And once more., I circle back around to the subject of feeling like there is something I am supposed to be doing and the resulting feeling of failure for not doing it.
First off, let’s be realistic about whether or not this is something I can conquer. I think it’s clear by now that I cannot. At least, not in the frontal assault, sheer force of will way.
Which sucks because I am extremely good at that.
The question, then, is why not? And I think part of the problem is that I am not looking at the issue the right way.
This tendency of mine to feel that way isn’t a bad habit or an error in thinking. It is an instinct, the instinct known as motivation.
It’s the feeling that I want to be doing things. It is, in a sense, the master motivation, the one that is behind all other motivations, the urge to go and look and do.
I have suppressed that drive for as long as I can remember because I wanted to be safe. Exploration and activity led to risk and pain in my books. Better to just sit still and consume media in safety.
This desire for safety above all else, even if that means dousing the very spark of life that drives all creatures to go out into the world and get their needs met, can only come from a massive violation of safety early in life.
I was raped when I was only four years old. So yeah…. that.
And it’s very hard to overcome that kind of thing. My world was scary and dangerous after that. I handled it okay for a while. In many ways, I was the same happy go lucky, killer cute, so smart it’s scary kid afterwards.
But fragile. Oh so very fragile.
Then my two best friends, Patricia from next door and Janet from across the street, went off to school without me, first to kindergarten (mornings) then to elementary school (they were both a year older than me), and I had no friends any more.
Then I went to grade 1. And eventually, the bullying began, and I was too fragile and weak to fight back effectively, and life stop being good.
Sorry. Didn’t mean this to become yet another rehashing of my terrible childhood. But each time I do it, I process more of the emotions involved.
So some good comes of it.
I periodically try to ignite my spirit and overcome all that deep seated fear. But it’s like trying to light a fire in the freezing rain. So many of the linkages between my motivation and action are either broken or rusted shut from lack of use.
I would be happier if I could just relax and be patient about it and accept that it will take however long it takes and there’s nothing I can do to make it happen faster.
But I can’t. I am too eager to be born, and that eagerness burns me up inside and turns into something ugly and insane.
So maybe my best bet is to relax and accept that I can’t relax and accept things as they are and learn to enjoy the burning sensation inside me.
More after the break.
Hey, guess what I found down that rabbit hole?
Another rabbit hole! Down we go.
I know that all this power inside me wants out. It wants to be expressed. It wants to flower and flourish in the real world instead of just being bottled up inside me and coming out as anxiety and/or depression now and then.
I think part of me is scared to make things real, though. When it’s all still in my head, I can control it. I’m comfortable in my own little world. It’s soothingly familiar.
I feel safe.
But when I start to let all that steam pressure out, or even just consider it, all this cold fear rises up inside me like a chilling mist and I start to feel a cold and clammy panic curling up around my soine and I freeze in place.
And the thing is, the part of me that does that thinks it is keeping me safe.
And in a very narrowly subjective sense, it is. After all, I was scared, and npw I am not, so I must be safe now. Right?
But that particular definition of safety doesn’t take any consequences of doing nothing into account. It takes safety as the ultimate good and any harm I incur while living like that is as invisible to me as if it was taped to the back of my head.
If I even think of breaking out of my tiny cage, that icy fear is there to keep me in my place. It is basically my depression’s enforcement mechanism.
And the icy coldness turns the energy I was trying to release and express into anxiety as a result.
If I could turn off the freeze machine, I might get out into the world and explore my options and make something of myself.
Even if that “something” is just 20 hours a week working nights at 7-11.
Hey, I could do worse. It’s work I know that I could do, assuming that I got around the “having to stand for a long time” problem.
And I would actually be earning a living for the first time in my entire 46 years of life. And that would do wonders for my self-esteem.
And I kind of assume they are always hiring for the graveyard shift. I mean, the turnover for that gig must be huge.
But I am already a night owl. So I’d have that.
And I mean, there must be other low end jobs with a huge employee turnover rate who would be desperate enough to hire a 46 year old person with no recent employment history but plenty of mental health issues, right?
Please tell me I am right.
I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.