My mind technician thinks that the true source of the excruciating pain from my breakup is because of having lived without true emotional intimacy for so very long and then putting all my eggs of emotional connection need into one basket. I do not think that is what the pain is really all about. Sure, that is a part of it but what really hurts beyond hurt is the loss of hope. I would not have admitted it to anyone including myslef but deep down I knew my life was broken and needed to be fixed. So when She came along and made me feel so safe that She could quiet my worried mind with Her mere presence rather than me taking Ritalin, I fell so desperately in love. It felt that with Her in my life everything would be fixed. And the sad, sad trouth is that if She had stuck around long enough to help me open my eyes to the true nature of my issues so that I could get help, my life would have been fixed. The other part of that sad, sad truth is that had I paid more attention to what She was saying, had paid more attention to Her, she would likely still be a part of my life. There is a great deal of blame on me for the breakup.
Having left, She not only took Herself out of my life, She took my hope and my dreams with Her. It feels so empty and so cold now.
And I still love Her.
The Self – that most elusive of notions. How do we define it? Is it the soul, the mind, the id, the ego? Is it set for all time or is it constantly in flux? Then there is the whole notion of fractured Self. It is also intrinsically linked with how we view ourselves: for example, whether do we feel young or old regardless of actual age;
In my case, I am starting to realise that my Self is not what I thought it was. In fact, the current state of feeling totally lost is because I spent a large portion of my life hiding my Self from the world and myself. I have written about myself here before but I am realising that I have not really touched on the subject of my Self. I have no clue what or who I am. Is it the Me the funny guy? Is it the Me the improviser? Is it the Me the climber?
Some people (ahem, me) tend pile up stuff in a closet during cleanup and just shut the door. Later, when that was thoroughly forgotten, the closet gets opened and everything that was piled up falls out. Since I have started doing improv, I feel that is the psychological equivalent of what has been happening in my mind. The recent Breakup just swung all the doors open and now I am drowning in all the emotional baggage that was suppressed there.
And yet, I am still having trouble confronting my issues. Is it because I am afraid to find out that I am a total loser? Granted, that is not the kind of validation I am interested in. I do know that feelings of low self-worth and fears of inadequacy are my constant companions, à la Dexter’s “dark passenger.”
So I am considering the possibility that my Self is in a transitional period. I am changing from the Self I deluded myself into and moving towards discovering my true Self. Hopefully, this will not end in bitter disappointment.
At first I wasn’t going to do a post inspired by the daily prompt but today’s theme did make me think of something. I am a horrible procrastinator. Part of having ADHD-PI is not being able to concentrate on the tasks that aren’t interesting. It is something that I know about myself and I try to do better but truth is that I have never tried all that hard. Plus, I do have that blind spot that helps me blank out and forget tasks that sound particularly distressing.
I should have sought professional help years ago but I told myself that things are not that bad and I do not require it. In effect, this has been a two decades long procrastination stretch. Must be some kind of a record!
So why did I do that? Well, part of it is cultural. As has been mentioned in a previous post, I come from a very straight laced culture where men are men and men do not talk about their feelings and only crazy people need mental health help. The other part of it is that it is hard to ask for help, especially this kind of help. Our inner psyche is our most private part. It is so private that sometimes we do not even let ourselves in, let alone other people. Inviting a complete stranger in has got to be the hardest thing there is. Plus, in most modern societies there is an ominous stigma attached to needing mental health help. (As some might rightly notice this is mostly just rationalisation but I’m not going to get into that all that much since there’s already a Rationalising And Reason today by thetalkingtherapist.)
Well, my misery cup hath runneth over. Yesterday was the day that I crossed that particular Rubicon and had my first session. It wasn’t easy to do this by any means but turning around and going home has never crossed my mind. Perhaps it shall later on when “shit will get real.” One of my goals in this new adventure is to change my thinking and learn to stop procrastinating. That said, however, I hope that I will still be able to enjoy lazy Sundays in bed and not get up just because I should. Now, if only I could finish the major cleanup I had started early this week…
Today was my first session with a shrink psychologist. I didn’t feel that it helped and I honestly don’t see how it could. But I know people whose lives were greatly improved by going into therapy and I have got to believe that there is an end game to this madness.
Also, not unexpected but still kinda weird, I got homework to do! Homework! Not sure how I feel about this. Schooling was never my strong suit. I need to believe though that this will work. Here’s to forlorn hopes and last resorts!