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.


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.

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.



My bad habits have changed from ‘these are good coping skills and they help’, to ‘need to stop, but can’t right now, I’ve fallen and I can’t get up’, to ‘pansy, you can do this, I know you can!’

It’s an uphill battle, these habits have been entrenched for so long. (for example, sleeping, the computer, going to the shrink’s office and trying to solve the impossible) I’m climbing up without a knot on the bottom right now, so that makes it harder and scarier to keep at it.

But climbing I am. It’s 9AM. It took me 15 minutes to turn off my alarm and get out of bed, but, I did not turn it off, or press snooze. I got up.

I am getting to the point where I am ‘consciously bored’.. I no longer melt into the computer, or something. I am still on the computer a lot, but I am conscious and separate from it, itching at the fact that I know I want to do something else.

(Don’t know what else to do, though)

But, I do have some ‘this is good for you’ things put down.. I am struggling to find other doable ‘good for you’ things, to fill up some space in a good way.

In the meantime, the only knot system I have right now is habitrpg.

labrynth dancing bowie

(this helps too)

Anyway, you put your habits in there, good and bad, and your ‘to do’ tasks, and your daily things to do. It’s like a rpg game (that’s probably obvious, but anyway) You lose ‘hit points’ if you do a bad habit, or skip some of your ‘dailies’. You gain experience and gold for doing good things, as well as ‘drops’ – food, or ‘eggs’ to hatch pets. There are 90 pets. The zombie ones and the skeleton ones are just plain scary, but anyway. Of the pets, you can turn them into ‘mounts’. Also, you can buy equipment with all your gold. There’s a community there, too, but y’all know me, I don’t know how to open (or close) that door.

Here’s me, currently =D

habitrpg avatar

I also have a lot of other ‘outfits’ to chose from, if that one gets boring!

Cycle of Abuse?

You know that feeling when you’re suffering from ‘sob constipation? When you needed a good cry, but there wasn’t a good spot to do it in, so you held it, and now that there is a place you can’t get it out because you were holding it? I’ve got that going on at the moment.

There was a woman who spoke at an event today, about the cycle of abuse. She didn’t say it in a textbook way, she said it in a way I could understand. I wish I could have filmed it or something, I don’t remember anything now. But it gave me sob constipation.

She talked about witnesses, and the difference of that versus observers. She talked about getting angry. How victims of abuse would think things of themselves that they’ve been told over and over.. I wish I could remember it. I’m probably not getting it right right now either. This time I did come up and thank her without being an idiot (last time she touched my arm in an ‘I care’ attitude my tongue was tied because I don’t remember the last time that happened)

My core is separate from what my family does to me. I know I like myself and my potential life, and my core is strong in that. What they do hurts, but it can’t touch that inner center where I know who I am.

I’m finally angry.

And no one listens to my anger, or.. anything I have to say.

I love my two cousins with all my heart, and the family cat (not my cat, the family one I grew up with that was ‘my cat’ there). Unconditionally. I love the rest of the family, but that sometimes seems.. heavier? More conditional in a sense? But I want to adopt my cousins and steal the cat and live like that. That aunt is the most poisonous, I don’t know what’s real or not. She’ll ignore me at the drop of a hat, so I have to pretend, so, so, hard, at being normal, to try to stay present for those cousins at least. I am so so worried at how they fare at home, and the fact I can do nothing, only change my behavior. So I change it for the worse (not in an evil sense, but a.. neutered sense) and pretend the status quo is normal, just to be even present in their lives. I don’t know what’s more harmful. I’m probably enabling my aunt’s awfulness by trying to be neutered, but I’m not there, maybe my cousins are doing okay. Not to my eyes though.

My parents feed the cat shit like Meow Mix. The poor dear weighs a ton, smells bad, and her fur looks like she hasn’t seen a shower in months, if that makes sense. She cleans herself okay, but her hair is greasy and flaky at the same time.

I wish I could take all of them, I love them so much.

The sob constipation probably started a few days ago, at group. In the middle of talking about a point, I realized another point. The reason my apartment doesn’t feel like home is.. that I’ve never had one. So mentally and emotionally my foot is figuratively outside the door. I’m on high alert, and even lounging on the couch won’t soothe it. So even though I literally have my own, safe place to stay, I’ve never had that anywhere else. Some were more extreme than others, but the one that was the worst, obviously, is that I was never safe in my parents’ house. My room was never ‘mine’. It was made clear that it was their house, I was just living in it. My ‘room’ was cleaned when it didn’t match dad’s standards, same with my possessions. If that wasn’t by my mother’s standard, it would go to goodwill. Which isn’t even mentioning how I myself am treated, which is even worse.

So, cycle of abuse? I’ve finally gotten angry enough to say something. I sent an email, and called mom, about it. That really really sucked, so never mind that. When do I.. give up.. on them? Excommunicate them and move up to Maine? I’m not going to do that, but, I need to do something, for the sake of myself.

(I tried to go to the LGBT night at a bar here to cheer me up. I got all touchy feely with a guy, and he was back, but in the end, he was straight. The entire dancefloor was straight people, the gays lurking miserably on the sidelines. So, he was straight, and I’m a cliche, hahaha )