so…
dr.c wants me to write out a list of my “self-talk”. i guess i kind of hit her right in the feels when she realized how vicious i am to my self. oops. i think? but i was stuck for a while on HOW, exactly, to do that. it’s not exactly something that lends itself to a bullet point list. but then i thought: hey. i used to do that shit ALL the time. on the internet. for the world to see. gods know my OD was basically a repository for all the horrible shit i told myself, and all the rationalizations i came up with to make that all seem okay. so i figured hey, why not start that all up again? hell, who knows? maybe, given the newly opened mind-wound i’ve got going on, getting back into writing might help. it used to. getting that swirling vortex of emotional BLARGH out into coherent thoughts and then coherent sentences has been useful in the past.
so i’m going to try to write out some of my self-talk (gods i hate that that word. it sounds so…THINK YOURSELF ALLLLL BETTERish…like that’s even fucking possible when the reason you’re in this mess in the first place is cuz you’ve become super-pro at thinking yourself shit…) anyway…gonna try to write that shit out, but i think it will be more effective, and will net dr.c what she’s looking for, if i just stream-of-consciousness it. like i used to, when i wrote all the time. i’ve noticed in the past that those kind of entries were always far more indicative of what i was feeling than the ones where i tried to write something specific. which means this will be a rambling, self-loathing-filled kind of entry. what better way to re-introduce myself to the world of online diary-keeping?!? at least it’ll be a fairly accurate first impression of what people will get if they keep reading…assuming i keep writing…i’ve never been great at sticking with things…i get all stoked and into it and shit, and then bap. one day i say “fuck it” and nothing ever comes from it again.
....and there’s the rambling…oh! and tangents! let’s not forget tangents! the ultimate in avoidance! the best way to avoid making horrible, painful, cruel feelings into coherent thoughts. and therefore words. and therefore even more power to ruin my life, for the rest of my life. when you give things voice, you give them power. this shit does NOT need any more power. but this is what dr.c wants…well…my interpretation of it anyway…
[ and just for the record, yes. i do see EXACTLY what i’m doing. i see the negative self-talk, i see how out of proportion it is. i even see that it’s largely bullshit. and none of that makes a godsdamn bit of difference, because the smart part of me is completely and utterly overwhelmed by the emotional part of me. i’m too fucking smart for my own damn good. it would be better if i were dumber and couldn’t see the frustrating contradictions that exist in my mind. it’s like trying to argue with some willfully ignorant idiot who refuses to believe that the earth is round. never mind the pictures. he knows what he knows. that frustration. KNOWING that the other is wrong, without a shadow of a doubt, and still he refuses to see it. that is my mind. constantly. every day. i am the intelligent person and i am the willfully ignorant moron who refuses to acknowledge the truth, no matter how much proof, and logic, and common sense shows it. ]
more tangents! ugh. honestly? i’m stalling. cuz this is gonna hurt like hell, and never mind how much good it’ll do me in the long run. i’m not good at facing things that will hurt me. i usually avoid them. i am expert at that. especially when the things that will hurt are me…
so. self-talk. completely stream-of-consciousness, no backpedaling and/or changing things so they sound better or worse or whatever. this is what (i think!) dr.c wants…i think…sort of…probably a lot more rambly than she expected…
ARGH! fuck! stoppit! just fucking do it already. rip off the godsdamn band-aid and get it fucking over with you coward!
heavy sigh okay. here goes…self-talk. see, this is the tricky part. it’s not usually specific WORDS that i say to myself. it’s more just feelings…i mean, i don’t usually think to myself in full sentences. just feelings. for example: i’ll see that there’s a hang the dj event coming up soon. and i’ll look at the event page on facebook and i’ll think, “man, should totally go to that” and i’ll think about how much fun i used to have when i went out dancing, and how great it was to feel sore the next morning cuz i danced my ass off, and went out and had fun and saw people i liked and sweated out some stress. and then i’ll think about how long it’s been since i’ve been out, and the fact that people will ask me where i’ve been, and/or what i’ve been up to. and what the fuck am i gonna say to them? “whelp, i’ve been in my parent’s basement. where i live. because i’m 33 years old and i can’t hold down a steady job because my brain is so broken, and i’m halfway convinced that i’m somehow doing it to myself. oh, and what have i been up to? well let’s see…my schedule is soooo busy these days…i literally live in my bed. i do nothing but watch tv, fuck around on the internet, sometimes play a video game if i can manage to hold my concentration together for long enough. on really good days, i manage to gather enough energy to leave my house to go get a slurpee. so yeah, my life’s great, how’s yours?’ not exactly bar talk.
and then i wonder if there will be too many new people there, or just too many people. and i wonder if it’s worth it to put the energy and effort into getting ready, and going out, just to get there and freak out and have to bail. and i stress out completely over the possibility of having people ask me where i’ve been, what i’ve been doing, if i’m okay....while at the same time being totally convinced that no one gives that much of a shit about me in the first place, so no one’s even going to ask any of those questions anyway. and i’ll hem and i’ll haw and pretend to myself that i’m actually trying to make a decision about going out, when in reality, i’ve already decided that there’s no fucking way i’m going to put myself through all of that stress, and all that hemming and hawing is just me trying to come up with rationalizations and justifications to myself for pussing out and not going. “oh, you’ll be too anxious. oh, you’ll freak out. oh, this, oh that” and all it is, is me being a complete and utter coward, and being terrified of change…strike that. not terrified. being horrifyingly complacent with the way things are, because at least that way, i know where i stand, and i don’t have to worry about my suspicions that everyone hates me being being proven correct. and if i don’t go out, i don’t have to put words to how pathetic my life is. which means i don’t have to think about the fact that i’m basically nothing more than a lazy, complacent, self-pitying little wench, who would probably have no mental issues to deal with at all, except it’s just easier to not go to work, to not leave the house, to live at home with my parents who don’t try to force me to “get better”, to completely isolate myself from any one or anything that might cause me to feel something unpleasant.
that’s what it’s like any time i think about doing anything. and every time, i tell myself things like “you can’t plan for things, cuz your pain might flare up. or because your brain might flare up.” or any other bullshit reason i give myself. and it’s all just cover for the thoughts i don’t dare even give thought-voice to. because then i’ll have to face up to the fact that there’s a pretty much 100% chance that i’m doing this to myself. that i’m in this miserable, basically suicidal, self-harming, depressed, anxious place because i’ve spent the last 15 years putting myself there. and i’ve NEVER actively thought about this stuff for that very reason. i didn’t even KNOW that this shit was there. i mean, i knew about the shitty self-talk. i’ve always known about that. but until last week, i didn’t realize how much of my rationalizations were to make myself believe that this kind of self-talk was the result of fucked up brain chemistry. and not because my mind is literally working against me, and has been for 15 years. and HOW the bloody FUCK am i supposed to undo 15 years of habit when my mind is still pretty convinced that this is the way of things forever and ever?
ugh…all these tangents and stalling and i’ve lost my train of thought…okay…other negative self-talk stuff that i do…
so i’ve been in therapy, real, solid, actually making a difference (for a while) therapy for 3ish years now. and my therapist (technically a social worker, but whatever) is a fucking wizard. he GETS me. we had an almost instant rapport, and he understands how i need to do for any of this shit to stick. and some of it was. it really, really was. and i was so. fucking. CLOSE. i had a job application filled out and everything. and then my meds stopped working. again. and everything went to fucking hell. and it’s like, why even bother trying? that’s twice now that meds have worked, and worked WELL, after trying pill after pill after pill. and they WORK. and i think, okay maybe this time things will work out. and i try to keep myself from getting to excited, because if you have an expectations at all, you’re going to be disappointed, and good stuff always falls apart. always. but the meds keep working, and i start to think in new ways about things, ways that aren’t COMPLETELY laced “yeah, for now’s” and then BANG. out of fucking nowhere for no good fucking reason, that’s it. the pills are done working. and then it’s like “whelp. it’s your own fucking fault for thinking that things would EVER get better for any extended period of time. you got complacent. you got content. you got HAPPY, you dumb fucking cunt. this is what you get.” because shit ALWAYS. falls. apart. you’d think i would have learned that by now. but no. i was lulled into a sense of “maybe, possibly, this time???” and got fucking burned for it. again.
so my therapist gets me a consult with a psychiatrist in the program. for a meds eval. type thing. and we try new meds. and then we try another. and another. and another. and a consult that was only supposed to be for 5 or 6 appointments (or whatever…don’t know the exact number, but it was only supposed to be a few), has continued on for months. and with every new pill i’m more and more convinced that it’s completely and utterly hopeless. there’s nothing that can be done. there’s no point in even trying anymore.
and i’ve brought this up to the wizard before, once or twice. the concern that maybe there’s part of me that somehow wants to keep me this miserable, useless lump of shit for the rest of my life. that somewhere in me is something that is doing this to myself. but i never gave it much weight when i brought it up with him. and i guess now i know why. because there IS a part of me that is doing this to myself. my own fucking MIND hates me, and is keeping me miserable. and that’s why the meds don’t work. or if they do, the don’t work for long. because it’s NOT fucked up chemicals in my BRAIN that are causing the problems, which is the assumption/diagnosis i’ve been operating under for the last 15 years. no, it’s not my brain, it’s not a neurochemical, physiological problem, that MIGHT have had a solution, however elusive it might be. no, it’s not that. it’s my MIND. my fucking subconscious is doing this to me, for no reason other than habit, and 15 long, miserable years of training. it’s this ephemeral, non-corporeal, psychological, untouchable THING, hiding in my own fucking MIND, that has been causing my problems all this time. how the fuck am i supposed to FIX that?!?
i had issues with hopelessness before. being convinced that nothing would ever help. convinced that i wasn’t even WORTH the effort to help. and now i find out that I am the one causing these problems?!? fuck me…there really is no point. how can i possibly be worth the time and effort it would take to even think about starting to contemplate the idea of maybe helping when my subconscious is just going to turn around and undo everything the first chance it gets?
this is the kind of self-talk i get, all the time. THIS is my mind. this is why i cut myself (among many other reasons). this is why self-loathing doesn’t even BEGIN to cover how i feel about myself. “issues with self-esteem” i’ve always had them. but it goes so, SO much deeper than that. and i didn’t even know it until a week ago. it sure goes a long way to explaining my being convinced that i’m worthless. that the people i know are just pretending to like me, because i’m not an outright malevolent evil bitch to people, so they’re too nice to tell me to fuck off. i’m politely tolerated, for no other reason than i’m not a cunt. except to myself of course. i’m horrid to myself. i’m a mean, vindictive, evil bitch. i dwell on shit endlessly. the tiniest little things that i may have said to someone. i’ll be utterly convinced that i hurt them in some way, and i’ll flagellate myself with the guilt for months, years, even DECADES in some cases. and at the same time, i’ll tell myself that there’s no way they even care. there’s no possible way that i’m even on their radar enough for them to care that i said ANYTHING, never mind being hurt or offended or upset by anything i’ve said.
i’ve had people come up to me, running into them years later, after meeting them only once or twice, and they remember me. and i have no idea who they are. at all. and i’ll beat myself up for that. for not remembering. what kind of horrible person doesn’t remember someone when they remember you? am i so callous and shallow that people just don’t register for me unless they’re in my life for an extended period of time? unless they do something for me? and at the same time, i wonder why the fuck they remember me? what the hell did i ever do to be memorable? i’m nothing. i’m too tall, and too fat and too loud and i don’t fit in anywhere. not even with the other outcasts. why do they remember me? why do they talk to me after so long? what could i have possibly done to make them desire to put the effort into approaching me?
i’ve never fit in. anywhere. i try to pretend that i am the way that i am because i don’t care what people think of me. “i am who i am and if you don’t like it, fuck off” i try to treat people better than i hope to be treated because i’m so desperate for the approval of the “other”. i spend all my time and energy in social situations, and just in general, thinking about other people and how i can make them happy. i call myself an empath. but i’m just so desperate to feel WORTH anything, that i do all this caring for other people and completely ignore myself. desperately trying to prove to myself that i’m a good person. that i deserve to have friends, and be loved. and i’m so convinced that i’m not that i end up driving people away anyway. because my subconscious knows that i’m not a good person. that i’m not worth the time and effort it would take to be my friend. i like to say that i’m “low maintenance” (or i did, anyway, when i used to go out in public and have friends and talk about dating), but the truth is, i’m not. i’m so excruciatingly, emotionally high maintenance that i eventually drive everyone away. my last serious boyfriend told me i was too needy. someone once told me that i’m not as good as a friend as i think i am.
THAT one has kept me up nights, let me tell you. it was through an app thingy on facebook, YEARS ago…at least 6 or 7 years…it was a thing where you could send people notes anonymously, but they had to either be on your friends list, or be a friend of a friend. so it was someone i knew. and they said, and i quote “you’re not as good a friend as you think you are”. and they were right. because all my ‘empathy’, all my ‘caring’, all the energy that i gave, and put into other people, friends, whoever, was all just a desperate attempt to show myself that i’m not a bad person. that’s all it was. about as selfish as a person can get, i think.
.......
so that’s my brain. or rather, that’s my mind. that is what it’s like inside my head, day in, day out, every single day for the last 15 years. explains a lot, doesn’t dr.c? is this what you were expecting when you asked for a list of my self-talk?
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