Monday, September 15, 2008
Friday, September 05, 2008
Balance, Isolation, and Separation from the Self
I had one hell of a therapy session this week, wherein the therapist so completely outlined the problems that I nearly cried.
"I don't fit in anywhere." - Bill Hicks.
As far back as I can remember, I've always felt like an outsider looking in and wondering why. The consequences of attempting to be "in" only reinforced the original notion. Opening up to others often resulted in judgment, ridicule, and embarrassment. There was nowhere that I felt safe. Not even with family.
I haven't exactly hidden Dad's alcoholic, violent past, but it's not something I voluntarily talk about. When asked why I didn't tell anyone about it, at the time, I assumed it was a normal thing. I had nothing to compare my experiences to. Early on, it was understood that almost everything on television was fantasy. He never left a mark, so even if I did tell anyone, there would be no evidence. I also never made the connection between alcohol and violence until much later.
Not having an explanation of why it was happening, I rationalized that I must have done something very bad, that I must be a horrible person, not worthy of happiness, love, or life.
It never occurred to me that Mom would try (or should have tried) to protect me. I assumed that she felt the same way, but she never acted like it. Somehow I could tell that she was afraid, too.
So I lived with the fear of getting throttled at home and at school.
In school, the contradictory responses of classmates was too confusing. The weird, slow kid who just wants to be left alone got picked on just for that. When he opens up and tries to play in their reindeer games, he gets picked on.
I decided it would be easier getting picked on for the former instead of the latter. What they don't know won't hurt me. Either way, my peers confirmed what Dad had taught me to suspect about myself, that I wasn't good enough*.
* - "I'm not good enough", a core belief revealed two sessions ago.
What exacerbated things was being a half-generation older or younger than most family members. There's one cousin who's my age, but she lives half a continent away, and we're so dissimilar, you'd never believe we're related. I spent most family gatherings in a separate room, escaping from life in comics; reading, writing or drawing them. At the time, the political discussions among the adults bored me, as did the Barbie-playing crew of kids.
My sister didn't help things, either.
When she was a toddler, she annoyed the hell out of me. She'd jump up & down in her crib, keeping me awake at night. I'd be miserable at school the next day.
How could you tell the difference?
Yeah, yeah. Funny.
Then we moved and got separate rooms, and I became more protective of her, as big brothers are wont to do. And as the baby of the family, she was spared most of the punishments, despite being the troublemaker. But as she got older, she became shallow and self-centered. She began to resent my existence. Erin went as far as to say that she was embarrassed by me. I gave up on being a brother to her.
---
"Why haven't you told your family about being in therapy?"
Because they have so much, too much to worry about as it is.
"Did you hear the words you just said? You've written yourself out of your own family. You believe you're not worth the trouble of your own parents' love."
---
"Do your friends know about what your father did?"
Some do.
"What does it feel like to tell them."
It's strange. I have to separate myself from it so I don't re-live it as I tell them.
"You become an outsider in your own life so you don't feel anything. And I don't think you do it in just that kind of situation. Over the past few weeks, I've noticed that you censor yourself to a degree. You're trying to balance how much of the inner and outer You to reveal, because that fear of judgment and rejection is overwhelming. You've been doing this your whole life; it must be exhausting! I can see your body is reacting to telling me all this -- "
(At this point in the session, I'm seated in a quasi-fetal position. Still upright, but very tense and somewhat curled up.)
" -- and I want to know what you're feeling now."
Fear, anger, remorse, lonely, tired, sad.
"I don't fit in anywhere." - Bill Hicks.
As far back as I can remember, I've always felt like an outsider looking in and wondering why. The consequences of attempting to be "in" only reinforced the original notion. Opening up to others often resulted in judgment, ridicule, and embarrassment. There was nowhere that I felt safe. Not even with family.
I haven't exactly hidden Dad's alcoholic, violent past, but it's not something I voluntarily talk about. When asked why I didn't tell anyone about it, at the time, I assumed it was a normal thing. I had nothing to compare my experiences to. Early on, it was understood that almost everything on television was fantasy. He never left a mark, so even if I did tell anyone, there would be no evidence. I also never made the connection between alcohol and violence until much later.
Not having an explanation of why it was happening, I rationalized that I must have done something very bad, that I must be a horrible person, not worthy of happiness, love, or life.
It never occurred to me that Mom would try (or should have tried) to protect me. I assumed that she felt the same way, but she never acted like it. Somehow I could tell that she was afraid, too.
So I lived with the fear of getting throttled at home and at school.
In school, the contradictory responses of classmates was too confusing. The weird, slow kid who just wants to be left alone got picked on just for that. When he opens up and tries to play in their reindeer games, he gets picked on.
I decided it would be easier getting picked on for the former instead of the latter. What they don't know won't hurt me. Either way, my peers confirmed what Dad had taught me to suspect about myself, that I wasn't good enough*.
* - "I'm not good enough", a core belief revealed two sessions ago.
What exacerbated things was being a half-generation older or younger than most family members. There's one cousin who's my age, but she lives half a continent away, and we're so dissimilar, you'd never believe we're related. I spent most family gatherings in a separate room, escaping from life in comics; reading, writing or drawing them. At the time, the political discussions among the adults bored me, as did the Barbie-playing crew of kids.
My sister didn't help things, either.
When she was a toddler, she annoyed the hell out of me. She'd jump up & down in her crib, keeping me awake at night. I'd be miserable at school the next day.
How could you tell the difference?
Yeah, yeah. Funny.
Then we moved and got separate rooms, and I became more protective of her, as big brothers are wont to do. And as the baby of the family, she was spared most of the punishments, despite being the troublemaker. But as she got older, she became shallow and self-centered. She began to resent my existence. Erin went as far as to say that she was embarrassed by me. I gave up on being a brother to her.
---
"Why haven't you told your family about being in therapy?"
Because they have so much, too much to worry about as it is.
"Did you hear the words you just said? You've written yourself out of your own family. You believe you're not worth the trouble of your own parents' love."
---
"Do your friends know about what your father did?"
Some do.
"What does it feel like to tell them."
It's strange. I have to separate myself from it so I don't re-live it as I tell them.
"You become an outsider in your own life so you don't feel anything. And I don't think you do it in just that kind of situation. Over the past few weeks, I've noticed that you censor yourself to a degree. You're trying to balance how much of the inner and outer You to reveal, because that fear of judgment and rejection is overwhelming. You've been doing this your whole life; it must be exhausting! I can see your body is reacting to telling me all this -- "
(At this point in the session, I'm seated in a quasi-fetal position. Still upright, but very tense and somewhat curled up.)
" -- and I want to know what you're feeling now."
Fear, anger, remorse, lonely, tired, sad.
Thursday, September 04, 2008
Magnificent
My clearly insane twin sister Jerry Sizzler (three sequential links, click each of them!) - er, my friend Francis has a few blomics to share. Naturally, I love the Darwinism one the best.
http://swingshiftstudios.blogspot.com/
http://100bad.blogspot.com/
http://darwinismonline.blogspot.com/
http://mysupalife.blogspot.com/
http://swingshiftstudios.blogspot.com/
http://100bad.blogspot.com/
http://darwinismonline.blogspot.com/
http://mysupalife.blogspot.com/
Sunday, August 31, 2008
Ain't too proud to beg.
Total moving cost: $700. $200 on supplies, $500 for movers (at $100/hour, two hours longer than expected/budgeted).
Help?
Please?
PS - The pain killers are taking their sweet time. Anyone have Vicodin or Oxycontin?
Help?
Please?
PS - The pain killers are taking their sweet time. Anyone have Vicodin or Oxycontin?
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
Moving
Blah.
My desk at work has been moved to another part of the office. I no longer have three computers at my immediate disposal. Plus, I have more people around me.
Oh, and I'm moving to a new apartment. The moving company will be here Saturday at 10 AM. I'll still be in Astoria - across the street from Mike, and a bit closer to Lynne and Das. The rent is a bit more than I would like, but I can handle it. Once I'm settled in, the job search will begin again.
I am in need of boxes & bubble wrap.
My desk at work has been moved to another part of the office. I no longer have three computers at my immediate disposal. Plus, I have more people around me.
Oh, and I'm moving to a new apartment. The moving company will be here Saturday at 10 AM. I'll still be in Astoria - across the street from Mike, and a bit closer to Lynne and Das. The rent is a bit more than I would like, but I can handle it. Once I'm settled in, the job search will begin again.
I am in need of boxes & bubble wrap.
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
Dammit.
Didn't get the job.
Apparently I was too uncommunicative during the interview, and they felt I wouldn't fit in with the companies "culture."
What the fuck.
Apparently I was too uncommunicative during the interview, and they felt I wouldn't fit in with the companies "culture."
What the fuck.
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
What Went Wrong? : "Barbara"
What Went Wrong? : "Barbara"
This is the girl who is the basis for the character Barbara in my book-in-progress.
This is also the first of three "What Went Wrong?" entries, where I over-analyze just how much of a fuckup I am when it comes to dating. Fortunately, it's also good reference for character development.
This is the girl who is the basis for the character Barbara in my book-in-progress.
This is also the first of three "What Went Wrong?" entries, where I over-analyze just how much of a fuckup I am when it comes to dating. Fortunately, it's also good reference for character development.
Monday, August 11, 2008
Ch-ch-changes
Oh, where to begin...
Started seeing my new psychiatrist and therapist a few weeks ago. I see the psychiatrist once a month to go over medication and general mood. By the end of the 45 minutes she said, "I have so many questions I want to ask you!" My internal monologue said, "You're the first woman to say that to me!"
The therapist is weekly. It's interesting to watch her eyes widen with shock as you reveal more and more details. She looked at me as if to say, "how have you not killed yourself yet?"
It's going well, so far. They communicate to see if anything demands attention.
The apartment search isn't going great, but it's still early.
I had an interview with a headhunter today, thanks to my former supervisor. There's a job lead that would mean a 40% raise. She remarked that my current salary is a gross underpayment. I seconded that emotion.
Last week, work was significantly less than fun.
The first few months of my employment at this firm were spend trying to find a new, fast, cheap, easy way to produce out pitch books. The extremely finicky boss had approved everything by the middle of May.
On Monday, he decided that we should revert to the old way, which meant I had to waste a shitload of time. We were using a desktop inkjet printer, which died on Wednesday. Thursday and Friday, I was sent to our printer suppliers' show room and used their higher-end inkjet printers. One that I want so very much. While I was glad to be out of the office, I was sick of running around. By the end of the week, we found that all the pages printed wouldn't fit into our pre-made binding covers, so it was split in two.
I am officially sick of that place. I'm just about ready to throw the boss out the window.
Started seeing my new psychiatrist and therapist a few weeks ago. I see the psychiatrist once a month to go over medication and general mood. By the end of the 45 minutes she said, "I have so many questions I want to ask you!" My internal monologue said, "You're the first woman to say that to me!"
The therapist is weekly. It's interesting to watch her eyes widen with shock as you reveal more and more details. She looked at me as if to say, "how have you not killed yourself yet?"
It's going well, so far. They communicate to see if anything demands attention.
The apartment search isn't going great, but it's still early.
I had an interview with a headhunter today, thanks to my former supervisor. There's a job lead that would mean a 40% raise. She remarked that my current salary is a gross underpayment. I seconded that emotion.
Last week, work was significantly less than fun.
The first few months of my employment at this firm were spend trying to find a new, fast, cheap, easy way to produce out pitch books. The extremely finicky boss had approved everything by the middle of May.
On Monday, he decided that we should revert to the old way, which meant I had to waste a shitload of time. We were using a desktop inkjet printer, which died on Wednesday. Thursday and Friday, I was sent to our printer suppliers' show room and used their higher-end inkjet printers. One that I want so very much. While I was glad to be out of the office, I was sick of running around. By the end of the week, we found that all the pages printed wouldn't fit into our pre-made binding covers, so it was split in two.
I am officially sick of that place. I'm just about ready to throw the boss out the window.
Friday, July 25, 2008
Wow.
If Dark Knight was any more depressing, I'd have to start cutting myself.
(Pssst! That's a joke.)
Beyond that, it was a brilliant movie.
(Pssst! That's a joke.)
Beyond that, it was a brilliant movie.
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