much as possible and wrong about as little as i can be, and the only way to do that is to test everything i think that i know and believe to be true. I try to foster a skeptical mindset, and apply critical thinking to everything, which begins with my thoughts and naturally extends to what i say.

If you were wondering when i was going to share the thing that may lift your mood as it did mine – wonder no longer, for i have meandered my way back to that thing that i stumbled across last week. Huzzah! (The civil engineer was on holiday when my brain was mapped out, it could use some signage, i admit.)

I was blogging, and i found myself writing about the best thing that had ever happened to me. It’s a story i’ve related many times, but my new, carefully cultivated mindset caused me to pause and ask myself, “Is that event actually the best thing that has ever happened to me?”

To know if it is the best thing -and by best i mean the thing that took me off the path of destruction and pain that i’d been set upon since birth- i must test it to see if it’s true. I must subject it to critical thinking, and look for evidence, evidence being a body of facts that would indicate my belief is the only valid conclusion.

I asked myself if anything else contributed to me changing my life for the better, and it was instantly **INSTANTLY** clear that there were other people and events that had contributed either a little or a lot, to me shucking off my mourning clothes and plodding steadfastly towards the light.

Actually, there were many. There were many people and events that helped, and more than that, there are still, today, many people and events that continue to be helpful. Sometimes it’s hard to be this naked, and i think about my clothes laying somewhere on the ground back there, but the light is warm and beckons me, and i know they’d be too dark and heavy for me now. There are those along the way who would provide me shelter and refreshment too, so i never need go back.

Through testing whether or not that one particular story was indeed the best thing that ever happened to me, i discovered that it both was, and it wasn’t. I realised that there were many things that had happened with many other people, that could at least be put on the short list. And then, as i pondered, i had a little epiphany. It’s nice when they occur. I don’t go looking for them, because then i just get frustrated and depressed if i don’t have one, but geez, they sure are nice to experience sometimes.

I realised that there is a common denominator in all of those “best things that ever happened to me”, and that is, of course, me. ME is the best thing that ever happened to me. Nevermind the literality of that statement could get your brain all twisted up in knots – just take it in the easy and obvious way. The way that means that i am the best thing to ever happen to me. And i invite  the best things ever and the best people ever to happen to me. And i am the one who makes them the best things and people ever.

And that makes me feel good, and happy, and powerful, and important, and loved.

I could go on, but it’s probably better for all if i don’t. My brain is spinning all over the place right now, and my feelings are centred in my chest but feel very light and floaty, which experience tells me that, if i was understandable at all in this piece, i soon won’t be. I’m going to listen to some soothing instrumental music and play some mindless games. It will keep me from slipping into a state that can make it easier for mania to gain a foothold.

Ah, life as me is always fairly interesting. And just so you can better infer my tone – i have a huge smile on my face right now.

“Victories over ingrained patterns of thought are not won in a day or a year.”
~ Isaac Asimov, The Naked Sun

Love and Peace, Friend,
~H~

Addendum: See what happens when my brain gets all excited and flits about like that? I clearly didn’t bring it back around to you. I was trying to share something that helped me, just in case it might also be helpful to YOU.
So if you want to, think about who you’re not sure you could have made it this far without. Think of things that happened that changed the way you thought or felt in such a positive way, that it altered all your experiences after it happened.
Realise that there are people over the years that have shown you mercy, compassion, support, protection, love… Whatever it is.

Remember how those people and those transformative occasions made you feel.
Become aware that it was you who gave these people and events the permission to change you. So there. You could maybe feel a bit better. I hope. If it didn’t, i want you to hang in there. If you wait long enough, something probably will. The wait sucks, but stick around, okay?
Posted on by histrionicabutterfly

I’m Fixin’ to Sing

MONDAY:

Holy Moly. It’s not going to be as easy as i’d hoped.

  1. Have a good, hard think.
  2. Have an epiphany, or even just a good realisation.
  3. Share it with others.
  4. Feel better.
  5. Resume living as before the “incident”.

 

It was relatively effortless to get out of bed at 5:30 and get Man-Thingy and Kiddo off to school, i think because they needed me to do things for them. I make lunches, i hunt down lost items (i think the uterus may truly be a tracking device, Roseanne), and i send them off with affection and best wishes for a good day. But then they’re gone, and my Little Crooked House is empty, save dogs and my own thoughts.

It’s only sheer force of will that has me writing this. I very much don’t want to. You see, i know the purpose of this is to keep me moving forward. I’m committed to plodding along, no matter how slow my pace. But i don’t want to. What i want to do is nothing. I want to go back to bed and hide in my dreams. I feel heavy – slow and tired. What i want is absolutely counterintuitive to what i need. I know that writing will help, but i don’t want any damn help, pleaseandthankyouverymuch. I would prefer to stop typing right now; delete all these words, go to bed and pretend it never happened. But i have it here, and this cursed site keeps telling me it saved my draft… And i would know i’d deleted it and i would feel like a failure. I would know i’d given up, when i could have given a little more. I would know that i’d taken the easy way out when i was capable of taking the hard way. I would know these words on this blog had been here and i’d come at least this much closer to being just a little more functional in my life. Maybe i’d feel a little bit more successful and maybe, just maybe, i’d feel a bit happier and a bit more satisfied with who i am and how i live my life.

Can you hear me talking myself out of going back to bed, and into action? Because that’s what i’m doing. I warned you that the coming blog posts may be, well, kinda shitty. I believe i used animal testicles by way of metaphor. I didn’t have a plan when i started this blog, beyond sharing how my brain works. I had hopes it would keep me moving forward, perhaps even give me some momentum -not too much because manic- but just enough. I also dared to hope that i might be able to help someone reading about me and how my brain works. The benefit of accepting the general consensus that i’m odd, is that i think i might just have a unique perspective, one that someone else who reads this might find resonant, comforting, encouraging, or even just informative.

 

**********

TUESDAY:

Jeepers Creepers. Yesterday was a day.

So as i was finishing writing that last little bit, i knew that i had to stop writing and go do something. I had to accomplish something that took physical effort. Movement beyond that of my hands typing on a keyboard was required to get out of the funk in which i found myself. I saved my draft, and got up to make bread. With 2 men eating 2 sandwiches in their lunch nearly every day, it saves us quite a bit of money. Plus, i feel more competent and successful, and the men in my house feel special. The rewards far outweigh the effort. I dragged myself into the kitchen and i made bread.

I’m thinking as i work, and my thoughts go from deep and contemplative, to lighter and more focused on my daily schedule. What do i need to get done today? What would i like to get done today? What would bother me at bedtime if neglected?

While the bread’s rising, i get laundry going. I reward myself by playing some games on the computer, and then the bread’s done rising. I get the bread in the oven and i clean up some clutter and i finish the laundry. Wow. I feel better. Lighter. The activity is easier and my feelings are less dreary and draggy.

I sit down and pull up my blog to tie it all up in a pretty package with a nice bow. I pulled myself out of the ditch and i’m back on the road, w00t!

I cannot access my drafts.
In fact, it says i have no drafts saved.
I know immediately that this could crush me, and send me back to Square1. Hell, it could put me at Square-1.

I decided not to think about it, and just go do something. I have a new rug, that i got off of a local give-away site, and it desperately needed shampooing. That required me to move our coffee table, which is made of stone and metal and is wicked heavy, then remove the rug and the stays underneath so i can drag the new rug in and clean it with my handy dandy shampooer. Physical effort + concentrating on the task at hand = maintenance of lighter mood.
I’m starting to do more than just figure things out, i’m actually moving on to putting what i’ve learned into action. This is huge. I mean, huuuuge.

As i dealt with my past, i saw the greatest abuse done to me was that which was done to my brain. I’m not talking about any hereditary illnesses i may have as an accident of birth. What i’m talking about is the selfish and depraved way my mind was purposefully molded.

By the time i was old enough to begin asking questions, i already knew not to ask them. I thought what i was taught to think. I used my intelligence only to reflect my parents’ beliefs and only to achieve their ends. To say i was “discouraged” from independent thinking would be putting it mildly. My mind was locked away in a prison cell, and it took me many years to even realise i was confined, let alone break out.
If you’ll indulge me in continuing with the metaphor, although i broke out of solitary confinement, still, i wandered around amongst the general population with fellow prisoners. I was so grateful to be connected to anyone, that it didn’t occur to me to look for a door. One day, as i was out in the yard, i noticed other people who lived outside – beyond the chain link fence topped with razor wire. They spoke to each other in a different language and it sounded like music to me. I wandered along the fence, trying to get closer to them, wanting to hear more songs, when i happened across a door in the fence. It wasn’t locked of course, and so i opened it and stepped through.
It hasn’t been easy to learn their language, but they’re all teachers in that they all have a song to sing. I listen and learn and i want to sing too – but i’m afraid i’ll mispronounce a word or i’ll go sharp or flat on a note. What i’m learning is that everyone sings beautifully, and when it’s the right song, even being off-key, or flubbing a line sounds good. So now i’ve just gotta get my ass out there and start singin’ my song.

Getting up off the couch and making bread is a song. So is doing the laundry, and washing my face, and brushing out my dog, and calling my husband’s mother who’s in failing health to tell her i love her and chatter away about nothing.
I was not supposed to sing.
What i mean to say, metaphor aside, is i can’t just sit around thinking about life anymore. I get this restless feeling inside me, like i’m itching to get moving. It feels wrong to stay still for too long. This is an amazing and wonderful thing. Me, always afraid of screwing up. Me, who needed so many masks to get any kind of living done at all.

Tra lala lala

 

Frickety frack i forgot to tell a most important thing! At the end of the day, i checked my blog, and there was my draft – sitting there waiting for me all smug like it taught me a lesson, or something.

I suppose it did.

 

Love and Peace,

~H~

Posted on by histrionicabutterfly

Just Blather, That’s All

So Wednesday sucked. Really a lot. And my brain did what it does in order to cope. There was fallout. What i do now, rather than pretend like it never happened, is examine it with a critical (not unkind) eye, learn what i can from it, tweak my life where necessary, and move on. What went wrong was due to not managing triggers well enough to avoid certain coping mechanisms that tend to do more harm than good in my current life.

 

Let’s talk about triggers. I know it’s a somewhat current topic, but i’m not gonna get into the politics of it. Psychpedia says “a trigger in psychology is a stimulus such as a smell, sound, or sight that triggers feelings of trauma.” I was hit hard by 2 intense triggers at once, and i lost my grip on things. First, i had a doctor’s appointment. These are always difficult for me, but pap smears are by far the hardest. Second, i spend the day with family when i have something going on in the city, seeing as i live out of town and i no longer drive. My family has recently moved to a new home, and it’s in an older area of the city, where i endured some of the earliest and most insidious sexual abuse of my childhood.

 

I failed to anticipate the intensity of my reaction and i did NOT adequately prepare for the day. I was fully dissociated before i even got to my family’s home. Fortunately, i found papers that give me a general idea of how my appointment went. My doctor is very involved in all aspects of my health, so i can call if i need more information. My family realised i wasn’t quite myself, and they understand. Once i had some idea that i was struggling, i took steps to minimise any interaction i had with the young people in the house.

 

I’m fairly upset that they saw me in that state, and so right now my inclination is to hide. I don’t think i’ll be going anywhere for the next few days. I’m trying to manage the feelings of guilt and shame, and i know from experience that adding people to the mix will almost certainly cause an anxiety attack.  Realising i was there-but-not-there is sort of like coming home from your normal work  day, catching a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, and seeing yourself naked. You forgot to put on any clothes, and everyone you interacted with that day has now seen you buck-ass nekkid. They’ve now seen private bits of you that you’d never have shown them otherwise. I feel victimised all over again, but it’s neither their fault, nor mine.

 

It can be tough to work through.

 

I’ll be better prepared next time. Even this time was better than the last time. As soon as i got enough clarity, i took control of the situation as best i could. I left the home and waited for my husband to come and pick me up at a neutral location. Well, it was a playground that my mother had used as a drop-off when i was very young, but it was preferable to sliding around in a dissociative state in front of my family. I even had the presence of mind to leave my phone and my money at the house. That may sound counterintuitive, but it’s not. I’ve been known to disappear for days when i have the means, and although having nothing but the clothes on my back hasn’t always stopped me, i’m functional enough now that i figured it would be at least somewhat inhibitive.

 

This probably doesn’t help anyone else out there much, but i committed to writing more, and this is what’s coming out. My thoughts are still pretty scrambled, and that, coupled with this feeling of acute shame and embarrassment, is making it difficult to tie it all up in some grand pronouncement of LESSON LEARNED: Achievement Unlocked!

 

So next time i’m in that neighbourhood, i won’t act like it’s fine. It’s not fine. That time in my life was ugly and awful. I will have a conversation with myself about how it’s okay to feel whatever, but it’s not okay to do whatever. I can handle the feelings, the thoughts, the flashes of memory… I don’t need to be protected or shielded anymore. I got this. I can be in the moment feeling the feeling and thinking the thought and i’m not gonna die. I don’t even have to do anything particularly crazy. Heh.

 

I’m gonna go have a nap with Floofy McFlooferkins. I’m exhausted. Just trying to get something written that makes any sense (it occurs to me that this still may not, despite my best efforts) is like a mental treasure hunt through an obstacle course. I have to sift through a lot of chatter and dodge a lot of thoughts that i can get stuck in like quicksand. The best remedy is sleep and puppy shnuggles.

 

 

 

Thanks For Reading,

Love and Peace,

~H~

Posted on by histrionicabutterfly

Recommit and Revisit

I haven’t been able to write much lately. When depression comes knockin’, i tend to get very angry. I’ve done a lot of screaming and yelling, ranting and raving, and general grumbling and griping besides. And while i needed to do those things, i’m convinced the time for that is mostly done. I want to focus more on the positives; turn my attention to things that are good and well and right with me and with the world. I’ll fix my attention on things i can change for the better, and concern myself with things that matter. I have neither the time nor the energy for pettiness.

I’ve only just begun growing up. I’ve been too broken to be functional and too stuck in the past to mature. There’s been hard work and preparation that has led me to this time in my life, and intend to push continually forward, no matter how slowly, for as long as i’m able. To that end, i’m going to write more often, but i’m including a caveat. It’s for my peace of mind, and also removes my biggest excuse for not writing more often.

 

Some of it is probably -no, certainly- gonna suck. Like unwashed donkey balls kinda suck.

So there, i’ve got that shocking admission out of the way. Now i have no excuses.

**********

I’ve had a couple of friends ask me for that piece i wrote about parenting and forgiveness for Facebook almost a year ago. I think it’s good enough to hopefully offset all the agonised whining that i’m about to begrudge my readers in the coming weeks.

 

P.S. Children Are Always Worth the Effort

 

It’s taken me a while to figure out just how to talk about this subject. Sometimes words just spill out of my brain and onto the keyboard, and it’s a good thing. Sometimes though, they need to tumble around up there for a while, maybe to soften the edges of some of the words. Marinate them to make them a little less chewy, and more tender. It’s called discernment i think, and i appear to finally be getting some, lo these long years.
It’s about your kids. Well, it’s about my kids really, but it could be about your kids. There is no part of one’s life that is more precious, more intimate, and therefore no more potentially dangerous story to tell. That’s the reason for, and the benefit of the thinky time i took. You’ll hopefully get the gist of it, without deeply personal details that serve no purpose. I want to demonstrate that one can walk the line between being an open book and maintaining one’s privacy. You can help others with your experiences, but you needn’t expose your soft underbelly, thereby leaving yourself completely vulnerable to those who would harm you and/or those you love.
A lot of build up for not much to say, heh.
I have a lot of opinions about children and parenting, as anyone who knows me at all can easily imagine, seeing as i have opinions on nearly everything. I’m happy to tell you about them, even if you may not always be so keen to hear them. My philosophy with regard to parenting is unformed and nebulous, insofar as it is constantly evolving, and difficult to communicate due to its infuriating ambiguity. Well that, as well as being tethered to the deepest and most personal emotions one might ever feel.
I have failed my children. In ways. In spectacular and terrible ways. That i’ve failed as a mother has been drilled into me since i had my first child. Single, poor and uneducated, i set out to try and make everything right. I joined a church and i went back to school and i made friends with appropriate people. I got down to the business of being the kind of mother the community i’d surrounded myself with told me i should be. I took to it and did very well, but it didn’t fully take root, i guess, because 4yrs later i’d done it again. Another child and still alone. I was more financially stable and somewhat more educated, but still obviously flawed and in need of something. I listened to what i was told by the “appropriate” people around me and took all of the suggestions, but i soon found that i couldn’t maintain the level of what the world around me called success even half as long as i had with my first child.
I stumbled across a good guy and had the sense to keep him, even though those appropriate people wouldn’t put their stamp of approval on our relationship. I was becoming disillusioned with all of them and all of their suggestions. I never blamed them, though. It never occurred to me that what worked for them just wasn’t for me. I turned it all on myself: i was wrong, bad, flawed, weak… I was missing something. I just wasn’t doing it right, or i wasn’t doing it hard enough. Even having a third child the generally approved way didn’t help. I was circling the drain, and nothing could stop me. No successes, no amount of living the life i was taught to believe was the good and right life was helping. And my brokenness finally claimed me and i fell into a terrible blackness where i was lost to everyone. The proper life and the proper people and my perfect husband and my children’s need of me, could not pull me out of it.
I could not help but surrender to the process. I lost my oldest child and my family either fell away or i pushed them out and closed the door. My mental illnesses finally had me in an inescapable stranglehold, and i was sometimes barely a wife and mother and sometimes not either, not even a little. My children watched as i swam around in the sludge, my childhood catching up to me. It picked me up in its merciless jaws and shook me like an angry bear. They saw me completely incapable of mothering them properly. If it hadn’t been for one good parent in the mix, i may very well have lost them to the system.
I was eventually able to start digging myself out of all the muck i’d been mired in for years. Yep, years. And after all the dysfunction my kids had seen, the only thing i had to offer them was a front row ticket to that show, as well. They’ve seen me stumble, they’ve seen me fall flat on my face, and they’ve even seen me purposely jump right outta the boat and go swimming in the sewage again. But they also saw me pick myself back up and keep trying. And the time in between stumbles has gotten longer, and the damage has been less. I don’t hide the struggle from them. What would be the point? Kids know. I try to keep certain things from them that wouldn’t edify them and would likely only confuse or complicate things more than they are already, but truthfully friends… They’ve seen more and know more than they should. I’m not proud of that at all. And i’m not trying to tell you that it’s okay, because it isn’t. It’s not okay that i’ve screwed up royally, and they have paid the price. But i’m telling you that i’ve done it, and i know absolutely that i’m not alone.
I’m telling you that it’s not over. Not for you, not for your children – not even for your relationship with them. Children are the most amazing humans on the planet. They deserve to live in a perfect world with the best of everything and always be happy and never be hurt. But you and i know that will never happen. Not to one single baby born on this earth, if they live past an hour or so. So most of us parents try to do the best job we can and mitigate the damage. That can be particularly difficult when WE do the damage. But let me tell you something i’ve learned for me and it may be true for you, too.
It’s way harder for me than it is for them. I must admit my fault. Wholly, without reservation and with absolutely no excuses. I can never, ever say, “I’m sorry, but… ” I can’t offer an explanation of any kind, unless it’s asked for, and even then i must keep it simple – no victim stories and no hyperbole. And it must always return in the end, to what i did or failed to do. And that it is all on me. And my action/inaction is my responsibility alone.
Then comes work. Hard work. I must demonstrate -without fanfare- by my behaviour and by my behaviour alone, that i am sorry, and i’m going to be/do better. Because they’re watching me. They’re watching to see if i meant what i said. They want to know if they can trust me. They also want to know what to do when they screw up. They need me to show them how to make proper amends to someone that they’ve harmed or hurt in some way. I must show them i’m truly sorry and the only way to do that is through my behaviour.
As i’ve done these things, i’ve learned some wonderful stuff. Like, your children don’t want to harbour any ill feelings towards you. They want to forgive you, and if they can’t right away, they want to let it go. They need to, and it’s a burden they shouldn’t be carrying. And if they aren’t ready yet to let it go, they at least want to give you a chance. Even if they say they don’t. They’ll be watching you, to see if you live your life every day as if they had given you a chance. Even if the road you’ve walked with your child is particularly long and rough and you have done some terrible things… Even if they say they’re done with you and have cut you out like a tumour… You still MUST live every day as if their forgiveness is possible – because even if it avails you nothing personally, you will be healing them on some level, and you owe that to them. Every single day. You do not owe them perfection, but you do owe them effort. They are worth every effort.
My children have forgiven me for my mistakes, and to have their love and a good relationship with them would be worth much more time and much more effort than it actually took. There is no time for you to wallow in guilt and self-pity. Your children want to love you. Your children want to forgive you. Your children want to admire you and brag about you and be in relationship with you. It doesn’t take much, really. I’ve discovered that the relative ease with which i prove myself to them, fills me with a happiness and gratitude that enables me to demand more from myself; to strive for better. As a parent, certainly, but also as a wife and a friend and a member of my local community and even a citizen of the world.
Kinda mushy and dramatic, i know. But that’s me sometimes. Especially when i talk about my kids. It may be that i should never have been a parent, but it is the thing that i’m the most glad and proud and fulfilled in being.
Love and Peace,
~H~
Posted on by histrionicabutterfly

Reanimator

As i work towards being healthier and more functional, one of the most important things i can do, i think, is ask a lot of questions. Of myself. Hard ones.

It’s a bit tricky, because navel-gazing isn’t a good place for me. I can get obsessed, or mired in circular thinking rather easily. I need to ask the hard questions, but answer them relatively quickly, without dwelling on them. It’s not as difficult as i’d worried it might be. I’ve given most of these questions significant thought before, but either stuffed them away in some nook of my brain because i couldn’t deal with it, or just simply been unable/unwilling to implement whatever conclusions i’d come to. Simply put, most of the answers are in there, and fairly accessible just by asking the questions.

By asking and answering some of those harder ones, i’ve been able to set my feet upon a path, and plod in a generally forward direction. I know there are things about my brain that work differently than most people, and for the purposes of being more relatable i refer to them as mental illnesses. I’ve asked why i am this way and come to some kind of conclusion that, at least for now, satisfies me to the point where i can accept it and move on. I’ve asked myself what i’d like to change about myself and my life, and acknowledged what i need to do to get there. The questions don’t stop there, but the biggest, most serious ones regarding what made me this way are mostly behind me (probably). Hopefully. Maybe? Okay, we’ll go with “for now”.

 

As someone who’s spent a significant part of my life in deep contemplation, i suppose i’ve developed a sort of slapdash personal philosophy, at least with respect to the broader definition of my own existence. I see my life as a tightrope walk. Or a balance beam. Or standing in the centre of a teeter totter, with one foot on either side. Yeah, i think i’m that sort of person. I’m looking for balance. Not so much for stasis, because boring, but i’m on a swing and if it goes too high i fall off and if i don’t pump my legs i’ll eventually stop, and either of those is death. That extends to my worldview, but only in the broadest and most non-theistic sense. I see that there are a chain of events set off by every action we take, whether conscious or unconscious, and that which happens as a result are natural consequences. I do what i do, and life responds in return, and while i see life around me as somewhat random and coincidental, i see evidence every day that convinces me that my choices play an important part in who i am and how i live, thus persuading me of the benefit of living a more conscious life. I am compelled to continue.

Yes, Life happens. Every day, all day. With me and without me. But insofar as i am conscious and aware, i have autonomy in how i respond to it. As someone born into a mental cage inside an emotional prison – this is sweet freedom. I’m deeply comforted by the unconsciousness of Life’s non-response to my presence, which is a balm to the constant and strident histrionics of humans responding both to me and around me. And while i love humans very much, i’m loathe to be associated with most of them.

Each time depression cycles back around it’s like dying. Things slow and darken and everything is tiring and painful. People exacerbate the condition, making me want to skip to the inevitable conclusion and save myself the suffering. So i withdraw to a place where the feelings are more manageable. My Fortress of (relative) Solitude.

It’s difficult with this particular brain and heart to be amongst you for very long and remain conscious, intentional, and contribute positively to those around me. I know it will change as i move forward – i see continued improvement with every small foray i make into the big, bad world. I have much evidence to hope that one day it might be mostly natural, and even fluid. For now though, i’m fortunately able to live in my Little Crooked House with my moat of trees and grass and wagon wheels, and my dragon-dogs and fire breathing husband and son.

I ask questions, form hypotheses, and then go out and test them, gathering evidence to bring back to my lab, where i study the data and then do it all again. I’m working on a theory, but that paper is a long way from being written, and peer review still scares the  shit outta me.

 

I just combined the 2 prior images and came up with Princess Frankenstein. I like it.

 

Love and Peace,

~H~

 

Posted on by histrionicabutterfly

Random Processing (No Really)

I haven’t known what to say for the last few days because i’m angry. I don’t see anger as either negative or positive in and of itself. What i do see is a world full of people that don’t know how to express their anger appropriately. I don’t want to contribute to the already fractious fray.

Ah, i’ve tried to write about it. Nothing comes but stilted sputtering that just keeps working its way back around to how angry i am. I’m not getting any insight or seeing a possible resolution. I don’t want this blog to be filled with fluffy bunnies and cupcakes (that sounds nice, though), nor do i want anyone to leave this page carrying a heavier burden than what they brought with them (although that may still happen). I want this place to be real. I’ve always wanted to do good in the world: helping others, easing pain, building people up… But i wasn’t able to, until now.

Now i see an opportunity to do something genuinely helpful. It’s fairly simple, and it starts by benefiting me. All i have to do is take all the various words and voices floating around in my head, and put them up on this screen. To show you and me both, how we are not the same and yet we are. You might see that the journey towards knowing yourself and living the life you want is possible. To show anyone whose brain has been altered by nature and/or nurture, that there is a place in the world for us.

Hey, i already feel calmer and less pissed off. Huh. It didn’t work the last couple of days i tried, but it seems to be today. I’m not sure what’ll happen if i get into the things that i’ve been finding so upsetting, but let’s see.

…

…

…

You know what? No.

I’m listening to calming music, the sun is up and not yet hot upon the ground, my front door’s open and i write where i can see the big tree in front of our Little Crooked House. The birds are chirping happily after a good breakfast. The 2 little dogs are laying on my me and the big one is at my feet. The husband and our last teenager are sleeping in and i’m gonna get started on some sort of epic morning meal.

Maybe i’ll be back later, needing to vent, maybe not, but it’s gone for now and it doesn’t feel right to force it up and out. I dunno for sure, i’m just gonna go with what i’ve got for now.

May you have the day you want, and i’ll try to do the same.

Love and Peace To All,
~H~

IMAGE: Rachel Park

Posted on by histrionicabutterfly

This Beautiful Bag of Mostly Water

 

Loving myself is one thing. Liking myself… That takes some work.
~ HistrionicaButterfly

I’m starting to like myself. Like, holy shit. If you only knew. If you’d spent any time inside my brain, you’d have not thought it possible. I mean, the things i’ve said to myself, about myself. I wouldn’t even say those things to the ones responsible for me being this screwed up. I don’t want to bring down the tone of this piece by being specific. Pretty sure i don’t need to anyway. You already know, because you’ve probably said terrible things to yourself, about yourself too.

I was asked what my greatest fear is. It was during one of those courses that seekers like me are wont to take. It was a deep, intellectual course that asked you questions like, “What are you pretending not to know?” (If you inferred a sarcastic tone in that last sentence, you’re correct. Feel free to carry it through to the end of the paragraph.) In the third level of the course we did a fire walk and went on a zip line (not at the same time, but hey, that might’ve been more fun) and then we were declared an intellectual giant and given leave to talk down to all the unfortunate peons who hadn’t taken the course, henceforth.

My greatest fear was, and is, death. Thanks to how deeply and completely i was indoctrinated in my family’s religion, i still wrestle with that fear. I got some much-needed relief the day i realised that, if the god i was raised to worship is indeed real (for which i see no evidence), i wouldn’t worship him anyway. Still, the vein of acquiescing to religious authority without question, and acceptance of dogma without investigation, runs through me. If i were a tapestry and religion a thread, the pattern of my life would be shot through with it. If i started pulling out those threads, the fabric would fall apart.

To return to the occasion of me being asked to name my fears. We were partnered up and sat on chairs facing each other and were instructed to name everything we were afraid of, stream-of-consciousness style, with no editing. Well, all of this fear flew out of my face like projectile vomit, like  acid. Those who ran the course were right to focus on our fears, but i was a long way from being able to do any serious work on its origins, costs, and consequences. Being terrified of death wasn’t news to me, but something else was. I birthed it like a premature foetus.

I suppose that’s enough build up. Heh.

My second greatest fear is the one where, if i let anyone in to really get to know me, they’ll find out that i’m an awful person and leave.

I was raised with secrets. It started with the real reason i was born, and just continued. I was like one of those cartoon kids getting caught in a snowball rolling downhill, except it wasn’t snow, it was shit. And that shitball kept getting bigger and more destructive. I was taught that we were different than other people. They said we were so intelligent, so evolved. We were part of a privileged circle of spiritual elites that had to practise what we believed in private, behind closed doors. Not because our holy book told us to, but because other people couldn’t understand.

So i grew up inside this terrible dichotomy: being one thing during the day, and something else entirely at night. I knew it was wrong, because it felt terrifically bad. I don’t mean physically, although that part hurt a great deal – i mean it was like carrying a cannonball around in my belly. But these people that i loved, that were entrusted with my care and upbringing, told me it was good. So i learned to subjugate and compartmentalise my thoughts and feelings from a very young age, and the worst thing of all is that i learned i couldn’t trust myself. My thoughts and feelings and perceptions were different than what they were supposed to be, so i did what most abused children do – i internalised the blame. I was the problem. I was wrong. I was bad.

I wondered how they tolerated me at all; i was so grateful for their love.

I always knew there was something wrong with me. I wasn’t born with the knowledge, it was put inside me without my consent. It was the psychological rape that impregnated me with the twisted, misshapen blob of cells that i spat out that day, confessing my fears to a stranger. I wasn’t ready to let it go then. That was over 30yrs ago and here i am finally putting her to rest. I buried my beautiful little hate-baby and i feel so much better. I’m slowly leaving my paranoia behind, like flowers at her graveside. I’m interrupting my inner dialogue that projects how i feel about myself onto the people around me, ascribing meaning to their eyes and putting whispered words into their mouths that are not theirs. And even if i’m right sometimes, does it really matter?

I remind myself of the times in my life when i had friends who welcomed me with smiles and warm salutations. Inside, i was dying. I felt like a fraud, and i was one. I just didn’t know it yet. I had no intimate relationships besides my husband and children, and even those were difficult and strained for me. I was terrified that someone would get close enough to figure out how repulsive i was inside. Bad. Spoiled goods. Completely gone off.

Now i’m starting over and i’m not close to anyone. I’m fortunate to have a situation where i can make short forays into the world around me and practise being me. If i become drained or overwhelmed i can retreat to my Little Crooked House and hermit away for as long as i wish. I’m no longer trying to charm everyone i meet. I don’t need you to be liked. The ones who genuinely haven’t liked me, haven’t hurt me by doing so. The ones that claimed to like me, have often done far worse than even i have done.

My goal is to like myself. To enjoy my own company. To admire and respect my deportment. To please myself.
I am a beautiful bag of mostly water, to riff on a Star Trek quote.

Happy Monday,

~H~

IMAGE: Tim B. Motivv

Posted on by histrionicabutterfly · 1 Comment

But Yoda, Try Is All I’ve Got

Every once in a while it hits me.

I’m angry, and i have no idea why.

Although i’m slowly learning to live a more conscious life, i’m not, nor do i want to be, a deeply introspective person. Whatever that means. I don’t fucking know what i mean.

I’m still pissed off.
I want to know who i am and what i want and what i think and why i think it, but i don’t want to live my life as a floating head. You know, all cerebral and nothing visceral. All thought and no action. Never going outside and getting dirty. As if i’m sitting on a mountaintop crosslegged, watching the world happen while i smile and sway to some wicked sitar music. I wouldn’t mind seeing the view from up there, but those folks in the valley really know how to party.

Some balance is what i’m aiming for in my life. I don’t need to see everything coming, but if i get coldcocked, i’d at least like to know by whom. I have enough reasonably uncrazy time under my belt now that i recognise this has been happening for a long time. Maybe all my time. I don’t know if i’m triggered by anything in particular, or if it’s like a bleed valve and i had too much pressure built up. I don’t think it matters for now.
The first step is recognising it’s happening. So, check. Now i have some basic ideas about where to go from here, based on identifying other emotional/behavioural issues before this one became a blip on my radar. It mostly involves being aware it’s going on and doing a lot of information gathering:

– What was happening before i noticed this issue?
– Is this relatable more to the current precipitous event, or could it be a childhood-based reflex?
– How have i handled this before, and has there been fallout from that as well?

Then i just get down to the business of trying.

I do not subscribe to Yoda’s philosophy, particularly “No! Try not. Do. Or do not. There is no try.” It makes a great story, but in my life it has no place. The foundation upon which all my successes are built is trying. It’s the bedrock that provided stability as i floundered around in the soft, shifting loam that has been my own personal edification.

What i mean is i make as educated a guess as i’m able, then i just try something to see if it helps. Something that cuts down on or (ideally) eliminates negative outcomes. Then i assess its effectiveness and tweak to improve my results. Some things i try don’t work at all and some work pretty well. Nothing’s ever worked perfectly, but i’ve never expected it to. I’ve never found a panacea and i don’t think that’s even possible.
What i expect is some level of chaos and mess, and in that i’ve never been disappointed. I care about that kind of thing less and less these days. As i let go of my desire to be liked, accepted, and understood by everyone, my fear of rejection has diminished to the point where i just wade in and start swimming towards that other shoreline. I can’t let a few sharks stop me from getting there, and i see a couple of boats i can ask to take me in if i need a break.

I now realise that occasionally i find myself inexplicably angry. Even enraged. I’d like to know what it’s about so i can figure out what, if anything, i can or want to do about it.

And it’s already over. A couple of simple steps later and it’s gone. But the next time it comes ’round, i’ll be ready. Well, i’ll try, that’s for sure.

~H~

IMAGE: Umit Y Buz

Posted on by histrionicabutterfly · 1 Comment

Off You Go

I like this British idiom. It seems to mean giving someone leave to go and do something in particular. An informal, and not unkind way to indicate that if one is prepared for a particular action, then one should go ahead and begin.

So off i go…

I’ll be spending this year concentrating on small, significant lifestyle tweaks intended to improve my health and well-being. Not just mental and emotional, but physical too. My physical health has consistently taken a back seat to my other issues, but i intend to make it a priority this year. I tried to last year, but i just didn’t have enough good brain days to make it work. Now, i finally have some decent experience with managing my mental issues, and i’ve been able to live months (MONTHS!) without any significant chaos or mental hiccoughs.

Don’t get me wrong, life still happens. I have a particularly large issue that finally required my complete attention last year. I’ve been in the shit ever since because of it, and after a year of quietly and calmly dealing with it, it’s clear it’s not going anywhere, anytime soon. And just to make things interesting, another issue is surfacing, one that may prove particularly challenging, one that holds the potential for a lot of short-term drama. Whee.

I’m implementing two small changes to my lifestyle today. One is that i intend to go for a walk outside every day. No matter the weather and no matter the company, and regardless of whether i’m on the treadmill or elliptical that day. I live in a beautiful place, where i’m very fortunate not to have to see people regularly. I’m also most fortunate to have furry companions that love to go for walkies. I already take them out fairly regularly, but it’s one of the first things to go when i’m feeling low. Physical exercise and being outdoors have both been proven in multiple peer-reviewed, scientific studies to have a positive effect on mental illness, both in prevention of onset symptoms and treatment should symptoms occur. So, pretty clearly a beneficial addition to my daily schedule.

The second thing is no eating after 9pm. Pure suckage here, but it’s an absolute no-brainer. I’ve been a nighthawk my entire life, and i’m trying to transition slowly into a more regular schedule. It’s been tough. Daytime means people and normalcy and nighttime means alone and as strange as i wanna be. There are all kinds of studies out that show some initial support for certain kinds people having legitimate reasons for keeping late hours, but they aren’t definitive, and even if they were i wouldn’t care. I want to experience life as a Daywalker. I may actually like it – hell, i might even prefer to live amongst the living. Heh.

Of course it’s not just the matter of my circadian rhythms. Food and weight have been an issue since i was 8yrs old. There were many nights i ate myself into a coma and woke with one helluva hangover. And although i haven’t lived like that for over a decade, my weight has crept back up due to mental illness, medication, and yes, complacency. I’ve addressed the illness, and my medication levels may always require adjustment, but it’s time to require more of myself with regards to eating. Nothing to eat after 9pm will encourage me to go to bed at a reasonable hour, and it should also keep me from more than one after supper snack. Plus, my brain seems to be really grooving on a regular schedule. I think i might thrive on rules and regimens. Rules and regimens that are mine, made by me, of course. Because screw you – i do what i want. Heh.

Oh and by the way, life has thrown me a super suckass curve ball today. Just its way of welcoming me to the neighbourhood. Life can be a real asshole. Still and all, i’m gonna finish my tea, put on a sweater, and take my fuzzbuddies for a walk.

Have As Good A Day As You Can,
~H~

IMAGE: Delphine Beausoleil

Posted on by histrionicabutterfly · 6 Comments

Rub ‘Til It Bleeds

The title made you wince right? Heh, me too. Every time. While it’s from a song by PJ Harvey, whether or not it refers to anything i’m about to touch on would be open to interpretation and debate (which is how she may prefer it). What the lyric is for me, is a very apt description of what anxiety is like.

Ever since putting up this blog, i’ve been experiencing anxiety. The kind of anxiety where describing it to a friend would go like this:

Friend: Are you okay?
Me: Why? What am i doing?
*panics*
Friend: You seem anxious.
Me: Anxiety?
*eyes bulge*
Do i have anxiety?
*shrill laughter*
Lemme tell ya ’bout anxiety!
*twitches*

As with most intense emotions, i wasn’t initially aware of feeling that way yesterday. I was out of sorts due to an issue in the home, but i knew that would be dealt with later, so i put it away until then. Hey, i can compartmentalise thoughts, feelings, and situations like i used to play that old Hasbro game Perfection – and i could finish that with time left over.

I began to realise something was off when i went to see a friend. I noticed that my thoughts were racing. Now bear in mind that social situations of any kind already cause my thoughts to speed up a fair bit, but this was far worse than usual. She doesn’t make me feel any more uncomfortable than i generally do being around people. In fact, it’s probably less, as i like her and think she’s a nice, kind person. Nevertheless, my thoughts were racing so fast that my conversation with her was zigzagging all over the place, like one of those jerks in rush hour that darts in and out of lanes and never signals.

In the time it took for the man-thingy to pick me up and get me something to eat at a local restaurant, i was utterly out of sorts. I nearly took his head off for no reason. Fortunately someone we know was working there, which kept me from activating beast mode. Instead, i was able to realise i’d gone off the rails somewhere, and i had to figure out where and why.

So here i am today with my answers. It’s the blog, and it’s because as soon as i put it up, i began picking apart ways it could go wrong. Ways that could compromise my pursuit of happiness or otherwise blow up in my face. To avoid that, some parameters seem necessary:

  1. If you’re someone i know, especially locally, know i absolutely will NEVER discuss your personal business, nor will i discuss specifics of our interactions. If we have any issues between us, they’ll never be fodder for this blog. I was never much for gossip, and these days i don’t tolerate it at all. There will be no identifiable details of any kind, ever.
  2. This is my new blog. It is not my old blog. The old blog was a purge, which i’ve now done, and i’ll only refer to it in an ancillary way. It was locked down long ago. I’ve also learned a great deal about my particular mental diagnoses. That, coupled with knowing some of the methods used to cause me harm, has enabled me to sort through what happened. Some i know with surety, some i’m reasonably confident, and some may have been coloured by illness, drugs, terror, or just the way the brain functions with regard to memory. This blog is not that blog.

This morning started with the terrible kind of anxiety that threatens to make you a prisoner of your bed. I woke with a headache, and my face and jaw were on fire, despite the mouth guard i now wear every night. My throat ached as it often does when i’ve spent the night dreaming emotionally charged dreams. I wanted so badly to escape back into the relative unconsciousness of sleep, but i couldn’t. It was the kind of anxiety where, if i’m able to drift back to some sort of almost-asleepness, it won’t last long. There’s this dread that grips me at regular intervals, like a knife in my chest. It causes a painful twinge, my guts to drop, and my head to explode like a piñata full of poisoned candy that i’m helpless to resist eating. It fills me up with terrible scenarios, dozens of what-ifs, all played to terrible conclusions. It holds me tight in its arms and drags me further down into despair.

I’ve fought this closet monster and won though, more than once. So i got my ass out of bed and forced myself to do things i’ve put in place to do when i’m in the grip of anxiety. A set morning routine that quickly affords me a sense of accomplishment and functionality. A regularity that calms me and buoys my morale and my mood, which in turn brightens my outlook. It renews my resolve to move steadily forward, turning my mind away from myself, towards more egalitarian pursuits.

Friend: Are you feeling better now?
Me: Ever so. *smiles*

IMAGE: ian dooley