That’s about as good as my attitude towards myself get.
Never truly warm, forgiving, or sympathetic. Never treating myself with kindness and understanding. Never a warm hug, a word of support, or a kind gesture to myself.
No, the best I can manage is to be the gruff, strict, hard as nails teacher from a sitcom that everyone thinks is a total bastard but whom you realize by the end of the pilot really truly care about the kids and wants them to do well.
And of course, that’s not how I treat others at all. In fact, if I saw someone treating another person like I treat myself, I’d likely butt in and defend them.
As with nearly all other depressives, there is one set of (arbitrary and unfair) rules for me, and one for literally everybody else
Doc Costin got me thinking about this fact during Thursday Therapy today and it’s really got me wondering why I am so hard on myself.
Fundamentally, I think it boils down to last Thursday’s topic, inward directed anger. Being harsh with myself is the main way that self-focused anger expresses itself on a day to day basis.
What’s more, maintaining this hostile attitude means I am always ready to pounce on myself and attack my slightest weakness at any moment.
It’s very self-destructive. But it keeps the beast fed.
What really struck me as I was talking with Doctor Costin about this is how hard it was for me to imagine being any other way.
I try to imagine being kinder and gentler with myself and I draw a complete blank. The idea is simple enough but when I try to apply it to myself – I got nuthin’.
I know I don’t have it in me to be, like, perky.
Not without some really excellent medication, anyhow.
But there’s something a lot more sinister lurking under the dark water of my psyche. Like if I let up on myself, I would somehow be… letting myself get away with something?
And I guess I would because I would be forgiving myself for being myself.
Well it’s not like I was given a choice.
I guess I am still looking for that magical third option that isn’t taking my anger out on myself and isn’t taking it out on others.
Maybe I can take it out….in actions? If I could turn the anger into the motivation and energy to accomplish things which are meaningful to me, that might do the trick.
That’s a pretty radical idea, but it could work. Needs more pondering.
As usual, I find myself wishing I could just dump all my latent rage somewhere so I don’t have to deal with it.
Just grab hold of some cosmic electrode handles and yell “DO IT!” and have all that latent emotional energy discharge all at once like I am trying to arc weld with hate.
Man, what a relief that would be!
Then I would able to go about my life as a much calmer, saner, healthier person and everything would be just fine.
Oh well, maybe some day.
More after the break.
The saga continues
Oh my freaking God. Why does life hate me?
So I finally had it all together. Fresh sensors, check. Base unit[1] (aka “reader”), right here in my hot little hands. Plug to charge reader, bingo. Wire to connect plug to base unit, found and inserted. Reader plugged in and charged, four by four, chief.
So I unwrapped the sensor – oops,. part of the adhesive pad flopped over into itself and stuck there. No way to peel it back off. Hope it will work anyhow.
Then I inserted the sensor into my arm with the applicator, making a satisfying ka-chuck sound like I was using an industrial sized stapler.
Then I inputted the sensor’s little code into the reader, and it validated my sensor (thanks!), and started up its mysterious (but no doubt necessary) two hour warmup.
And I was happy. Finally, I had got my poop into a group enough to get back to monitoring my blood so I could get it back to normal and be healthy again!
Well, healthier, anyhow. Point is, I’d have my most pressing issue under control.
And everything was fine, just fine….until I heard…. THE BLOOP.
The god damned fucking BLOOP.
At first, I was in denial. Warm, sweet, gentle denial.
“Gee, I wonder where that cute little bloop came from?” I wondered as cute forest animals frolicked about me in a sun-drenched meadow in spring.
But then Man entered the forest and I remembered what that fucking bloop meant.
It meant the sensor had failed on warmup AGAIN, and in the exact same part of the warmup as before! GOD FUCKING DAMMIT!
Not this shit again! Is it the reader that is broken, or does Dexcomm just have really shitty manufacturing standards?
Or am I fucking things up in a way so unique and bizarre that nobody from this reality would have thought to tell people not to do that?
That has happened many, many times in my life.
So first, I took a little break to let myself cool off a bit. Could not face starting nother sensor and having Lucy pull the ball away at the last second again yet.
Then, like half an hour later, I was ready to start out fresh again, and went to take the previous sensor off my arm so I could replace it.
And it was not there. Fucking thing must have fallen off when I was asleep, probably because I fucked up the adhesive pad at the beginning.
Can’t start a new sensor without it because I have to take the transmitter out of it to put into the new sensor.
Why? Because it’s a piece of shit device by a piece of shit company. Words cannot describe how badly I miss the OneTouch Ultra Supreme With Bacon, or whatever the fuck it was called.
The one that actually fucking worked. But is too expensive for us disabled type people to deserve, according to the province.
Think anyone told them that high compliance rates lead to better outcomes and thus save a lot of money in the long run?
Probably. But they didn’t listen because that smells awfully like being nicer than absolutely necessary to poor people and that goes against everything they believe in.
Not that I’m bitter or anything.
I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.