Willpower is Finite

I remember listening to a StuffYouShouldKnow podcast the other day on willpower – that it’s finite. Resist one thing and it’ll get harder to resist something else.

My mother called me twice in concern over my shoulder. At first I resisted contacting her back – saying to myself ‘I’m not falling for that again’.. (she’s a narcissist)

But ultimately I fell for that again and responded to her facebook message, poured my heart out on how much my shoulder hurts (injured it a few days ago) and got four words in response ‘hang in. How’s work’ and then nothing after that even telling her how work was, she ghosted.

People ghost a lot.

I tend to say to my shrink ‘no one cares about me’. Which is draining to her because she cares, I know.

I think what I mean by care is.. empathy. Sympathy.. I don’t know. I don’t feel that many people care about me in any good strong way. No one hates or loves me very much. I have two cousins who do love me, a cat at my parents house who does, a sister who does *sometimes*..  and all of these have a huge caveat, as you know.

 

So for family I know the ‘dance man’ rule well, and can tell exactly when and how I break it. I don’t know how to fix it when I break it… I think what happens is they see something interesting on the edge of the radar of ignoring me and come back for another show, and I’ll exhaustedly put on the monkey suit and dance again, because what else can I do?

I don’t know what the answer is at all when it comes to friends or lovers, because I don’t have any and I don’t know why, and no one will tell me.

So.. with no empathy towards me, I feel like I have no choice but to drink the poison of self pity, which makes me feel worse. I don’t know how to cope with nothing in the ‘belonging’ jar. I’m exhausted, I feel like I’ve tried everything. I am empty.

I am.

But honestly.. I am not.

 

Recipe for Happiness

Happiness is the most organic of emotions.

I mean, I disagree with my parents’ philosophy of how you can ‘choose to be happy’. I think happiness comes up naturally, I can’t chose it one way or another.

But I can choose to try to get there.

Your first step is gratitude. I think gratitude isn’t always organic. You can also choose to reach for gratitude for something. Gratitude is the fuel to the fire, the firewood.

Pile up gratitude high enough, and it’ll become easier to catch a spark of hope.

That spark of hope will start a fire. And sometimes, the warmth from that fire?

That’s happiness.

she's gonna eat me

I don’t know how I feel, other than that.

My ears are ringing, my skin feels static, my eyes do not want to close. I feel like I’ve been battered by high winds, but I don’t know how to describe the where of the high winds.

It’s too many people, and none of them are friendly.

I see some of my family, and the shrinks, and some people I newly know here. All pull my strings in a disastrous way.

I have to be on guard to give my family the ol’ razzle dazzle, I’m uptight among the new people I know because I don’t know how to be a normal converser, and shrinkage is shrinkage things.

I’m high strung, vibrating. I’m alone right now, and that should help with recuperation, right? But..I wish I had some company where I didn’t have to work so hard to be normal. I think that would help.

What is self pity and what is grief?

I am suffering from sob constipation. I’m holding so much in, but there’s not a safe place to let it go. I let one tear out today, but I have nowhere to put it entirely. I’ve been wanting to call my sister for weeks and try there, (fat chance) but keep making excuses to not to do it, so I don’t.

I don’t know what is self pity, and what is grief.

I constantly grieve the loss of my family. Sometimes that coagulates into self pity, but mostly it’s a constant stream of grief. There are people who have done stupid things, and their families held onto them, and were there and didn’t let them go. I did NOTHING. I transitioned. And they let me go.

The rest of this is probably only self pity:

At BEST I am in a laundry at the fountain square scenario, one of the girls in their gossip circle, and I have to suffer in silence.

That’s at best.

With family all I’m seeing it as, is I’m a thirsty man, but am drinking poison. Is that really any better?

I don’t have any friends to move forwards to instead. There, I am a starving man. With any interaction at all, I can’t handle too much of it. I sip at it. And that water turns sour because of a nonexistent reaction time. I am looking through a rolodex to find something to say or share, and by the time I think of something, it’s too late. If I try to say anything at all, it’s a naked dumbledore move. If I do hit on something, The inability to keep up causes overstimulation and then it crumbles. And if the overstimulation occurs, my hackles are up and I’m useless after that.

Bravery vs. Courage?

What do y’all think is the difference between bravery and courage? I’ve heard different things from different places.

For me, bravery equals survival, holding shit together because you have no other choice. Standing up, because if you stop moving, you’ll fall. No heart to it, just grit.

Courage, for me, feels fuller. Whereas bravery is fighting because you have to, courage means there’s heart to it, you’re fighting for something, something more than just survival. I even think it has nothing to do with survival. It has to do with life, and love. That there are people behind you who are worth fighting for, who you’d protect fiercely because you love them. Even just yourself, loving yourself, but I still think that’s closer to bravery… okay, no, that probably counts as courage. Because courage is an extra push of wind to fill your sails. Hope, happiness, love. Moving forward is easier with that. (yes, I guess it still counts even if it’s just loving yourself.. love is the key part of it).

Which is why I hate it that everyone calls me brave.

The Whole is Other than the Sum of the Parts

-Kurt Koffka

gestalt

I can recognize what my pac-man sides are, but I don’t know who I am entirely, the triangle. http://www.intropsych.com/ch04_senses/whole_is_other_than_the_sum_of_the_parts.html

I don’t know where to start. I’m queer, I’m trans, I love cooking, I knit, I play guitar, I garden, I love the ocean, and iceskating, and contra dancing.. But those are some my pac-mans. I don’t know what the whole of it is, what I wear on my sleeve, to hopefully find a tribe with other sleeves like mine.

I have been trying to fit in with the queers here. But being queer is for me an ‘Oh P.S, I’m queer’ thing, not an ‘I’m queer!’ thing, if that makes sense. It’s part of my make up, but I’m not front and center about it, nor am I about anything else up there, so I have to figure out what my front and center things are.

I can obviously go into the ‘”I am thoroughly used to being different shades of shadow and not being allowed to be otherwise so that’s the only thing I know how to do’ pity party, but fuck that.

…okay, I am really tempted to do that, actually =D

Obviously I’ve got to allow myself.

I want to figure this shit out. I want to find a tribe, instead of bursting out everything that’s happened during the week to my shrink, because she’s basically the only person I talk to. (I can’t help but see it as some kind of horrifying Wilson, Tom Hanks thing). That doesn’t seem useful shrinkage, at all. A tea party, instead of actually getting down to business. So, I don’t know how, but let’s do this.

air staffs mulan

Captain, I am not

  • My not sleeping is of the ‘Freddy’s gonna kill me’ variety, not a manic one
  • Brave vs. Courage (1)
  • Hugging mostly sucks (2)
  • My house does not equal home (plus it’s tidy, but not clean. I don’t know how this connects to any of my issues, but it probably does) (3)
  • Lamictal helps me survive, but in doing so hampers my ability to live
  • My acceptance window is shut, but my tolerance window has never been closed.

1) Cousins see my Steve Rogers side, which lights up a genuine Captain America for them. For them, (and my cat, back at my parents’ house) I feel courage.

For everyone else I know, it’s bravery. They see the sexy uniform and shield, and for them that equals the Capt. The don’t care to see the Steve Rogers behind it.

2) Which is also why hugging them, even touching them, makes me feel disgusting. They are hugging what they want to see, what they think is real, a courage, but because they don’t care to see the Steve Rogers part, my actual courage quails, because they’re touching it, dragging it to light, without bothering to care about it.

Hugging strangers is better than hugging them. Strangers haven’t formed an opinion, whereas family insists on theirs, and fuck mine.

3) The ‘house not being home’ pain used to be ‘not allowed’, but now it’s, I see that I’m allowed (but that’s still hard). but the worst of it is that no one else is there. Friend, family, or lover. All those are different kinds of pain: Friend: regret, shame. Family: a young abandonment. Lover: a bitter self disgust. Plus all three have a wistful, missing them feeling to it.

PS: I got a diagnosis that makes sense, finally. PTSD, and ADD. The ADD is biological, and the PTSD, you know how that goes. I don’t know how to fix it, there isn’t a right answer. I wish I had a mentor, though, an older guy. The past six years I’ve been trying to learn ‘guy’ on my own, and before that, trying to learn ‘human’ on my own. I am a blob of ‘not raised.. at all, really’, and I’ve been having a hell of a time trying to do it alone.