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

Wednesday’s Child Needs Her Some Saturday

Monday’s child is fair of face,
Tuesday’s child is full of grace;
Wednesday’s child is full of woe,
Thursday’s child has far to go;
Friday’s child is loving and giving,
Saturday’s child works hard for its living;
But the child that is born on the Sabbath day
Is bonny and blithe, and good and gay.
~ Mother Goose

 

Since Wednesday, i’ve been nearly overwhelmed with feelings of guilt, shame and embarrassment. It happens whenever i become highly dissociative. It’s a loss of control. It’s involuntary vulnerability. It’s utter failure. I want to hermit in my Little Crooked House for good. I’m dreading seeing my family again.

This is not healthy, nor is it functional. This bit of family is extremely important to me. To not see them again would be immeasurably worse. Therefore, i must find a way through this bit of woe. I am certain that i will dissociate again. I’m actively working on ways to minimise the damage that can be caused when that happens, and the aftermath of Wednesday seems so far to be evidence that i’m having some success. What needs some more work are my thoughts and feelings following those times.

So to that end, i shall list the reasons i feel guilt, shame and embarrassment:

  • loss of control;
  • being seen while out of control;
  • doing things that are uncharacteristic;
  • doing things that reflect poorly upon my character;
  • damaging relationships/property;
  • reliance on others for information.

 

There’s probably more, but those are what’s coming to mind. (I can’t think on one thing for too long or i risk getting stuck in it and losing focus and discernment.)

 

I was very depressed upon waking this morning. The weight of it all was so heavy. I was tired and lethargic and my dreams had drained me of most of my reserve energy. I got up to pee and went back to bed. Sometimes i hide in my dreams -even the vexing ones- because at least it’s not here and now. The thing is though, i seem to’ve come too far along in my personal growth to do that for very long. Oh yay. So i’m laying there filled with anxiety because i know i can’t do this forever and i know it doesn’t help and i know i’ve gotta face the feelings and face my family and i know. I just know, now. I know every time i’m not the person i want to be, every time i do something i’d have preferred not to do, is now a proving ground. It’s an opportunity to learn and grow and be/do better next time. (The previous sentence was brought to you by: Gobs of Sarcasm. Are you running low on witty contempt? Well we’ve got GOBS!)

So yeah, i got up. I already knew i needed to write about it, and i had a pretty good idea what i was dealing with that needed some reexamination by way of reminder, coupled with a good, hard tweak.

I cannot control what other people think or feel about me. And not only do i really hate that, but it scares the shit outta me.

 

I spent the majority of my life knowing something was different/wrong/broken about me, but not exactly what it was. I worked very hard and for a long time, to try and figure it out. Once i did, i wanted to go back to every person that had ever disliked or just misunderstood me and explain why they were wrong to do so. Heh. I set about putting people right and fixing my life. And it worked really well. (GOBS!)

 

Okay, what really happened was, people thought i was weirder than they did before. They overwhelmingly did not care and continued to dislike me, and more often than not – they didn’t believe me. I spent a few years skipping around singing, “Neener  neener, you were wrong because i was sick and it wasn’t my fault!” /tralala

I didn’t even give most of them any details. I just told them that my childhood had made my brain sick and that was sometimes why i acted the way i did and sometimes did weird/crappy stuff. And i was generally just rejected all over again. This particular, very important member of my family was one of them.

So there, that’s why i’m in this awful place. I lost control in front of someone who matters a great deal to me. A person who rejected both me and my diagnoses at one time, and although they now no longer reject me, that other subject hasn’t come up yet. I wanted to make it a non-issue by keeping it out of our interactions, but i wasn’t able to on Wednesday. They assure me that everything’s fine, but i feel very not-fine. What do i do?

 

This is why i dragged my ass outta bed – because i know exactly what to do.

I haven’t done all this work for all these years for nothing.

 

When i didn’t get the results that i’d expected from telling people i had REASONS, i wondered why not. I pondered for a long time, and as i continued to work on myself, gathering information, doing the work my therapist told me to, learning about who i am and what i want and what i think… I figured out why, or at least i came to a way of looking at it that gave me peace and allowed me to accept reality and let it be:

  • what people think about me is none of my business;
  • i can’t control what people say about me when i’m not around;
  • i can’t convince anyone of anything without their cooperation;
  • being disliked won’t kill me (it hasn’t so far);
  • being misunderstood won’t kill me (see above);
  • the truth is the truth, regardless of whether or not it’s believed;
  • belief is subjective;
  • i don’t owe anyone an explanation, unless i’ve done harm;
  • it’s not always about me;
  • awareness and respect of my personal boundaries is paramount to healthy interactions with others.

 

I don’t know if my family member believes me. I don’t know if they understand me. What i do know is that, based on results, they accept me and want me in their life. And i veryveryvery much want that, too. I must let it go and be what it is. They’re allowed to think and feel what they will, and it’s only my business inasmuch as they care to share. There may be fallout in the relationship as a result of what happened, and if i want to maintain this relationship, i must handle it within the parameters as they’ve been defined.

This guilt, shame, and embarrassment, while valid, are secondary to what is really going on – and that is fear of rejection. The absolute core issue of my life. I must keep this in mind, and recognise that it has a hair trigger. The intensity of my reaction is in alignment with this, but out of proportion to the event. I will check myself accordingly, and i will draw peace and calm from knowing this. I will acquire confidence, respect, and esteem for myself from figuring this out. I’ll be stronger and more functional next time.

I’m looking forward to being bonny and blithe tomorrow.

 

*** Life as me: It’s as simple as that. ***

 

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

Discharge

 

 

Hey You.

Yeah, you. I know i haven’t addressed you directly in a while, but i’ve been dealing with some stuff.There’s a shocker, eh? Not so much, i know, but here’s the thing: i still worry what other people think of me. Much less, mind you, but sometimes still too much and at the wrong times.

And that line can be pretty tough to figure out.
Also, i’m not sure in this case that i have.
So, you may actually be sick and tired of hearing about “my struggles with mental illness”. Blahblahblahdeblahblah.

I’m gonna risk it, because getting the kind of better i want to be, is inherently risky. Sometimes people don’t get it, sometimes they misunderstand entirely, and sometimes MissusH, they just. don’t. like you.
So, i’m writing to you on the assumption that a couple of you are going to fall into those last 3 categories… And it’s not gonna kill me.

It may seem to some that being mentally ill is all i talk about. That’s fair. It’s just that i’ve always been this way, and i didn’t know what-in-the-actual-FUCK?! was wrong with me until around 10yrs ago. And for some of you who’ve known me a lot longer than that, i may have seemed relatively okay, just maybe a little odd. You may have given some passing thought to my unmet potential. But my brain has alwaysalwaysalways worked this way, it’s just that i was able to manage reasonably well enough to get by. Then my mom died, and i slipped. Then i had kids, and i slipped further. I fell in love, and slipped even further. And then i lost weight and tumbled all the way down the rabbit hole.

The diagnoses came fairly quickly and easily after that, and i was so exposed and vulnerable, i couldn’t deny them anymore. Yes, it was terrifying (no exaggeration), but it was also such a massive relief like i had never, ever experienced in my entire life up until that point. My life was a winding top that hadn’t yet been released. I had lived my life trying to hold all my shit together, and i’d wound myself tighter and tighter until i was barely functional (and by barely i mean not really).

And to continue the metaphor would be wholly appropriate, because baby, i spun. I went spinning wildly, and everywhere – to which anyone who’s known me over the last 10yrs can attest… Ah, don’t though, plzkthx. Heh. I’ve stopped spinning, but i am wicked unsteady on my feet. I still stumble and totter and weave, and occasionally do a hard lipstand.

I want to live a functional and authentic life, as happily and freely as i’m able.
To that end, i think about life, the universe, and everything. And i think out loud.
If you weren’t reading this – it would still be here. So, you may as well. You know, if you wanna.

**********

I’ve been very focused for the last few years, on curating my life. Not to live in an echo chamber -i grew up in one of those- but to create an atmosphere which is most conducive to growth and beauty. On one hand, it’s involved breaking down walls and busting down doors that were built around me, limiting my access to information and knowledge. I found the forbidden fruit, i ate it, and it’s my favourite. I don’t live in a little, dim shack anymore – i live in the goddamned garden. And i tend to that Tree diligently, that it might continue to bear the fruit that i love so much. So far, that has mostly involved a lot of weeding.

I’ve been pruning people. It’s been one of the most difficult, most scary, and most rewarding things i’ve ever done in my life. Once i knew what was “wrong” with me, i had to look at why, and then once i knew why, i could figure out who i am and what i want and where i want to go. How i get there has mostly involved just removing obstacles. People, whether they mean to be or not, are in my way. They’re weeds, trying to choke the life outta my Tree. And just… NO. If you’re gonna be a weed in my garden, you’ve gotta go.

Familiarity went first. I left the place i knew and went to a place i didn’t know. It made it easier to remove people that had to go. It took me a long, clumsy, awkward and painful time to do it – but i did, and am, doing it. Family had to go first. They thought they knew me. Heck, i thought they knew me too. They didn’t, not at all. And to be fair, how could they, when i didn’t even know myself? I have neither the wish nor the intent to go into any detail, just suffice to say, we were never really family in the first place, and the time has passed for us to be associated with one another. It’s only a source of deep sorrow and pain for me, so it’s been a very healthy and self-loving decision on my part to walk away.

My mother’s death saved my life. She was the most toxic relationship that has ended. Not her choice and not mine, but life’s. She raised me to be a certain kinda way, and i don’t know if anything other than her death could have stopped her from achieving that. Once i acknowledged the relief and release that her passing gave me, i was given my first serious chance at being who and what i want to be. The end of our relationship made change seem suddenly possible for me. It became the benchmark for assessing the pros and cons of my continued relationships with others. Life plopped a gimme into my lap, but the other ones would be up to me. (Don’t get nervous now, i’m ending relationships by walking away. Life has no feelings – i have all of them.)

I think i couldn’t see myself through my own eyes. I was raised to be obedient… subservient even. I was raised to be a reflection of other people’s desires of what i should and should not be. I was raised not to think for myself, but instead to sing out the words and ideas and beliefs that had been forcefully vomited into my brain without my permission. Not once in all of my childhood was i asked what i thought about anything, and the only time i was asked what i felt, it was understood implicitly that i was only being asked to confirm what they thought i should be feeling. Looking back now, i see a group of nodding heads, calmed and comforted by the lack of dissension. It never occurred to me to have an opinion different than my family’s… I didn’t know i could, let alone that i DID.

When i say “family” i mostly mean my mother, and to a lesser extent, my father and stepfather. My mother’s family never had much to do with her, save her parents, and she didn’t much care for any of them, including her parents. My stepfather is living and i have no wish to libel him or his family, only to say that i’m content for things to be as they are. For the loss of my siblings, i hold pain, regret, and some responsibility, but again, i am content. I fear the damage done to all of us by our upbringing is too great for us to overcome. Maybe some day, but not today.

Since pruning my life of family my garden has become more vibrant and beautiful. There are colours and smells and tastes that please me and comfort me and inspire me to work harder and create a yet more incredible space. I’ve rid my life of things that limit its fertility and capacity for growth.

I was told that other people were mentally inferior to us.
I grew up with an epithet for everyone who wasn’t us.*
I was raised to believe that everyone who didn’t believe what we believed would be eternally tortured when they died.
I wasn’t allowed to watch any programs that seemed “gay”, like Laverne and Shirley, SOAP, and Perfect Strangers.
I could bring a black man home, as long as we didn’t make babies.
I was asked to stop bringing my First Nations friends around.
I was threatened with shunning if i ever brought a Mexican home.
Minutes after viewing my mother’s body, i was told i was going to hell because i had a girlfriend.
My mother would have disowned me for my Mohawk son.

Those are just a few things by way of illustration. Life plucked the strangleweed outta my growing space, giving me a chance to get rid of the rest of it. I’ve been able to root out racism, bigotry, misogyny, misandry, homophobia, transphobia, and religion. My life, my garden, my tree, they’re all MINE, and the more it reflects who i am, and who i want to be, the more reluctant i become to have anything here that isn’t also beautiful and pleasing to me. I’m unwilling to please anyone at the expense of myself.

So, that’s where i’m at today. Coming to the end of my mourning period, i think. Trying not to feel bad about it, and also trying not to feel bad about not feeling terribly bad about it.

Gonna go walk the dogs.
Love and Peace,
~H~
*I want to make it clear that i heard the epithets, i didn’t use them.

Posted on by histrionicabutterfly

Aftermath

 

“States are crumbling
Walls are rising high again
It’s no place for the faint-hearted
But my heart is strong
Because now I know where I belong
It’s you and I against the world
We are free”
~Muse, Aftermath

I thought i was fighting my depression. I emerged from my last round with Mania, with my glove that delivered the knockout punch held high, only for that smug bastard Depression to step into the squared circle and call me out. I had no choice but i was already so tired that i just kept pulling him in for the clinch. That SOB easily slipped my hold and clocked me with a combination.

Sucka.

The mass shooting in Orlando was at least a standing 8 count. I was dazed initially, but now i’m pissed. Depression likes it when i’m angry because it makes me vulnerable. And when i feel vulnerable i go somewhere alone and curl up in ball and try to stop my thoughts from eating me alive. Stay away from me when i’m like that because i will lash out at anyone, for no reason other than unfortunate proximity. This isn’t a fair fight. There isn’t even a referee.

**********

I don’t really talk about my sexuality at all. There was just so much inside that needed to come out and be subjected to endless scrutiny. Heh. I didn’t start to really know myself until well into my marriage, so a firm (le hahaha) definition of my sexuality came through the process of my middle-aged self-discovery. Sure, the feelings were always there, but i was raised religious. Severely sexually abused and religious. So everything was all twisted up inside and i had to undo a lot of knots and clip a lot of loose threads to reveal the original weave.

Currently, and to the best of my understanding, i’m a married, monogamous bisexual. My first preteen fumblings were with a girl, my first consensual sexual experience was with a girl, my first relationship was with a girl. I thought all of that was wrong and shameful, and so i hid it. I was well into my twenties before i realised i wasn’t obsessing over certain females because i wanted to look like them, rather that i wanted to be with them. I had no serious relationships with men until my husband. I’ll tell you bluntly that, although i tried to play at it a couple of times, i just used men for sex. I sought women for connection.  I never thought about marriage. I wasn’t driven to be in an intimate relationship with anyone, regardless of their sex. I found it difficult enough to be present for my sons. I had a couple of close girlfriends, but there was zero attraction. Meeting my husband changed everything, of course.

Once i finally had my very own person, i felt safe for the first time in my life. I began to think for myself. I began moving away from people and things that hurt me. I started making up my own mind about things, which included the big three: religion, politics, and sex. Once i had religion squared away, it was glaringly obvious that i’m bisexual. It wasn’t anything that required therapy or prayer. I’m capable of an intimate sexual relationship with a man or a woman. For that matter, i’d include trans, intersexed, and gender fluids on my list of possible partners as well.

As i stated previously though, i’m currently monogamous, and intend to remain so, if everything goes as planned. And because of my situation, most people don’t realise i’m queer. I’m not regularly subjected to hate, whether casual or targeted. As a woman i can relate to always being at least slightly afraid for my physical/sexual safety when i leave my own home, but i’m a cisfemale married to a cismale. No one gives us a second look when we hold hands or openly flirt with each other.  But make no mistake, i’m queer, and the terrible events on June 12 in Orlando felt like a jackboot on my neck.

I was raised to hate myself for myriad reasons, but the hatred i was taught to have for the LGBTQIA community slipped another in there; a silent destroyer. I kicked that lying motherfucker to the curb many years ago, but there are scars of course.

~Like the time i had just left my dead mother’s side as she lay in her hospital bed, only to be pulled aside by a family member and be told my mother had been deeply concerned for my soul, as the whole family was, because they feared i was dating a female. Was i aware i was going to hell?

~Or all the times i was “encouraged” to confess all my homosexual encounters so that i might be prayed over in tongues with much wailing and gnashing of teeth and funky chicken dancing all designed to break the evil “soul ties” i’d created, and banish all the demons that i’d invited in with my abominable behaviours.

~Or the time i lost a treasured friend because after a year of intensely close friendship, she found out my first relationship was with a woman.

~How about the fact that some of my most important relationships would become tenuous if i was too “out”?

As with all of us who aren’t heterosexual, living in a heteronormative world, i have more examples, but not as many as those of you who clearly present as lesbian, gay, trans, or otherwise queer. I’m absolutely gutted for you – for all of us. I’m trying to channel my anger appropriately, but it’s very difficult. I want to aim it at the places that hurt me the most, but it’s probably not productive. At least, it’s not when i’m this busted up inside. Let me make it clear though – i HATE religion, particularly the one i was raised in, but i see all of them as harmful and intrinsically evil. Let me also make it clear that i do not see most of its practitioners that way, but if i was the king of the world…

Anyway…

“From this moment
From this moment
You will never be alone
We’re bound together
Now and forever
The loneliness has gone”

I will continue to fight this blasted depression, and i will win. But i want you to know that i’m sorry for my complacency, unconscious and unintentional as it was.  I will do my clumsy, goofy best to take a more active role in the community. You are not alone.

I’M HERE. I’M QUEER. GET USED TO IT.

~H~

Posted on by histrionicabutterfly

The Mystical Power of the Ninja Mouth – PT. III

The best thing about wilfully, purposely hermitting in my Little Crooked House has been the effect it’s had on my brain and my stress level. Slowly and steadily, the constant thrum of activity in there has slowed down. There’s not so much chatter. There have been moments that might qualify as silence. As i’ve tuned out local people and concerns i’m better able to relax and slow down. I sleep and my level of chronic pain has decreased. I can focus on simple, daily tasks and keep to a reasonable schedule. I’m engaged with my husband and children. Connecting with them feels more natural and less forced. I’m less inclined to watch television and more apt to listen to music. I feel a bit safe. I feel better in my body and brain. I like how i look more than i have in years, and i move about inside my own skin more fluidly. It feels as if i’m actually sailing this ship.

It’s a good opportunity to examine my thoughts and behaviours to assess how well they are or aren’t working. I judge them based on what i know about myself, what i want my life to be, and whether or not what i’m thinking and doing is helping me get there, based on results. It starts with noticing something’s causing unhappiness or other negative fallout. For instance, going to large social gatherings. I wasn’t handling those situations well. Through examining why, i realised both what i thought and how i acted needed extensive work. So… That whole thing requires an overhaul and is currently in the shop.

My advanced ninja skills started with stepping away from people. If i couldn’t communicate the way i wanted to, then i wasn’t going to communicate at all. Just stop. Go back to the beginning and start fresh. Gather more information, relearn or unlearn or whatever works. I’ve known for some time now i’m not the super-extrovert i’d thought/been told i was. I wasn’t just alone a lot when i was growing up in order to escape. I was alone a lot because i liked being alone. And i still do, very much. I crave it, seek it, and am certain i need it – almost as much as food, water, breath, sleep. I’m not sure where i fall on the spectrum now, but i’m far more introverted than i knew. I’ve learned something else about myself through spending more time alone, that is, i enjoy being quiet. Not saying anything at all. I feel calm and relaxed when i’m alone and not talking. It’s when my brain is quietest, too.

I decided to try taking a break from talking through my problems. I don’t currently have a “person” outside of my husband to process things with, so it’s been just him. I have my doctor and my therapist if i need them, but i’ve stopped using my husband as an outlet. Let me explain my reasoning behind this decision, because on the surface it may not sound like a great idea.

Once i decided to disclose my history, the floodgates were opened. I’ve talked non-stop for years now. I started out talking about everything that happened, then moved on to how i felt about what had happened. After that i had to talk about everything. I mean, i couldn’t let anything go. I needed to address everything that triggered memories of my past. If i was angry, i had to talk about it. If i was scared, i had to talk about it. I had to let all the voices in my head out.

For years i talked so much it was a bit like emesis vocalis. While purging years of pent up emotions and traumatic events, somewhere along the way i became a bit of a nag. It started with big important stuff, but it degraded to pointless bitching about all the things, all the time. It brought me down, coloured my outlook, and dampened my mood. It never took much to bring that slowly simmering frustration to a full boil. And i pulled him down with me, to the point where any legitimate issues i may have had with him or the marriage, were lost in a roiling grey sea of riotous scribblings covering every wall of our married life together. I’d worn him out as i’d done myself.

So i started letting go of small things. Little irritations i knew didn’t matter. I clamped my mouth shut and ordered myself not to speak about it. It led me to letting go of other things i’d believed so much more important than they actually were. He was less stressed, not as grumpy and tired, and began paying more attention to me. When an issue seriously required our attention as a couple, he heard me. We’ve been dealing with things as a team. I like myself better, and he does, too. He’s said so.

I wondered to myself if anything else might be improved by talking less, and the answer is YES. I’d needed to break out of the prison my childhood had built around me by being heard. I needed to figure out who i am by talking about life, the universe, and everything. I needed to figure out what >>i<< thought about things rather than what i was told to think about things. That involved having opinions. And oh, i had opinions. Lots of ’em. I had opinions all over the place and everyone knew. I agonised and obsessed over them. When someone i liked had a different opinion, it was terrifying, resulting in more talking. Having a different opinion than someone i liked/respected triggered behaviours around safety and self-preservation. I wanted them to like/respect me in return, and i’d been taught we had to agree in order for that to happen.

I tried to handle differences of opinion in a variety of ways. I’d sometimes act very gracious, but it was utterly disingenuous; i knew it before the words came out of my face. Other times i’d counter them with what i imagined was a stunningly intellectual argument. In that instance in particular i know i alienated people and perhaps even belittled them, for which i’m now ashamed. Then there was the time i tried being a troll for a minute. I used to watch trolls with a glittering eye, wanting desperately to be like them. I know, i know – they’re assholes. I sort of knew that even back then, but i was attracted to their bravado. They appeared to give absolutely zero fucks what other people thought about them. I failed at trolling miserably though, because i’m not actually an asshole, and if that’s what it costs to be one, i’ll just stay off the porch and let the big dogs bark.

Here again, i just stopped talking. I have social media, and people i interact with there certainly know how i feel about a wide range of issues, but i see that as me. Like, if the internet was a gathering of actual people, my page is me. I want to be me in a group of people. What i don’t want is to plaster myself all over your page. You’re not me. You’ve been born to the mother you were born to, and raised the way you were raised. You’ve made choices and you are who you are. If i want acknowledgement and respect for that, mustn’t i also give it to you?

Well absolutely i must.

So i do, and once again it’s led to more silence. Not a barely-restrained silence, pregnant with words left unspoken. It’s an easy quiet like a mid-spring morning, full of promise. It’s good and simple and you can just BE, in it.

I’m a retired Ninja now. I don’t spy on people, i don’t gather information on them, i don’t need to distract anyone from what’s really going on, and i refuse to be involved in the assassination of another human, in any way. I no longer hide within your ranks, i don’t work for anyone, nor am i for hire. The war ended a long time ago. I’ve accepted that and devote myself, as is the way of many former Ninjas, to tending my own garden and fixing broken pottery using gold.

END PIECE

IMAGE: DDP

Posted on by histrionicabutterfly

The Mystical Power of the Ninja Mouth – PT. II

From Wikipedia:

A ninja or shinobi was a covert agent or mercenary in feudal Japan. The functions of the ninja included espionage, sabotage, infiltration, assassination and guerrilla warfare.

It could be said that i was taught all these skills. I was told i was born for a reason, and that it was very important that i do what i was told. I learned to sit quietly in a room full of people and report back on everything i heard. I knew how to read adults; to assess their personality and anticipate their needs. It was important that people liked me. My mother was always keen to know everyone’s business. I could be helpful by being entertaining, or practically invisible. I adapted quickly to my surroundings, sometimes standing out and sometimes blending in.

The people break has been relaxing. I’ve gotten to where i’m aware of the machinations going on in my head, all the time. It’s exhausting. Leaving the house to accomplish daily activities and running into someone i know takes great effort. What’s their name? (If i’m either manic or depressed, it can be hard to recall. If i first heard their name while in one of those states, i won’t remember.) What was our last encounter like? Is the smile on their face genuine? Did i do something wrong last time? Are they secretly upset with me? Do they even like me? Can they tell i’m freaking out? Is it okay to end the interaction now, or would that be rude? Am i talking too much and they want to get away from me? Am i sweating? Does my smile look insane?

Those social anxiety questions aren’t all that’s happening, either. I’ve got the Peanut Gallery yakking in my head the entire time as well. A running commentary from voices i’ve acquired over the years. Judging my appearance, rating my interaction with people i encounter. Giving me advice on everything. Criticising me, criticising them, worrying about how the exchange is going and trying to anticipate what could happen. Doing quick run-throughs of things i could/should be saying. I’m almost always on edge in social situations.

It wasn’t always this bad. It’s been a process. It’s taken hard work to get this twisted up in knots. Of course this is what’s been going on in my brain during social interactions for most of my life, but i wasn’t conscious of it. I’m the poster child of hypervigilance, but i’m also highly dissociative. I’m the clueless cherry on top of the survival sundae. I wasn’t so much into fight or flight, i was frozen. Like, suspended animation. Sort of floating around, but always in the same state. I was the unexamined life. Even when i finally began trying to figure myself out, it was within the boundaries of what my religion would allow. I was bound by their strict definitions and held back by the death grip they had on my perceptions of life, the universe, and everything.

Once i’d extricated myself from religion’s grasp, i started making real headway. It wasn’t demons or sin or soul ties, it was mental illness. I didn’t need gods, prayers, sacrifices, appeals, supplications, confessions, or loving corrections. I’m just mentally ill. When i found the right person to work with, things started clicking relatively quickly. She explained the science behind how my brain worked, pointing me in the direction of books and studies that were more about the hard science of the brain, and less the mushy quagmire of psychology. That was when i began to be aware of everything that was going on in my head. I learned that my brain doesn’t work like most people’s. Some i may have been born with, but some was certainly the result of my upbringing. And while some of the damage is likely irreversible, learning as much as i can about every aspect of my handicap could help me live a more functional and satisfying life. With serious commitment and careful development of a healthy work ethic, i might be both happy and useful.

Some things i’ve learned about myself haven’t been pleasant. I was taught to manipulate from early on. I learned these skills from my mother, and i developed my own tricks to secure my personal safety. I’m incredibly adept. I can fit in with any group of people you put me in. I’ll quickly align myself with the group dynamic and reflect their identity. I’ll talk like them, look like them, and even appear to think like them. It sounds terribly disingenuous, and of course it was, but it wasn’t. It wasn’t consciously done, and my intention was never malicious. I was just trying to survive. My internal air raid siren started going off before i could speak. My brain and my body were always tense, waiting for the next attack. I didn’t know the war was over and i could turn off the alarms. And although i’ve shut down that internal keening, i’m still learning how to stand down. I need regular reminders that the war is over, that i can lay my weapons down.

I now track all the thoughts and voices in my head, and as i stated earlier, it is exhausting. For a long time after i admitted what’d happened to me growing up, i was at their whim. They took all my time and attention. I’ve put my past to bed as well as i can, now i’m on to the business of day-to-day living. It’s taken a while to see that i needed a break from peopling. Even the simplest encounters, like buying groceries, can prove overwhelming for me. And as far as friends go – i prefer short encounters with no more than a couple of people. It’s easier to maintain awareness of what’s going on in my noggin while in smaller groups. Like, two or three. With every added person i become more anxious, and my thoughts start racing. I can lose track and slip into automatic so easily. I don’t want that anymore. I want to be as genuinely myself as i can reasonably and safely be, when in relationships with other humans. I want strong, healthy boundaries. I’m not a beaten dog wandering around with my tail between my legs, hoping someone will pet me. I’m a rescue who went to a great home, where all my needs are well met, and i get all the attention and affection that i require. Now, if i could just hang out at the park with all the other dogs occasionally, without running off yelping because someone comes over for a sniff. Heh.

END of PART II

IMAGE: Negan Scofield

Posted on by histrionicabutterfly

The Mystical Power of the Ninja Mouth*

Ninja
noun
a person skilled in ninjutsu.

  1. informal – a person who excels in a particular skill or activity

**********

I used to bristle when people would make any reference, no matter how remote, to me being a chatterbox. I still kinda do, but it’s getting better. It wasn’t all that difficult to figure out why i’m sensitive about it – i just had to intentionally wonder for a while. It’s amazing how much stuff gets clearer when i do such an odd thing, eh?

I was a child made for a purpose. I had roles to play and there were scripts to follow, but none of them involved any lines about what was actually happening to me. That was never spoken about, except in the vaguest of terms. They used my nature, my personality, my love of communication, for their own personal gain, but forced me to subjugate all those qualities in any case where it might have been a benefit to me, personally. So i could talk, and in fact i had to talk, but only about the things they wanted, and in the way they desired. There were also periods of strictly enforced silence. I had to speak a certain way in certain situations; sometimes meek, hyper-feminine and unctuous, sometimes precocious and worldly. The times i had to keep my mouth shut were easiest, because i didn’t have to go too far inside myself to get away.

However, when everything you’re told to do flies in the face of every instinct you have, and you’re required to say nothing when you need to scream, it fucks you up, and even the best facade will develop some cracks. Those cracks were most obvious at school. I blurted a lot. I would say strange things at inappropriate times. I was regularly called a spaz. Or i’d say something that was obviously intended to fit in with the cool kids. They’d roll their eyes at me, swatting me like the social mosquito i was. I was a know-it-all in elementary school during class, but the bullies and popular kids (who often fit both categories) had pretty much crushed my love of class time, much like they had any social aspirations i’d held, by the time i hit high school.

Once i graduated and got away from home and school, i tried hard to make friends. I ached for a place to fit in, but talked too much and bathed too seldom. Heh. When i got a chance to talk with someone and perhaps begin a friendship, i came on too strong. I was that guy that approaches you in the bar and you wouldn’t date him for anything because you can smell the desperation coming off him in noxious waves. I must have made one helluva double whammy. I tried too hard to impress. I wanted to be likeable, charming, smart, funny… All of it, all at once.

It took years of practise before i was able to dial it back enough to make some decent friends. Even then i wasn’t any good at sustained intimacy and commitment, whether sexual or platonic. Over time i became adept at acquiring friends, but terrible at keeping them. The closer they got, the more obvious it became that i was chatty, but not talkative. And the few i really talked to would leave. One that i loved and trusted very much even told me that i was full of shit. I didn’t tell anyone anything for years after that one.

I haven’t known what to do about my mouth. Do i talk more, or less? To whom? About what, when? I don’t trust my own judgment because when i finally disclosed my story, my closest girlfriend called me a liar and ended our friendship. I was pretty sure i knew how to have better, longer lasting friendships. By being someone else. It’s hard to be genuine when you’re still chipping away at the marble, not entirely sure what the figure will look like when you’re finished. So i withdrew.

I don’t want to be someone i’m not anymore, and i don’t quite know how to be me yet, so i went away. I went back to START with a brand new playing piece and 200 bucks.

*The title is firmly tongue-in-cheek, fellow nerds, so don’t go full Sheldon on me.

***** END of PART I *****