I think that taking things too personally is a cause of a lot of inner suffering. You've probably done it before: you say something of not a lot of consequence to someone to tease them and they blow up in your face with something they don't like about you.
And then you later learn that their family member was given a bad diagnosis that day. After your ego has been bruised from the tiff.
When you are in the academic realm of Buddhism, you are given many opportunities to gain awareness of your mental afflictions. One way out of ignorance is to learn that your world is governed by the rules of karma - that what goes around comes around, that your life is a mirror of your actions. If someone is angry at you, you were angry at someone before. If someone is nice to you, you were nice to someone before. The implication is empowering, that you can create your destiny because your life directly builds on your actions, even starting today. Since what you do will come back at you, if you give out positivity and share what you want, you in return get positivity and your wishes come true.
That is a beautiful notion, but I feel that the same Buddhist thought of karma unfairly creates an enormous overwhelm. Its because people take things personally. When people hear about Karma, and are in fact directly told that their lives are a result of their personal actions in the past, it is incredibly personal and blameworthy.
Remember that I started out with saying that taking things too personally is a cause of personal suffering?
Here you get some poor person who is just so unhappy, they are told that their lives mirror what they have done in the past, and what do they think to themselves? They think of their lack, of their unhappiness, of unmet needs, of mean people in their lives, of their pain. And they come to the conclusion, its an unfortunately easy argument to make, that all of their pain is all their fault.
Now its just fuel added to the fire. If you didn't used to hate yourself before, you're going to have to try not to a lot harder, now. The self blame game is in full throttle. Now that they've begun, they could just keep going and going: the time they took something they wanted and didn't give it back is why someone broke into the apartment and stole their laptop, the time they yelled at someone is why they have a mean stepmom. Isn't the blame endless? It goes as far as far as their unmet needs span.
Do they feel empowered now? Enthusiastic to create and share happiness?
No, they've beat themselves up, and they feel bad. They can only blame themselves, since they can't blame others (since they were told its all about themselves), and someone must be to blame, or else they would just be perfectly happy beings, right? That someone must be themselves. Then they exist in a perpetual wariness of all that is happening that is bad because it means they have been bad. Maybe they don't even have a right to complain about pain anymore, since its all their fault anyway, from a past action.
The laws of karma are so personal.
In writing this post, I am thinking about a Buddhist classmate who said something along the lines of 'I'm going to keep suffering so much in the future given all my past karma'. It just made me gape and it made me sad (and questioning), since I really like this girl and I don't want her to feel so overwhelmed by her karmic baggage, and I think she's great. Below is my attempt to explain why all the above is bullshit, and ways to make Karma less personal. I want to write this post as an offering to her since she deserves it.
The first issue that comes up is right up there in the beginning. Someone is explained Karma, and they start thinking in the negative, this is - either things they lack, or pain they have. They were just told that what they experience is a result of their actions. Well, we are human, and negativity sticks with us. A totally neutral drive except for the one car who annoyed you, becomes about the one car who annoyed you.
So, if your life is the result of your past actions, what is your life? Are you currently thirsty? If no - you have access to water, its because you gave someone what they needed in the past. Did someone chat with you today? If yes - its because you gave company to someone earlier. Did the sun shine on you and feel nice? Perhaps you deserve it since you like sun and you've done so many good things in the past. Isn't it endless? You babysat, you cooked dinner, you cleaned dinner, you bought a birthday present for someone, you showed someone a video or book they also liked.
Its just as endless as the lists of things you could have done wrong. And I don't want to be preachy, but its a lot to be thankful for, too.
Is someone currently doing something mean to you, now? Are they yelling at you, judging you, right now? If no, that's because of all the times that you just were just being your good self, just checking some email (or whatever) and not hurting anyone.
You're probably a pretty good person. You probably have a lot of neutral, or positive things happen to you that you aren't giving yourself credit for.
Its just about your perspective.
So, stop blaming yourself and start thanking yourself.
Its good that you learn about Karma and gain awareness, and ponder on your past actions and how they connect to your past. Just please, don't fall into the trap of letting yourself solely focus on the negative, and blame yourself. If you notice some trends in your poor behavior, please try to let yourself notice some trends in your good behavior. And please be gentle with yourself and try to minimize blame or self hatred about the negative. Whats done is done, and you don't have to keep beating the whip on yourself. That's not what Buddhism is about. I don't even know if its a stipulation of Karma that there has to be a reason, that someone or something must be to blame.
If you assume that's you, stop because you're taking it too personally.
In fact, I have heard many a time about a healthy sense of detachment from your thoughts and issues. It can be called detachment in Buddhism, defusion in ACT (Acceptance and Commitment therapy). From ACT principles, people become too fused to their thoughts or labels, and are taught ways to effectively reduce the power/intensity of their unhelpful thoughts through 'cognitive defusion' exercises.
For example, what if, since always it seems, you have been compared to your older sibling who does better at you in school, and you've come to believe 'I'm stupid'. You are fused to that thought, you believe it strongly, it is you, you forget that there are other parts of you that are stupid. So you go in to take a test, which is a trigger for you to have that 'I'm stupid' judgment pass through you, and you start 'I'm stupid'-ing yourself and run into trouble.
A cognitive defusion would be to take that thought and soften it or lighten it, such as 'oh, I'm in that chapter of my story called 'I'm stupid', I should stop reading that since other chapters have been better. Or, take the words and change them somehow, seem them written tiny, or in pink in your mind. These are ways to take the thoughts, or the words in the thoughts and create a little space so they can't occupy your being at the moment of stress and cause undue pain.
Its true that, you do things and you affect others by your actions and even thoughts, its a ripple effect. To some extent you do have responsibility. But I want to create a way to lessen the responsibility so it doesn't result in complete overwhelm. I want to lighten the perspective.
Realize that everything is vast and interconnected, and your life is in a web with everyone else. So, you don't have to go ahead and make it so personal, when you know logically that you are a small part of such a big thing going on. You know that even yourself, much less the world, is made up of so many parts, and so your actions are just a little fish in a sea.
Your actions create ripples and they affect others. Sometimes, you are going to be hit by the ripple, and maybe its an offshoot of your original ripple, since Karma tells you that what you did comes back to you. But maybe the ripples all mixed together in the ocean. Maybe you're just getting tossed around a bit in the mix of things. Its seriously not solely about what you did or didn't do.
You are affected by everyone else, because it just goes to say that if you're actions affect others, their actions affect you. And as you practice, you don't have to meet the expectation of perfection.
You're in a world with billions of other imperfect beings. If you start comparing your entire life history against the ideal of perfection, you know that you are going to come up short. Your karma isn't jutting out there as an impossible ideal that you are never going to reach and yet are massively responsible for. Your karma is just a law of the universe that what goes around comes around - good and bad.
Wednesday, September 25, 2013
Generalizations Part 2: The problem with Name Calling
Name calling is a generalization.
If you're called amazing, then you are all kinds of amazing. You are an amazing person, through and through. And you shine because of hearing it.
Its a generalization, but that's okay. You can nice- generalize just as much as you want. As Amie said once, it doesn't hurt to imagine your lama as absolutely perfect, we spend too much time focusing on something being wrong. It was just an example so that I can segue now into the all or nothing of negative name calling.
There is a big problem with real name calling, it really hurts. You suck, you're stupid, you're annoying, or what I got two days ago - 'you're nasty'.
It was horrible. The generalization seeped into my skin and all of a sudden, that's what I was. It was all or nothing. I was all bad - a nasty person. There weren't parts of me that weren't nasty. It was so up in my face that it was all I could see.
I was so hurt and angry from being called this, and I kept saying that I don't deserve that. I didn't. I absolutely did not ever deserve such a name called on me, a generalization that forgot everything else and labeled me as all bad. I said aloud to me grandmother, ''You had no right to call me nasty, I didn't deserve that'. 'Well, you were acting nasty', she said.
Which is when I got it a little more clearly. I was acting nasty. I was also tired and fed up from continually being yelled at and not responded to, and it was at 5:45 AM when I was woken from my bed. Being told, 'You were acting nasty' - that was something I could at least listen to without putting up an angry embittered defensive wall. It was still hurtful, of course, as it was meant to be. Nasty is just an ugly word to say. But 'you were acting nasty' is at least more truthful because its specific, its not a generalization.
I had gotten into a pretty bad fight with my grandmother - raised voices and high tension. We probably both deserved it. We each have misunderstood each other. I've been hating my attitude, too.
I'm largely okay with the argument though, between either the argument happening or it just getting held in. I was extremely fed up, and the argument made me realize it because I really lashed out and seriously was a call to action. As a result, my grandmother's roommate took on more responsibility to give me the night off, instead of me martyring trying to do it all day. It told me 'Marissa, you are experiencing so much anger directed at you because you are angry that you've been working too much, and your needs got left behind'.
I wasn't meeting my needs - I didn't go for a run for three weeks because I didn't have two hours that I was able to leave for, during the entire day. So, my body wasn't getting exercised and I really wanted to, but was just putting it off for the job. I also wasn't able to go out and do some social stuff at night. I was wanting to go do a doctor for a physical, just to talk to someone else, and I couldn't again because I didn't have the time to leave. Leaving for two hours out of a weeks time should not be a lot to ask for.
And things just kept getting worse because I didn't speak out for myself for my needs to be met. The further my attitude worsened, and we progressed with ill will, the worse it got. I lost the ability to say that something was wrong, thinking that a) there wasn't something that could change, because my dad works full time and can't take care of her and b) it was all my fault anyways, I should just be able to do this job since its not hard. Together these lead to very obvious mental distress ( I was just so up in my head with discursive thoughts aimed at myself mainly all day), and bad consequences (we are going to have to hire somebody else since she's not okay with my attitude).
It wasn't until I brought it up that I got to hear Iris's suggestion that we should hire a second person to help out, to give me time off. I was very focused on earning money and this didn't occur to me that I could do my job, but earn a little less, but still have the chance to work and earn money. I could not have thought of it myself at the time since that's not where my perspective was at. I needed to reach out and get another perspective. It might turn out that I get a job anyways, and won't have to worry financially. I won't have to do this job at all, since I'll be earning a lot in the future. Maybe. Cross your fingers. So, why all the suffering? For $100 a day, it wasn't worth it.
If you're called amazing, then you are all kinds of amazing. You are an amazing person, through and through. And you shine because of hearing it.
Its a generalization, but that's okay. You can nice- generalize just as much as you want. As Amie said once, it doesn't hurt to imagine your lama as absolutely perfect, we spend too much time focusing on something being wrong. It was just an example so that I can segue now into the all or nothing of negative name calling.
There is a big problem with real name calling, it really hurts. You suck, you're stupid, you're annoying, or what I got two days ago - 'you're nasty'.
It was horrible. The generalization seeped into my skin and all of a sudden, that's what I was. It was all or nothing. I was all bad - a nasty person. There weren't parts of me that weren't nasty. It was so up in my face that it was all I could see.
I was so hurt and angry from being called this, and I kept saying that I don't deserve that. I didn't. I absolutely did not ever deserve such a name called on me, a generalization that forgot everything else and labeled me as all bad. I said aloud to me grandmother, ''You had no right to call me nasty, I didn't deserve that'. 'Well, you were acting nasty', she said.
Which is when I got it a little more clearly. I was acting nasty. I was also tired and fed up from continually being yelled at and not responded to, and it was at 5:45 AM when I was woken from my bed. Being told, 'You were acting nasty' - that was something I could at least listen to without putting up an angry embittered defensive wall. It was still hurtful, of course, as it was meant to be. Nasty is just an ugly word to say. But 'you were acting nasty' is at least more truthful because its specific, its not a generalization.
I had gotten into a pretty bad fight with my grandmother - raised voices and high tension. We probably both deserved it. We each have misunderstood each other. I've been hating my attitude, too.
I'm largely okay with the argument though, between either the argument happening or it just getting held in. I was extremely fed up, and the argument made me realize it because I really lashed out and seriously was a call to action. As a result, my grandmother's roommate took on more responsibility to give me the night off, instead of me martyring trying to do it all day. It told me 'Marissa, you are experiencing so much anger directed at you because you are angry that you've been working too much, and your needs got left behind'.
I wasn't meeting my needs - I didn't go for a run for three weeks because I didn't have two hours that I was able to leave for, during the entire day. So, my body wasn't getting exercised and I really wanted to, but was just putting it off for the job. I also wasn't able to go out and do some social stuff at night. I was wanting to go do a doctor for a physical, just to talk to someone else, and I couldn't again because I didn't have the time to leave. Leaving for two hours out of a weeks time should not be a lot to ask for.
And things just kept getting worse because I didn't speak out for myself for my needs to be met. The further my attitude worsened, and we progressed with ill will, the worse it got. I lost the ability to say that something was wrong, thinking that a) there wasn't something that could change, because my dad works full time and can't take care of her and b) it was all my fault anyways, I should just be able to do this job since its not hard. Together these lead to very obvious mental distress ( I was just so up in my head with discursive thoughts aimed at myself mainly all day), and bad consequences (we are going to have to hire somebody else since she's not okay with my attitude).
It wasn't until I brought it up that I got to hear Iris's suggestion that we should hire a second person to help out, to give me time off. I was very focused on earning money and this didn't occur to me that I could do my job, but earn a little less, but still have the chance to work and earn money. I could not have thought of it myself at the time since that's not where my perspective was at. I needed to reach out and get another perspective. It might turn out that I get a job anyways, and won't have to worry financially. I won't have to do this job at all, since I'll be earning a lot in the future. Maybe. Cross your fingers. So, why all the suffering? For $100 a day, it wasn't worth it.
Musings on Facebook: Life is What You Give To It
By the way, thank you to everyone - mostly ACI people - who posted happy birthday on my wall this year in March. I had just gotten facebook and didn't know how to use it to message back. I didn't realize till later they were actually wall posts and not messages. I haven't gotten into the habit of posting happy birthday on people's walls, but I did appreciate it and was really surprised! This post is dedicated to you.
In somewhat of a microcosm, facebook is a parable for my life. If life is mainly about social communication, then facebook is an excellent example.
What I'm talking about is the give/take, give/take stream that facebook as a vehicle elaborately provides. Your level of online social participation is dependent on what you give and get. How involved you are changes, as does how much people involve you in their facebook accounts.
For me, sharing is highly mood dependent. Good mood, good will, I want to share. Bad mood, depression, and I close up. My posting on facebook is a reflection of my mood.
Of course, my facebook life is just my real life since I'm just reporting to you whats been going on, but with some more entertainment focus. Its not just a persona since its online - I definitely see people's personality in their posts - the guy who's into his car posts about his car, the girl who's into deeper things about life posts little images saying 'life is what you make it' with a picture of a person with outstretched arms on a beach, or whatever.
So I noticed the very real trend of my cycling mood getting better and then worsening, occur in my facebook life.
For some background, initially I was uncomfortable with facebook because I was just really self aware, as if someone would zero in on my posts and judge me. So, I felt stiff in writing posts and sharing to the world and I believed I shouldn't view people's pictures unless I knew them well. So, my facebook social life was somewhat limited. But, I was trying to expand my social life and for homework had to post a few comments and then a status. I spent a little time on facebook, and it was kind of cool, the mostly passive observing people's posts or entertainment features.
But I wasn't really involved in it and mostly didn't go on it.
Then my facebook activity changed alot this month, when I moved home/to my grandmothers, and all of a sudden was totally lifted of that self consciousness around my posts. I could just browse without my self judgements around viewing peoples' posts online versus the ideal that we'd actually just get to know each other by hanging out in person. My ideals seriously get me down, and that is talked about in another post. I felt more anonymous since I wasn't literally in the social sphere in Sacramento, and that kind of eased me. Anyways, I had a lot of time to spend on the computer, and facebook felt a lot more available to me since some of my judgements disappeared.
I started spending more time on facebook, and got comfortable on it, and starting here, September 2013, I can corollate my mood with my facebook posts. I started posting more and then in no time, I was all over facebook in my large amount of open time with caregiving, and it was really fun for me. I was newly getting to appreciate the fun of so much easy entertainment and learning what people were up to that they posted online. I was also excitedly viewing my page because I was getting updates - people had 'liked' my posts! So I felt even more comfortable and shared more. Then I was getting comments and then was thinking about all these things I could say that people would see, and then I'd get more comments.
My facebook life was upwards spiraling. My social life was increasing because all these people I know were getting to learn about me, and me about them, and I was conversing online. It was really great to learn from the visible proof of people liking my comments that people were reading my posts and paying attention to me, and that helped me, too. I was spending more time on other sites too, like Pinterest and was further being amused and sharing.
Then I was going into a funk since tension with my grandmother was stressing me out and I lacked an outlet. Just as easily as I was enjoying facebook and feeling more connected, my mood cycled back down. What happened on facebook? I got more withdrawn and had more of a struggle utilizing the site, feeling less free to write up status updates. I don't want to post about problems between me and my grandmother, like her saying 'Marissa, why is the water [in the pitcher] out?' and my response of 'well I drank some, that's probably how it happened', instead of me either owning up to forgetting to refill it or being asked nicely by my grandmother to refill it since its low, which would be so much better. But that's exactly what was on my mind; I was getting more stressed with this interpersonal conflict, and I wasn't sharing.
When I was all excitable I was sending links out of humorous things. Versus then when I was doing worse I closed up. Who knows if anyone noticed, that I'd been posting a lot and then didn't post for a few days? I don't know if you could tell, but I can see it in retrospect.
So instead of finding an outlet, I got more bottled up and some comment like the one above just kept gnawing at me. I felt more reclusive in my online presence, not wanting to share what was going on, and certainly not with everybody, so judgements were coming into play, too. Posting less, I got less messages, less updates, and I saw less reason to log on so often to view others' posts or to post myself. When I went on I was less involved and less excited, and more passively looking rather than commenting.
Then since my mood was dropping, I felt forgotten and facebook started to have an annoying quality. I didn't care to view people's updates since they were just doing their own thing, it didn't have anything to do with me. The disconnect was growing, and I was spending less time online and more time in my distressing thoughts. And since I need other people, my needs were going unmet. So I was spiraling downward, and its hard to help yourself when you don't feel worthy. I didn't even get a nice distraction from my mood from facebook, so my issues were constantly all fully present and accounted for, and my mood kept sinking.
When I gave (posted), I got so much back, like tenfold. And then when I stopped reaching out to others, others stopped reaching out or responding to me, too. You could even put numbers to it, my social interaction gauged by the little red boxed number of updates icon on the top of my facebook page. My happiness. The numbers go up and down and my status - my mood, changes with it.
In somewhat of a microcosm, facebook is a parable for my life. If life is mainly about social communication, then facebook is an excellent example.
What I'm talking about is the give/take, give/take stream that facebook as a vehicle elaborately provides. Your level of online social participation is dependent on what you give and get. How involved you are changes, as does how much people involve you in their facebook accounts.
For me, sharing is highly mood dependent. Good mood, good will, I want to share. Bad mood, depression, and I close up. My posting on facebook is a reflection of my mood.
Of course, my facebook life is just my real life since I'm just reporting to you whats been going on, but with some more entertainment focus. Its not just a persona since its online - I definitely see people's personality in their posts - the guy who's into his car posts about his car, the girl who's into deeper things about life posts little images saying 'life is what you make it' with a picture of a person with outstretched arms on a beach, or whatever.
So I noticed the very real trend of my cycling mood getting better and then worsening, occur in my facebook life.
For some background, initially I was uncomfortable with facebook because I was just really self aware, as if someone would zero in on my posts and judge me. So, I felt stiff in writing posts and sharing to the world and I believed I shouldn't view people's pictures unless I knew them well. So, my facebook social life was somewhat limited. But, I was trying to expand my social life and for homework had to post a few comments and then a status. I spent a little time on facebook, and it was kind of cool, the mostly passive observing people's posts or entertainment features.
But I wasn't really involved in it and mostly didn't go on it.
Then my facebook activity changed alot this month, when I moved home/to my grandmothers, and all of a sudden was totally lifted of that self consciousness around my posts. I could just browse without my self judgements around viewing peoples' posts online versus the ideal that we'd actually just get to know each other by hanging out in person. My ideals seriously get me down, and that is talked about in another post. I felt more anonymous since I wasn't literally in the social sphere in Sacramento, and that kind of eased me. Anyways, I had a lot of time to spend on the computer, and facebook felt a lot more available to me since some of my judgements disappeared.
I started spending more time on facebook, and got comfortable on it, and starting here, September 2013, I can corollate my mood with my facebook posts. I started posting more and then in no time, I was all over facebook in my large amount of open time with caregiving, and it was really fun for me. I was newly getting to appreciate the fun of so much easy entertainment and learning what people were up to that they posted online. I was also excitedly viewing my page because I was getting updates - people had 'liked' my posts! So I felt even more comfortable and shared more. Then I was getting comments and then was thinking about all these things I could say that people would see, and then I'd get more comments.
My facebook life was upwards spiraling. My social life was increasing because all these people I know were getting to learn about me, and me about them, and I was conversing online. It was really great to learn from the visible proof of people liking my comments that people were reading my posts and paying attention to me, and that helped me, too. I was spending more time on other sites too, like Pinterest and was further being amused and sharing.
Then I was going into a funk since tension with my grandmother was stressing me out and I lacked an outlet. Just as easily as I was enjoying facebook and feeling more connected, my mood cycled back down. What happened on facebook? I got more withdrawn and had more of a struggle utilizing the site, feeling less free to write up status updates. I don't want to post about problems between me and my grandmother, like her saying 'Marissa, why is the water [in the pitcher] out?' and my response of 'well I drank some, that's probably how it happened', instead of me either owning up to forgetting to refill it or being asked nicely by my grandmother to refill it since its low, which would be so much better. But that's exactly what was on my mind; I was getting more stressed with this interpersonal conflict, and I wasn't sharing.
When I was all excitable I was sending links out of humorous things. Versus then when I was doing worse I closed up. Who knows if anyone noticed, that I'd been posting a lot and then didn't post for a few days? I don't know if you could tell, but I can see it in retrospect.
So instead of finding an outlet, I got more bottled up and some comment like the one above just kept gnawing at me. I felt more reclusive in my online presence, not wanting to share what was going on, and certainly not with everybody, so judgements were coming into play, too. Posting less, I got less messages, less updates, and I saw less reason to log on so often to view others' posts or to post myself. When I went on I was less involved and less excited, and more passively looking rather than commenting.
Then since my mood was dropping, I felt forgotten and facebook started to have an annoying quality. I didn't care to view people's updates since they were just doing their own thing, it didn't have anything to do with me. The disconnect was growing, and I was spending less time online and more time in my distressing thoughts. And since I need other people, my needs were going unmet. So I was spiraling downward, and its hard to help yourself when you don't feel worthy. I didn't even get a nice distraction from my mood from facebook, so my issues were constantly all fully present and accounted for, and my mood kept sinking.
When I gave (posted), I got so much back, like tenfold. And then when I stopped reaching out to others, others stopped reaching out or responding to me, too. You could even put numbers to it, my social interaction gauged by the little red boxed number of updates icon on the top of my facebook page. My happiness. The numbers go up and down and my status - my mood, changes with it.
Tuesday, September 24, 2013
The Things You Need to Dye / Ink Stains
There was some dry grass on the ground next to the pavement. Where there was dry grass, there was also light colored dirt. I was in the city and walking along the flat streets past rows of stately houses.
I wasn't in a hurry, but I had a place I meant to be. As I walked, I passed a woman in her front yard on wet knees, digging in the grass with a little dandelion picker. She lifted her head with a friendly gesture as I walked by.
My body felt heavy as I walked along, with a notorious ache that I can't seem to medicate away with a muscle band heat strip. When I walk, it feels like my muscles are struggling against a large amount of resistance from gravity. I have a lot of sadness weighing me down.
I slip my phone back out of my pocket, as I had been doing occasionally in my walk. But, it makes me feel more rushed, as though I am enacting a persona of multitasking walking and texting because I have so much going on, to do and to go to. Uncomfortable, I finger the phone a little bit and scroll through a past text message. The phone's screen has poor contrast in the bright sunlight of midday, and little beads of sweat from my fingers are dripping from my thumb.
I swallow and feel my throat juice a little with saliva, but I'm thirsty. I'm walking over to the railroad tracks. I have with me a small purse with my wallet and some business cards that were handed to me in networking parties. I don't have a business card, but if I had one, perhaps it should just be brown if it'll be drifting around in my satchel with the other ones.
I wish the walk there wasn't so long, my clothing is feeling more troublesome in the heat. The simple discomfort of sticky socks around hot feet is brandishing some misery today. As I'm walking down the street from the city to the railroad tracks, its mostly quiet. A few cars head by, probably excited to be heading out of town.
I think again about distracting myself with my self phone, or saving myself. Neither fits the bill too well between my mood and my motivations. I don't want to be encumbered in my task, thinking about who will have what judgements over me. The worst is thinking about the people who don't really know me, and hear the news.
At least the people who know me will have enough of a pained reaction to stifle their curiosity. 'Why did she do it?' they will wonder, but it will be alongside pain or fury or fear for my soul. Or none of those things, I haven't known someone directly who's killed themselves. But I do know how the others would react - those who don't know me and have only heard of me through others, from a smatter in a conversation. These I have seen in family conversations, these are the ones I don't want involved in my life. They will think about it with curiosity, their eyebrows will go up high with their mouths hung open, and it will be their news to gossip about for the day.
So I touch my pocket but don't pull out my phone. I could tell Jennie, she wouldn't be too judgemental of me. She might not be able to help me out soon though. Does she have others she would discuss with? Call her mom, or her friend, while she tells me to hang tight? I sigh, silently thanking her for being sweet but deciding not to involve her, that we aren't close enough for such a call.
I nearing the railroad tracks and looking to how far up in the vegetation I'll be heading. Here the railroad tracks are dusty iron. There are a few roadside bushes, a tobacco tree, and they look parched in the surrounding dry landscape. On the ground is a crushed aluminum soda bottle glinting in the sun.
There's a lot of weeds in this part of the city and its where one comes to walk down to the river. On past trips, I couldn't help but notice and solder into memory that of a shrub that seems a little welcoming to me. Its a roadside weed, a nightshade tomato plant, with leaves that dry up in summer poisonous black seeds.
I find my bush I remember up ahead, a few feet from the quiet tracks. With little else to do now, I take out my plastic baggie and begin picking the seedpods out from their little niches around the plant. I take more than I might need, figuring it doesn't matter. I'm feeling fairly involved in my task, inspecting the pods so I don't take the shriveled ones that might have lost their potency earlier in the season. I feel better than I've been feeling and might actually like to hear a little noise like a radio.
I'm shaking my plastic baggie so the seeds don't stick into the corners; I have just a small line of the seeds resting at the bottom of the plastic baggie's walls. The sun is hot behind me on my back. I hear some noise behind me as two people are walking up from the direction of the river. I turn around to see a male and female walking towards me with a casual manner. They look content. The girl has a sweep of brown hair that rests loosely in a mass of large curls. She has long arms and is dressed in a breezy sundress. The man has long hair and a skinny frame, and he's got leather sandals on his feet under fishermans pants.
The couple comes up the road and with sudden excruciating self awareness, I look at them distantly, with my mind wary. They appear unaware and greet me with a strong 'Hey hows it going' from the girl. 'Yeah, fine how are you?' I ask back. 'oh we're hot coming back from the river, we needed a break!' she says, smiling at her man with the smile of happy adventurers.
'What are you picking?', she asks,
She's bending over in interest, eyeing the plant's wobbly exterior and imaging what it might be used for. 'We love foraging', says the man, talking to me, 'there's all sorts of cool stuff around here by the river'. I'm stiffly holding the plastic bag of dry berries in the one hand, the other cocked across my chest. Our group attention turns together to the plant. 'But I didn't know about this one ...' he says. They are expectant. They want a neat story about how the berries can be eaten raw or added to a dish or made into jam. I try to imagine something about how only tiny amounts of it are used in cooking, any more than that and it will ruin the flavor. Or how its something for a personal issue, but what if they ask what it is. But any small amount of seed could be enough to poison them and whoever they share with. I'm stuck without a solution to get them safely on their way, interest flattened.
Anyways, its too late and the girl is already reaching out to touch a cluster of the small black berries, maybe she wants to try one. A thought comes to mind and with a cough I speak, and pull her hand down. 'No- they aren't edible.' 'I just use them in drawing - to dye with'. I nervously look at my plastic baggie held tight in my clenched hand.
Perhaps they sense my unease because they say 'cool' and leave me with my berries. These goddam hippies, I think to myself. They'll rest in peace.
I was bent over and my back was hot with the sun shining down.
I was moving towards the railraod tracks where I'd last viewed
I wasn't in a hurry, but I had a place I meant to be. As I walked, I passed a woman in her front yard on wet knees, digging in the grass with a little dandelion picker. She lifted her head with a friendly gesture as I walked by.
My body felt heavy as I walked along, with a notorious ache that I can't seem to medicate away with a muscle band heat strip. When I walk, it feels like my muscles are struggling against a large amount of resistance from gravity. I have a lot of sadness weighing me down.
I slip my phone back out of my pocket, as I had been doing occasionally in my walk. But, it makes me feel more rushed, as though I am enacting a persona of multitasking walking and texting because I have so much going on, to do and to go to. Uncomfortable, I finger the phone a little bit and scroll through a past text message. The phone's screen has poor contrast in the bright sunlight of midday, and little beads of sweat from my fingers are dripping from my thumb.
I swallow and feel my throat juice a little with saliva, but I'm thirsty. I'm walking over to the railroad tracks. I have with me a small purse with my wallet and some business cards that were handed to me in networking parties. I don't have a business card, but if I had one, perhaps it should just be brown if it'll be drifting around in my satchel with the other ones.
I wish the walk there wasn't so long, my clothing is feeling more troublesome in the heat. The simple discomfort of sticky socks around hot feet is brandishing some misery today. As I'm walking down the street from the city to the railroad tracks, its mostly quiet. A few cars head by, probably excited to be heading out of town.
I think again about distracting myself with my self phone, or saving myself. Neither fits the bill too well between my mood and my motivations. I don't want to be encumbered in my task, thinking about who will have what judgements over me. The worst is thinking about the people who don't really know me, and hear the news.
At least the people who know me will have enough of a pained reaction to stifle their curiosity. 'Why did she do it?' they will wonder, but it will be alongside pain or fury or fear for my soul. Or none of those things, I haven't known someone directly who's killed themselves. But I do know how the others would react - those who don't know me and have only heard of me through others, from a smatter in a conversation. These I have seen in family conversations, these are the ones I don't want involved in my life. They will think about it with curiosity, their eyebrows will go up high with their mouths hung open, and it will be their news to gossip about for the day.
So I touch my pocket but don't pull out my phone. I could tell Jennie, she wouldn't be too judgemental of me. She might not be able to help me out soon though. Does she have others she would discuss with? Call her mom, or her friend, while she tells me to hang tight? I sigh, silently thanking her for being sweet but deciding not to involve her, that we aren't close enough for such a call.
I nearing the railroad tracks and looking to how far up in the vegetation I'll be heading. Here the railroad tracks are dusty iron. There are a few roadside bushes, a tobacco tree, and they look parched in the surrounding dry landscape. On the ground is a crushed aluminum soda bottle glinting in the sun.
There's a lot of weeds in this part of the city and its where one comes to walk down to the river. On past trips, I couldn't help but notice and solder into memory that of a shrub that seems a little welcoming to me. Its a roadside weed, a nightshade tomato plant, with leaves that dry up in summer poisonous black seeds.
I find my bush I remember up ahead, a few feet from the quiet tracks. With little else to do now, I take out my plastic baggie and begin picking the seedpods out from their little niches around the plant. I take more than I might need, figuring it doesn't matter. I'm feeling fairly involved in my task, inspecting the pods so I don't take the shriveled ones that might have lost their potency earlier in the season. I feel better than I've been feeling and might actually like to hear a little noise like a radio.
I'm shaking my plastic baggie so the seeds don't stick into the corners; I have just a small line of the seeds resting at the bottom of the plastic baggie's walls. The sun is hot behind me on my back. I hear some noise behind me as two people are walking up from the direction of the river. I turn around to see a male and female walking towards me with a casual manner. They look content. The girl has a sweep of brown hair that rests loosely in a mass of large curls. She has long arms and is dressed in a breezy sundress. The man has long hair and a skinny frame, and he's got leather sandals on his feet under fishermans pants.
The couple comes up the road and with sudden excruciating self awareness, I look at them distantly, with my mind wary. They appear unaware and greet me with a strong 'Hey hows it going' from the girl. 'Yeah, fine how are you?' I ask back. 'oh we're hot coming back from the river, we needed a break!' she says, smiling at her man with the smile of happy adventurers.
'What are you picking?', she asks,
She's bending over in interest, eyeing the plant's wobbly exterior and imaging what it might be used for. 'We love foraging', says the man, talking to me, 'there's all sorts of cool stuff around here by the river'. I'm stiffly holding the plastic bag of dry berries in the one hand, the other cocked across my chest. Our group attention turns together to the plant. 'But I didn't know about this one ...' he says. They are expectant. They want a neat story about how the berries can be eaten raw or added to a dish or made into jam. I try to imagine something about how only tiny amounts of it are used in cooking, any more than that and it will ruin the flavor. Or how its something for a personal issue, but what if they ask what it is. But any small amount of seed could be enough to poison them and whoever they share with. I'm stuck without a solution to get them safely on their way, interest flattened.
Anyways, its too late and the girl is already reaching out to touch a cluster of the small black berries, maybe she wants to try one. A thought comes to mind and with a cough I speak, and pull her hand down. 'No- they aren't edible.' 'I just use them in drawing - to dye with'. I nervously look at my plastic baggie held tight in my clenched hand.
Perhaps they sense my unease because they say 'cool' and leave me with my berries. These goddam hippies, I think to myself. They'll rest in peace.
I was bent over and my back was hot with the sun shining down.
I was moving towards the railraod tracks where I'd last viewed
Monday, September 23, 2013
The Revolving Glass Door
I take in a quick breath. I was thinking about stepping out. I'm in a revolving door in New York. Its at the front of the bottom floor of a large building. I was thinking about the time I was supposed to buy flowers for a teacher. Before I've tentatively reached the tips of my toes out a little farther, I have to duck. The door is coming now and carried on, I pick up my wintry grey skirt to avoid the doors impact.
My breath is quickened and my neck hot under my scarf. The anxiety fades and I am again walking in the round glass contraption. It welcomes people in from the elements and spits them back out. Or perhaps the reverse is true - it backward spit pulls them inside with nary a welcome, and welcomes them leave on their way.
Either way, it only goes one direction around and it never stops, and a million people will pass through every day. Everyone who goes by is trained in the ways of the door. Everyone enters it in the same way - to the right. The exit or the entrance is the opening and they are the same thing because, whats the point of calling it an entrance or an exit? Some people will walk into and others will step off. The doorway is not a place for a normal person to stay at. There is no warmth, no one who does anything of consequence in the doorway. It is not a place for protests or passion. People who pass by don't rest and they don't recover in the doorway and they don't stay.
I keep thinking that I will step out of the revolving door. Its a tremendous decision. I would have to lift my skirts and balance my umbrella under my right arm and hold my heavy coat. I would have to decide if when I step out, will it be left foot first or right foot first? I am not sure that my shoes are tied tightly and the laces might get stuck in the door just as soon as I'm leaving the passageway.
And then what? Well, I'd have to put down my coat and the umbrella and tug my shoelace loose, perhaps with the same arm and hand, it would be an awkward motion. I would have to retie my shoelace before I step out past the revolving door.
My body tenses because in the time I've been thinking, the door is continuing its mindless, onward path and I am in the way of it. My body hunches instinctively and I duck and head on in the glass revolving door. Its dusk and I am alone, no one sees me struggling with myself in the revolving glass door. Even though I am on the streets of New York, there is no one who walks with me in the revolving glass door. Someone else could hold onto my coat, then I could tie my shoelaces! I could step out from the door, not having to hold onto all the things I own which are only falling out of my shaky grasp.
I am again at the point of the revolving door where most people step out and without another thought resume going about their lives. They enter and they exit and they don't look back. I've spent much time in the revolving door and I see the view over and over, the front and the back and the sides. None of it looks very appealing to me. What's the point, I wonder, of the building and of the safety from the elements and of the constantly revolving round glass door. What if the revolving door was going clockwise rather than counterclockwise? Would it switch direction in the southern hemisphere by the Coriolis effect? I would still be there, dragging myself around in the revolving glass door. Whats the point? It would make no difference while I am in the doorway
I could leave the revolving door into the building, in the same way that people enter in the revolving door when they leave the building to go home. Its dusk fading into night on the one opening, what's the point of calling it the entrance or the exit? In the other view, the building has a large finished desk, and a large walkway and a small seating area.
I could leave and I could sit down at the seating area. What would I do, then? Sit there longer? What a stretch of time it would turn out to be, sitting, if I left the revolving door to sit in the building. Maybe after all that sitting I would decide to go and walk. What would be the point, though? I would still have the revolving door to battle once I got up to leave. I would have to carry my umbrella and my coat with me walking, they are heavy items to walk with. Especially when one isn't going anywhere and one's mind is still distracted by the revolving door just exited and caught up in its ever revolving whoosh. I'd likely as not just pass another glass revolving door on the way.
It would be best to duck it, the glass revolving door. But it has a strong backwards-spit pull on me, bringing me in and keeping me hitting the walls, round and round.
Still in the revolving glass door, I look out into the grey sky turning to night and in the building across the way, a light turns off. I start to look out past the revolving glass door and wonder if someone is done with their work day, if will they now exit the building. Perhaps I'll see them - a Black man carrying a briefcase with a large slow step, or no, perhaps it is an Asian woman who scurries.
I have to duck as it comes again at me, obliterating my thoughts. What's the point anyway? I wouldn't be able to talk to that person, in the dark in the night. That person who will just walk out of that building and, not getting stuck in a glass revolving door, proceed on with their daily motions.
The familiar glass revolving door comes in to take me around. I almost welcome it; I don't want to be out there on that street in all that dark life that is uproarious laughter of people in New York out for entertainment.
Walking in my circles, my desperation grows. I look around a bit more, for the person that left from that building across the way. I don't see them walk out from the building. I missed it and it was my only chance and I didn't yell out, What's the Point? as I struggle to dodge the revolving glass door. I can't understand the people who walk back and forth rather than round and round in a door.
The back and forthers have careers, families, homes. Those in the glass revolving door only have their glass revolving door, and their shadowed stuttering step. Their every move is weakened by the constantly revolving door.
What's the point? The glass door is swinging faster, more imminently involving me in its path. It used to be a little slower and I could keep up with it and step out definitively into the elements a few times. But now what's the point? The glass revolving door is going faster now and its hits me more and more often. There's really no chance now that someone would hold my belongings and help me from my doorway. So then, what's the point? My distraught mind looks again at the same view out between the building and the elements as I circle round.
I am really engulfed in this doorway and What's the Point, What's the Point, What's the Point is insistent. I decide to finally enact the bidding of the revolving glass door, and stop. I stop moving and I stop trying to keep my legs going. I never get to drop my belongings, they are keeping me in this doorway. I stop but I can't rest and in no time, I'm facing the forward moving glass door and on its centripetal path it hits me headlong.
What's the point, the doorway, the opening? But it doesn't knock me out. It just slows down because my body weight is resistance and it keeps moving around, pulling my jacket under it. I'm terrified and my body is aching from the hit and the sadness. In my fear I am in a rush to leave. The door is moving slowly dragging my coat, but no matter, I pull it free and I shoot out from the revolving glass door. I exit into the building from the opening where the people leaving from their day of work enter.
I'm not trapped in the revolving glass door but in my faint exhilaration I am overwhelmed, alone in this building and I do not know what to do with myself, so I remain still. I don't look backwards. But balefully I realize I am still carrying my beaten coat and umbrella and am away from the elements. I can't seem to figure it out. My heart is beating, but from near I hear the meaningless rhythm of the revolving glass door.
My breath is quickened and my neck hot under my scarf. The anxiety fades and I am again walking in the round glass contraption. It welcomes people in from the elements and spits them back out. Or perhaps the reverse is true - it backward spit pulls them inside with nary a welcome, and welcomes them leave on their way.
Either way, it only goes one direction around and it never stops, and a million people will pass through every day. Everyone who goes by is trained in the ways of the door. Everyone enters it in the same way - to the right. The exit or the entrance is the opening and they are the same thing because, whats the point of calling it an entrance or an exit? Some people will walk into and others will step off. The doorway is not a place for a normal person to stay at. There is no warmth, no one who does anything of consequence in the doorway. It is not a place for protests or passion. People who pass by don't rest and they don't recover in the doorway and they don't stay.
I keep thinking that I will step out of the revolving door. Its a tremendous decision. I would have to lift my skirts and balance my umbrella under my right arm and hold my heavy coat. I would have to decide if when I step out, will it be left foot first or right foot first? I am not sure that my shoes are tied tightly and the laces might get stuck in the door just as soon as I'm leaving the passageway.
And then what? Well, I'd have to put down my coat and the umbrella and tug my shoelace loose, perhaps with the same arm and hand, it would be an awkward motion. I would have to retie my shoelace before I step out past the revolving door.
My body tenses because in the time I've been thinking, the door is continuing its mindless, onward path and I am in the way of it. My body hunches instinctively and I duck and head on in the glass revolving door. Its dusk and I am alone, no one sees me struggling with myself in the revolving glass door. Even though I am on the streets of New York, there is no one who walks with me in the revolving glass door. Someone else could hold onto my coat, then I could tie my shoelaces! I could step out from the door, not having to hold onto all the things I own which are only falling out of my shaky grasp.
I am again at the point of the revolving door where most people step out and without another thought resume going about their lives. They enter and they exit and they don't look back. I've spent much time in the revolving door and I see the view over and over, the front and the back and the sides. None of it looks very appealing to me. What's the point, I wonder, of the building and of the safety from the elements and of the constantly revolving round glass door. What if the revolving door was going clockwise rather than counterclockwise? Would it switch direction in the southern hemisphere by the Coriolis effect? I would still be there, dragging myself around in the revolving glass door. Whats the point? It would make no difference while I am in the doorway
I could leave the revolving door into the building, in the same way that people enter in the revolving door when they leave the building to go home. Its dusk fading into night on the one opening, what's the point of calling it the entrance or the exit? In the other view, the building has a large finished desk, and a large walkway and a small seating area.
I could leave and I could sit down at the seating area. What would I do, then? Sit there longer? What a stretch of time it would turn out to be, sitting, if I left the revolving door to sit in the building. Maybe after all that sitting I would decide to go and walk. What would be the point, though? I would still have the revolving door to battle once I got up to leave. I would have to carry my umbrella and my coat with me walking, they are heavy items to walk with. Especially when one isn't going anywhere and one's mind is still distracted by the revolving door just exited and caught up in its ever revolving whoosh. I'd likely as not just pass another glass revolving door on the way.
It would be best to duck it, the glass revolving door. But it has a strong backwards-spit pull on me, bringing me in and keeping me hitting the walls, round and round.
Still in the revolving glass door, I look out into the grey sky turning to night and in the building across the way, a light turns off. I start to look out past the revolving glass door and wonder if someone is done with their work day, if will they now exit the building. Perhaps I'll see them - a Black man carrying a briefcase with a large slow step, or no, perhaps it is an Asian woman who scurries.
I have to duck as it comes again at me, obliterating my thoughts. What's the point anyway? I wouldn't be able to talk to that person, in the dark in the night. That person who will just walk out of that building and, not getting stuck in a glass revolving door, proceed on with their daily motions.
The familiar glass revolving door comes in to take me around. I almost welcome it; I don't want to be out there on that street in all that dark life that is uproarious laughter of people in New York out for entertainment.
Walking in my circles, my desperation grows. I look around a bit more, for the person that left from that building across the way. I don't see them walk out from the building. I missed it and it was my only chance and I didn't yell out, What's the Point? as I struggle to dodge the revolving glass door. I can't understand the people who walk back and forth rather than round and round in a door.
The back and forthers have careers, families, homes. Those in the glass revolving door only have their glass revolving door, and their shadowed stuttering step. Their every move is weakened by the constantly revolving door.
What's the point? The glass door is swinging faster, more imminently involving me in its path. It used to be a little slower and I could keep up with it and step out definitively into the elements a few times. But now what's the point? The glass revolving door is going faster now and its hits me more and more often. There's really no chance now that someone would hold my belongings and help me from my doorway. So then, what's the point? My distraught mind looks again at the same view out between the building and the elements as I circle round.
I am really engulfed in this doorway and What's the Point, What's the Point, What's the Point is insistent. I decide to finally enact the bidding of the revolving glass door, and stop. I stop moving and I stop trying to keep my legs going. I never get to drop my belongings, they are keeping me in this doorway. I stop but I can't rest and in no time, I'm facing the forward moving glass door and on its centripetal path it hits me headlong.
What's the point, the doorway, the opening? But it doesn't knock me out. It just slows down because my body weight is resistance and it keeps moving around, pulling my jacket under it. I'm terrified and my body is aching from the hit and the sadness. In my fear I am in a rush to leave. The door is moving slowly dragging my coat, but no matter, I pull it free and I shoot out from the revolving glass door. I exit into the building from the opening where the people leaving from their day of work enter.
I'm not trapped in the revolving glass door but in my faint exhilaration I am overwhelmed, alone in this building and I do not know what to do with myself, so I remain still. I don't look backwards. But balefully I realize I am still carrying my beaten coat and umbrella and am away from the elements. I can't seem to figure it out. My heart is beating, but from near I hear the meaningless rhythm of the revolving glass door.
Problems with Generalizations and Ideals in Self Help
I am noticing an issue from many of the teachings that I've gone to. Its actually made me pretty disinterested in self help in the forms of teachings or writings like that of Pema Chodron.
It seems like there's this almost constant reference to 'the way all people act' and its added to by using the term 'we' and by talking generally about universal human issues or ways of being.
Its very ingrained in the self help talking style, for example: 'You know when you just hold onto your anger, just because?' 'We are so focused on consumerism, on buying the next thing', 'We always have to be the best', 'We suffer because we have deluded thinking'.
But its odd, because I would think that everyone reacts to these things differently. Maybe some people do want to buy, buy, buy. But is it that simple? Most people I know who do self help don't shop all the time, and they shop at thrift or consignment stores anyway. We suffer because we have deluded thinking? Well, actually, everyone is at a different stage of their thinking maturity. Some suffer because their physical pain hurts. Some suffer because they act out and receive consequences, some suffer because they are in abusive situations. True, this is all suffering.
I would rather be given examples. Concrete examples - a person who is suffering in some way, what specific thoughts were delusional, what could have been done differently. If the situation is very specific and not of immediate applicability to me, then I can expand it to encompass what I have been through. But I can't really take something that's such a generalization and act like it makes so much sense in my life.
The problem is, you can't wrap your head around a generalization in a meaningful way. You hear it, but it doesn't sink in. Its around you but you can't really pick it up and wear it. It might be nice to hear a generalization once in a while to remember that you are normal. But for teachings to be so off in generalizations is a pity.
And this is how I came around to deciding that my ideals were in fact just a generalization, and were in fact causing me to suffer.
Here's how: My ideals are so high that they resemble perfection. Since its an ideal, its supposed to be enacted all the time.
I want to be perfectly kind (always), giving (always), think kindly of others (always), speak kindly of others (always), be creative (always), eat healthy (always), exercise (always), speak out against whats wrong (always), be inclusive (always), be excitable and fun (always), be curious and eager to learn and do (always).
And so I disappoint myself because I can't live up to my ideals. I get irritated and therefore am not enacting my ideal of being genial, always. I get fed up and so I eat, so I fall short of my ideal of staying thin and eating well.
My ideals have resulted in my disappointment in falling short of them. And again, the anger at myself - that I can't hold myself to my ideals because of my lacking, my issues. I would have acted differently nicer if I felt included, etc, but I didn't because its my fault that I don't fit in with them, etc. Its always my fault.
I'm not kidding, I need to lower my standards.
This month I attended services of Yom Kippur - the Jewish day of Atonement and remembrance. This holiday is very serious - the chanting is slow, the words are heartbreaking.
I dread the day of Yom Kippur services because I get so sad during it.
Its a day of ideals. Its a full day of thinking about what you have done wrong this past year, and needing to forgive those who have hurt you, and vowing to do better next year. To be a better person in the upcoming new year.
Everything about me depresses from the weight of such seriousness, of my misdoings, and of my future need to act better.
Have you guessed the problem? Acting better, being better, is an ideal. Its a generalization, its untouchable and it dwarfs me. Its not something I can live up to. You can always be an even better person even while you are being better person.
Yom Kippur was different for me this year. I didn't get myself so down. I didn't pay attention strongly to what was said, and as I result I didn't hurt myself by focusing on what I've done wrong. I didn't sink under the ideal of trying to do better. I didn't get caught in the circular argument that is really a downward spiral of 'I need to be better - make more friends, but I can't because I lack friends to make other friends with, but I lack because I'm inadequate which is why I don't have friends, I suck, I need things to be better, I need more friends, but I can't help myself'.
That's what my therapist termed, 'the bind'. And it makes you feel stuck, and stuck is the opposite of moving forward. And somewhere in there, ideals and high expectations are maintaining the bind, and generalizations aren't helping any.
Being better is not attainable. Perfection is not attainable. But it puts so much pressure on you to reach an ideal, of behaving perfectly. The pressure is undue. Unless you are expertly compassionate with yourself for not reaching high expectations, you are going to keep feeling the pressure to keep jumping to reach ideals, you are going to keep ending up on the ground, and you are going to get tired and worn down.
I just sat through the service. I wasn't particularly interested in self help that day.
It seems like there's this almost constant reference to 'the way all people act' and its added to by using the term 'we' and by talking generally about universal human issues or ways of being.
Its very ingrained in the self help talking style, for example: 'You know when you just hold onto your anger, just because?' 'We are so focused on consumerism, on buying the next thing', 'We always have to be the best', 'We suffer because we have deluded thinking'.
But its odd, because I would think that everyone reacts to these things differently. Maybe some people do want to buy, buy, buy. But is it that simple? Most people I know who do self help don't shop all the time, and they shop at thrift or consignment stores anyway. We suffer because we have deluded thinking? Well, actually, everyone is at a different stage of their thinking maturity. Some suffer because their physical pain hurts. Some suffer because they act out and receive consequences, some suffer because they are in abusive situations. True, this is all suffering.
I would rather be given examples. Concrete examples - a person who is suffering in some way, what specific thoughts were delusional, what could have been done differently. If the situation is very specific and not of immediate applicability to me, then I can expand it to encompass what I have been through. But I can't really take something that's such a generalization and act like it makes so much sense in my life.
The problem is, you can't wrap your head around a generalization in a meaningful way. You hear it, but it doesn't sink in. Its around you but you can't really pick it up and wear it. It might be nice to hear a generalization once in a while to remember that you are normal. But for teachings to be so off in generalizations is a pity.
And this is how I came around to deciding that my ideals were in fact just a generalization, and were in fact causing me to suffer.
Here's how: My ideals are so high that they resemble perfection. Since its an ideal, its supposed to be enacted all the time.
I want to be perfectly kind (always), giving (always), think kindly of others (always), speak kindly of others (always), be creative (always), eat healthy (always), exercise (always), speak out against whats wrong (always), be inclusive (always), be excitable and fun (always), be curious and eager to learn and do (always).
And so I disappoint myself because I can't live up to my ideals. I get irritated and therefore am not enacting my ideal of being genial, always. I get fed up and so I eat, so I fall short of my ideal of staying thin and eating well.
My ideals have resulted in my disappointment in falling short of them. And again, the anger at myself - that I can't hold myself to my ideals because of my lacking, my issues. I would have acted differently nicer if I felt included, etc, but I didn't because its my fault that I don't fit in with them, etc. Its always my fault.
I'm not kidding, I need to lower my standards.
This month I attended services of Yom Kippur - the Jewish day of Atonement and remembrance. This holiday is very serious - the chanting is slow, the words are heartbreaking.
I dread the day of Yom Kippur services because I get so sad during it.
Its a day of ideals. Its a full day of thinking about what you have done wrong this past year, and needing to forgive those who have hurt you, and vowing to do better next year. To be a better person in the upcoming new year.
Everything about me depresses from the weight of such seriousness, of my misdoings, and of my future need to act better.
Have you guessed the problem? Acting better, being better, is an ideal. Its a generalization, its untouchable and it dwarfs me. Its not something I can live up to. You can always be an even better person even while you are being better person.
Yom Kippur was different for me this year. I didn't get myself so down. I didn't pay attention strongly to what was said, and as I result I didn't hurt myself by focusing on what I've done wrong. I didn't sink under the ideal of trying to do better. I didn't get caught in the circular argument that is really a downward spiral of 'I need to be better - make more friends, but I can't because I lack friends to make other friends with, but I lack because I'm inadequate which is why I don't have friends, I suck, I need things to be better, I need more friends, but I can't help myself'.
That's what my therapist termed, 'the bind'. And it makes you feel stuck, and stuck is the opposite of moving forward. And somewhere in there, ideals and high expectations are maintaining the bind, and generalizations aren't helping any.
Being better is not attainable. Perfection is not attainable. But it puts so much pressure on you to reach an ideal, of behaving perfectly. The pressure is undue. Unless you are expertly compassionate with yourself for not reaching high expectations, you are going to keep feeling the pressure to keep jumping to reach ideals, you are going to keep ending up on the ground, and you are going to get tired and worn down.
I just sat through the service. I wasn't particularly interested in self help that day.
Sunday, September 22, 2013
My Love and Religion Misconceptions
Did God create life? Or by doing so did he just share love?
I have a dad who is atheist and so understandably, I have some trepidation around religion. I received a Jewish upbringing that was both highly non-religious, from my dad's Humanistic Judaism group and also modern, from my mom's Reconstructionist group.
Religion was not pushed on me too much. I was assigned to Hebrew School up until 7th grade. It was a commitment to Judaism, but not a huge one, and I learned the culture and have some pride in it. I also hated it because I felt I didn't fit in with the kids in my classes and my mom's chavurah (social) group. If I went to a synagogue now, its a similar social anxiety to being at a crowded theater for a family movie, except people are dressed less casual.
I had my Bat Mitzvah when I was 13, and didn't develop any stronger interest in developing ties to the synagogue. While both parents would be happy if I had a Jewish boyfriend rather than Christian, being a practicing Jew, or even having a spiritual life was not mentioned much.
What my dad did continue to mention, is his anti-religious views. Such as: There is no God, Religion is just people believing in something fake, its stupid, There is no Afterlife and believing in that is stupid, I'm not going to pray to something that isn't real. etc
It wasn't until pretty recently that I started realizing a trend: It appears that other religions (Christianity mainly, Buddhism) talk a fair amount about love.
Yes, love. Love isn't something I used to associate with religion. To me, religion is about community, hope, ethics, summer camps, customs. meaning, confession, chanting, praying. Its not about love.
But it seemed to keep cropping up for me in references. What first set me to noticing this trend was Amie's Buddhist teaching of 'make love your primary reason for all the good you do, do it out of this massive love towards all beings'.
Then I started to requestion my view on some things I equate with religion: 'God is love', and 'Jesus loves you', from Christianity. I haven't gone to a Christian service but I have seen or heard these before plenty of times.
From my point of view with my atheist dad's take on it bending me with skepticism, this love stuff was just sort of wishy washy, fake, unbelievable. It was just something that religious people believed, irrational(how could there be a God? how could Jesus still be alive and just be so loving?), almost embarrassing to believe.
Since I don't believe in God, I never had to worry about being disconnected from God in my sins, or that God would be there to choose my afterlife of heaven or hell, based on my deeds in this life, and so that I should act morally because someone above is paying attention.
But in not believing in God, here's what I miss out on continually: all the God is Love, and Jesus Loves you stuff - not a shred of it ever entered my perspective. The being loved, feeling God's love. Being loved unconditionally, being loved enormously, being loved in any and all states of mind, being loved always, feeling love and goodness in and around you.
In my upbringing, I never before saw the value of religion, of believing in a God.
But I fully can see a value in believing that you are loved. And I can see how religious belief in a God, in God's love is beneficial. And I think that religion is a celebration of life, too, an honest-to-God commendation for all that we go through.
Who wouldn't want to be loved? Everybody wants to be loved.
Who doesn't deserve to be loved? Everyone deserves love.
If religion is about love, that is very down to earth.
Goodness, This realization seems to call into question my established attitude that religion is just so inapplicable or false, in its belief in God and its focus on the bible.
Rather, the focus on love seems kindly. It doesn't seem so far off and wrong in its God talk. It seems like of right.
Plus as I know from psychological therapy arguments, being loved gives one a sense of value, and hope, and security. And a desire to love in return. Which makes it even more right.
So athiests, how about you just chill out. If someone says, that Jesus loves you, you don't have to get yourself in a knot. Just let yourself feel it if you believe it, and ignore it if you don't. Its not going to hurt you.
I am writing this of course, because I'm unhappy with my unreligious upbringing. I wish I could just let the love wash all over me, without all this resistance against religion.
I know that other people believe in a meaning in life, that isn't God and isn't religion. A belief in connection of all living beings since the beginning of time, but that is even larger than life, that transcends our world. That probably is a life view in itself, or pairs well with religion, too.
Its not what I'm looking for though. I want down to Earth, I want here and now and I want love and unfortunately I'm going to resist any attempts for people to say that God loves me with the only perspective I have, that disbelief in God trumps the attempts at goodwill that could occur by Gd loving people.
.
I have a dad who is atheist and so understandably, I have some trepidation around religion. I received a Jewish upbringing that was both highly non-religious, from my dad's Humanistic Judaism group and also modern, from my mom's Reconstructionist group.
Religion was not pushed on me too much. I was assigned to Hebrew School up until 7th grade. It was a commitment to Judaism, but not a huge one, and I learned the culture and have some pride in it. I also hated it because I felt I didn't fit in with the kids in my classes and my mom's chavurah (social) group. If I went to a synagogue now, its a similar social anxiety to being at a crowded theater for a family movie, except people are dressed less casual.
I had my Bat Mitzvah when I was 13, and didn't develop any stronger interest in developing ties to the synagogue. While both parents would be happy if I had a Jewish boyfriend rather than Christian, being a practicing Jew, or even having a spiritual life was not mentioned much.
What my dad did continue to mention, is his anti-religious views. Such as: There is no God, Religion is just people believing in something fake, its stupid, There is no Afterlife and believing in that is stupid, I'm not going to pray to something that isn't real. etc
It wasn't until pretty recently that I started realizing a trend: It appears that other religions (Christianity mainly, Buddhism) talk a fair amount about love.
Yes, love. Love isn't something I used to associate with religion. To me, religion is about community, hope, ethics, summer camps, customs. meaning, confession, chanting, praying. Its not about love.
But it seemed to keep cropping up for me in references. What first set me to noticing this trend was Amie's Buddhist teaching of 'make love your primary reason for all the good you do, do it out of this massive love towards all beings'.
Then I started to requestion my view on some things I equate with religion: 'God is love', and 'Jesus loves you', from Christianity. I haven't gone to a Christian service but I have seen or heard these before plenty of times.
From my point of view with my atheist dad's take on it bending me with skepticism, this love stuff was just sort of wishy washy, fake, unbelievable. It was just something that religious people believed, irrational(how could there be a God? how could Jesus still be alive and just be so loving?), almost embarrassing to believe.
Since I don't believe in God, I never had to worry about being disconnected from God in my sins, or that God would be there to choose my afterlife of heaven or hell, based on my deeds in this life, and so that I should act morally because someone above is paying attention.
But in not believing in God, here's what I miss out on continually: all the God is Love, and Jesus Loves you stuff - not a shred of it ever entered my perspective. The being loved, feeling God's love. Being loved unconditionally, being loved enormously, being loved in any and all states of mind, being loved always, feeling love and goodness in and around you.
In my upbringing, I never before saw the value of religion, of believing in a God.
But I fully can see a value in believing that you are loved. And I can see how religious belief in a God, in God's love is beneficial. And I think that religion is a celebration of life, too, an honest-to-God commendation for all that we go through.
Who wouldn't want to be loved? Everybody wants to be loved.
Who doesn't deserve to be loved? Everyone deserves love.
If religion is about love, that is very down to earth.
Goodness, This realization seems to call into question my established attitude that religion is just so inapplicable or false, in its belief in God and its focus on the bible.
Rather, the focus on love seems kindly. It doesn't seem so far off and wrong in its God talk. It seems like of right.
Plus as I know from psychological therapy arguments, being loved gives one a sense of value, and hope, and security. And a desire to love in return. Which makes it even more right.
So athiests, how about you just chill out. If someone says, that Jesus loves you, you don't have to get yourself in a knot. Just let yourself feel it if you believe it, and ignore it if you don't. Its not going to hurt you.
I am writing this of course, because I'm unhappy with my unreligious upbringing. I wish I could just let the love wash all over me, without all this resistance against religion.
I know that other people believe in a meaning in life, that isn't God and isn't religion. A belief in connection of all living beings since the beginning of time, but that is even larger than life, that transcends our world. That probably is a life view in itself, or pairs well with religion, too.
Its not what I'm looking for though. I want down to Earth, I want here and now and I want love and unfortunately I'm going to resist any attempts for people to say that God loves me with the only perspective I have, that disbelief in God trumps the attempts at goodwill that could occur by Gd loving people.
.
Equity of Fairness - What I give, What I get, What I want, What I earn, What I deserve
Compensation: Receiving a reward for one's services
Condumbdroms -- people who irritate you with their ways that seem stupid and irrational.
I'm entering phase 2 of work.
Phase 1 was - yay, I have a job.
I was pretty involved with the job at that point - doing many a bathroom call, and learning about aging and my grandmother's strange perspective. I was learning things like, what an old body looks like naked, that I won't always have my physical faculties, how to communicate better, how helpless the human body is without being able to move - you still have to eat and poop, and you'll need assistance. We got along badly at just a times, but for the most part, it was tranquil and I was okay with doing the job. I mostly just sloth around, the entire day, which works for me.
Now, I was not okay with doing the job one bit in the first two days. I was up all night, every two hours, having a voice on the radio call me out of my angry poor sleep dreaming to walk her smelly self over to the bathroom. I don't get it- I was exhausted the next day, and she was just fine.
At this point, the work I was doing, was not worth the compensation I receive - $100 a day.
Then, things settled, my roommate took over at nights, and since our radio's weren't working anyways, my grandmother went to the bathroom alone at nights.
So, I was fine with it.
Phase 2 is, I am sick of this job. I am doing this nearly all day. I feel prisoned in that I can't leave for a period of time. I'm not on a schedule like I wish I was, because my grandmother just drifts between the bathroom, some exercises, eating, laying down, in a boring and undefined way. I'm not getting any social stimulation since I don't like my grandmother and am not interested in telling about myself or asking about her. To me, this doesn't feel neutral, it feels negative, because my wish is to talk with people I am with. I feel dull (All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy) and I'm unhappy and sluggish much of the time.
Here's one of the problems: Its really hard for me to communicate well - talk loud enough or clear enough to be heard - when I'm unhappy, which is how I am without social stimulation. I just lack the energy to come across well, and lack the goodwill to try, and then somehow I become angry and everything becomes my fault. For example, I know that I should say aloud 'I'm going to take you in backwards', when she asks to the living room (left) and I start bringing her out so it seems that we are going forwards into the other room. But I don't say it, and then I get a 'NOoo, I need to go to the living room'. Never mind that I'm doing her request, not making her wait, and taking her backwards, which works better than forwards when we go over a bump. Its all my fault, that I'm not communicating well, and knowingly goading her confusion.
So this happens every time: My grandmother calls me for something like 'Marissa','yes','Marissa I need the radio turned on' That first yes was hard for me because I don't like calling loudly. I know her request is supposed to be answered. Now, if I hear her say a request, I"ll always come over and do it. But, too late. Unless I yell back 'Okay, I'm coming' right then, she thinks that I'm not coming, didn't hear her, or didn't understand. She thinks I'm stupid by this point, because I don't automatically respond out loud. Whenever she repeats herself, 'Marissa, I need the radio turned on' I am irritated, and I say 'yes, I heard you', but she never comments on me for saying 'I heard you'. She acts as though she didn't hear me say that.
Add to this that I'm here all the time, and that she just keeps talking about her condumbdrum family members, and my conflict grows. I did a stupid thing - I asked to leave, and didn't say that I was leaving for the day, not just going briefly. At this point, I was frustrated, felt unneeded since she'd just lay down the rest of the day, and I have trouble communicating when I'm withdrawn, frustrated, and unhappy.
The problems that built up put me into conflict and then with the conflict, made me strongly question the compensation of $100 a day, which added to the brew.
Now, my less than exemplar work is not going to give me any stronger ties with my family, any happiness, or any more money. However, I start harping on the fact that 'this isn't worth the $100 a day', when I was continually missing opportunities to go with meetup.com, and it become alot about the money and lack of fair compensation.
So what if I received $150 a day, would that be any better? I don't know. But I feel so underpaid.
I asked for more money, feeling like I'd be less pissed off about everything if I was paid more. I asked this when I don't deserve it, the day after my absence.
One of the things that is making this harder, is feeling underdeserved. I'm not given any feedback that I'm doing a good job. She probably doesn't realize that I'm attentive, that I hear all her callings the first time, that I'm washing all the dishes otherwise we'd run out.
Much worse, rather than just being unhappy, I really want to leave now, since I overheard my grandmother told my dad about me 'there's something wrong with her, its like you said '.
These are pretty bad words to hear.
But then I realized who I was hearing them from. My grandmother told me today, that its better to be underweight than normal weight. She continually speaks of things that happened in the family over 30 years ago - her ex stealing money. She is obsessed with health. She eats healthy but doesn't cook, ever, and doesn't eat vegetables, and doesn't wash her fruit. She believes that 'if something is good, too much of it will be best'. She believes everything she reads in these natural health tabloids, such as that annual exams are bad for you, with no discrimination. I've watched her take things out of context and repeat them over and over, such as 'this man said that Israel will be finished in only a few years', and her impression that the hard of hearing gate guard is 'nasty'. She also doesn't seem to realize being a burden, such as asking my roommate to go out shopping for her when the roomate was sick ('its okay, its not far'). She keeps talking about how badly the nurses treated her and how bad it is to be on medications. She thinks she will get sick from being cold when she was in the shower. She has a minor panic attack every time the phone rings - 'uh-oh! Marissa, the phone!', that its ringing and won't be answered. She thinks she know which doctors are just out to make money, and she thinks that looks really matter; that people will like you if you are attractive. She thinks she is going to die from anasthestia on the operating table, and tells everyone this.
I feel sorry for myself hearing those words, knowing they are the result of my behavior when I spend time with and am uncomfortable around others. My reaction to lack of social connection is that I feel slow, angry, and my ability to act socially drops. Its a horrible state to be in. I even kept being jealous of my grandmother for her body being longer than mine and hairless. When she said it, 'there's something wrong with her', before I remembered whose words they were, I fully believed them. At that point, I was fed up with myself, and with my growing conflict and withdrawnness, and also had done something wrong by leaving without notice and had been berating myself over that. She was correct, something was wrong with me. So this is why I don't have a job, why I have so much struggle. Aspergers?
No, of course it isn't right. Its bloody wrong and I feel sorry for myself for having believed it just then, not to mention all in my past. I was just with people who didn't support me how I needed, and I withered because of it. I took myself down without a way to stop it. As in most mental anguish, opportunities for compassion, or just neutral objectivity got thrown aside and kept out of sight, out of mind, in the mental onslaught of inadequacy.
One thing that comes up while thinking about these words is, that 'there's just something wrong with [him]' has been my main description of my dad when asked what he's like. He's just always unlikeable, has his forehead furrowed, lacks loving thoughts, just seems to eat and not be interested in taking care of himself, always wants to help but is always in a rush with a short fuse, and then will laugh easily, it looks mean to me, at some people's jokes and not others. So, I deserve this a little - I have thought it enough times that its coming back at me (if I remember right I haven't said it out loud though, and it really hurt). Most of that description could just as easily be me in his view, and we both have come to the conclusion that there is something wrong with the other. We each don't respect each other, don't like the others behavior, and have written it off as something being wrong with the others attitude.
Except that I came to believe that there was something wrong with me. And doubtless that self-perspective has lead to more suffering. In contrast, I don't think my dad thinks that of himself. In fact, when I brought stuff up with him at my last trip home, he said 'YOU, Marissa', 'You are the problem, not me. I don't have these issues with anyone else' (neither do I, I thought). I was pretty appalled but it made me feel more right, too, that I was not so close minded as him.
So as far as staying on with this job having its stated issues in hand, I don't know what wins out. Being my grandmother's caretaker allows me to live without paying any expenses. I was really getting financially worried before this. Since I'm sleeping at home or at her house, I don't have to pay rent, pay for food, or gas, and I get to eat fruit from home, which I usually don't treat myself to. I also get to play piano a bit, read (which I wouldn't do when I was living on my own, its hard to explain, but when I am working I can get a lot more done), do weights, and there's a large open floor for me to do my body meditative stuff. And I have a role, so I don't have to worry about having no reason to be where I am when I wake up in the morning. Plus its given me a computer to use and lots of time to spend on facebook, which has been self developing since I realize that I am being read / paid attention to.
$100 a day is minimum wage, and I did end up getting much less time relieved from caregiving than I had originally bargained for, and had to sit out some opportunities I might have used to socialize with people on meetup.com. But I probably wouldn't have gone to those things if I'd just been sitting around all day with no job, because I would have to explain myself to people, etc. I've never babysat, but know that it pays terribly and of course a babysitter would want to be doing something else, or at least earning more money at her task. How do babysitters feel about their work? What about when you're a kid and taking care of younger siblings, and not getting paid anything?
But the more the conflict grew, the more it became about how unfair this was, that I wasn't getting paid enough to make this worthwhile. Then I got more obsessed with food out of frustration, and so spent more money, further disappointing myself in my situation. But as soon as I start complaining about it, I will probably be relieved - between my dad and the other caretaker, Iris, there will be less time I have to spend here.
And you know what? I don't want the time without work. I don't know what to do with myself except for go home and eat. I usually forget that I could play with my dog. I've been a little better about letting myself just watch TV without feeling so disappointingly self conscious in my lonely activities. So the problem is that my time off isn't a huge breath of fresh air that I can rejuvenate myself with - I'm still unhappy.
And you know whats confusing- I don't think either of my parents strive toward self improvement, at all. Or my grandmother. They just go about their lives, not up in a rut, and not trying to get to another level of anything. They seems pretty neutral, not particularly happy or unhappy. Next post on issues with generalizations.
Condumbdroms -- people who irritate you with their ways that seem stupid and irrational.
I'm entering phase 2 of work.
Phase 1 was - yay, I have a job.
I was pretty involved with the job at that point - doing many a bathroom call, and learning about aging and my grandmother's strange perspective. I was learning things like, what an old body looks like naked, that I won't always have my physical faculties, how to communicate better, how helpless the human body is without being able to move - you still have to eat and poop, and you'll need assistance. We got along badly at just a times, but for the most part, it was tranquil and I was okay with doing the job. I mostly just sloth around, the entire day, which works for me.
Now, I was not okay with doing the job one bit in the first two days. I was up all night, every two hours, having a voice on the radio call me out of my angry poor sleep dreaming to walk her smelly self over to the bathroom. I don't get it- I was exhausted the next day, and she was just fine.
At this point, the work I was doing, was not worth the compensation I receive - $100 a day.
Then, things settled, my roommate took over at nights, and since our radio's weren't working anyways, my grandmother went to the bathroom alone at nights.
So, I was fine with it.
Phase 2 is, I am sick of this job. I am doing this nearly all day. I feel prisoned in that I can't leave for a period of time. I'm not on a schedule like I wish I was, because my grandmother just drifts between the bathroom, some exercises, eating, laying down, in a boring and undefined way. I'm not getting any social stimulation since I don't like my grandmother and am not interested in telling about myself or asking about her. To me, this doesn't feel neutral, it feels negative, because my wish is to talk with people I am with. I feel dull (All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy) and I'm unhappy and sluggish much of the time.
Here's one of the problems: Its really hard for me to communicate well - talk loud enough or clear enough to be heard - when I'm unhappy, which is how I am without social stimulation. I just lack the energy to come across well, and lack the goodwill to try, and then somehow I become angry and everything becomes my fault. For example, I know that I should say aloud 'I'm going to take you in backwards', when she asks to the living room (left) and I start bringing her out so it seems that we are going forwards into the other room. But I don't say it, and then I get a 'NOoo, I need to go to the living room'. Never mind that I'm doing her request, not making her wait, and taking her backwards, which works better than forwards when we go over a bump. Its all my fault, that I'm not communicating well, and knowingly goading her confusion.
So this happens every time: My grandmother calls me for something like 'Marissa','yes','Marissa I need the radio turned on' That first yes was hard for me because I don't like calling loudly. I know her request is supposed to be answered. Now, if I hear her say a request, I"ll always come over and do it. But, too late. Unless I yell back 'Okay, I'm coming' right then, she thinks that I'm not coming, didn't hear her, or didn't understand. She thinks I'm stupid by this point, because I don't automatically respond out loud. Whenever she repeats herself, 'Marissa, I need the radio turned on' I am irritated, and I say 'yes, I heard you', but she never comments on me for saying 'I heard you'. She acts as though she didn't hear me say that.
Add to this that I'm here all the time, and that she just keeps talking about her condumbdrum family members, and my conflict grows. I did a stupid thing - I asked to leave, and didn't say that I was leaving for the day, not just going briefly. At this point, I was frustrated, felt unneeded since she'd just lay down the rest of the day, and I have trouble communicating when I'm withdrawn, frustrated, and unhappy.
The problems that built up put me into conflict and then with the conflict, made me strongly question the compensation of $100 a day, which added to the brew.
Now, my less than exemplar work is not going to give me any stronger ties with my family, any happiness, or any more money. However, I start harping on the fact that 'this isn't worth the $100 a day', when I was continually missing opportunities to go with meetup.com, and it become alot about the money and lack of fair compensation.
So what if I received $150 a day, would that be any better? I don't know. But I feel so underpaid.
I asked for more money, feeling like I'd be less pissed off about everything if I was paid more. I asked this when I don't deserve it, the day after my absence.
One of the things that is making this harder, is feeling underdeserved. I'm not given any feedback that I'm doing a good job. She probably doesn't realize that I'm attentive, that I hear all her callings the first time, that I'm washing all the dishes otherwise we'd run out.
Much worse, rather than just being unhappy, I really want to leave now, since I overheard my grandmother told my dad about me 'there's something wrong with her, its like you said '.
These are pretty bad words to hear.
But then I realized who I was hearing them from. My grandmother told me today, that its better to be underweight than normal weight. She continually speaks of things that happened in the family over 30 years ago - her ex stealing money. She is obsessed with health. She eats healthy but doesn't cook, ever, and doesn't eat vegetables, and doesn't wash her fruit. She believes that 'if something is good, too much of it will be best'. She believes everything she reads in these natural health tabloids, such as that annual exams are bad for you, with no discrimination. I've watched her take things out of context and repeat them over and over, such as 'this man said that Israel will be finished in only a few years', and her impression that the hard of hearing gate guard is 'nasty'. She also doesn't seem to realize being a burden, such as asking my roommate to go out shopping for her when the roomate was sick ('its okay, its not far'). She keeps talking about how badly the nurses treated her and how bad it is to be on medications. She thinks she will get sick from being cold when she was in the shower. She has a minor panic attack every time the phone rings - 'uh-oh! Marissa, the phone!', that its ringing and won't be answered. She thinks she know which doctors are just out to make money, and she thinks that looks really matter; that people will like you if you are attractive. She thinks she is going to die from anasthestia on the operating table, and tells everyone this.
I feel sorry for myself hearing those words, knowing they are the result of my behavior when I spend time with and am uncomfortable around others. My reaction to lack of social connection is that I feel slow, angry, and my ability to act socially drops. Its a horrible state to be in. I even kept being jealous of my grandmother for her body being longer than mine and hairless. When she said it, 'there's something wrong with her', before I remembered whose words they were, I fully believed them. At that point, I was fed up with myself, and with my growing conflict and withdrawnness, and also had done something wrong by leaving without notice and had been berating myself over that. She was correct, something was wrong with me. So this is why I don't have a job, why I have so much struggle. Aspergers?
No, of course it isn't right. Its bloody wrong and I feel sorry for myself for having believed it just then, not to mention all in my past. I was just with people who didn't support me how I needed, and I withered because of it. I took myself down without a way to stop it. As in most mental anguish, opportunities for compassion, or just neutral objectivity got thrown aside and kept out of sight, out of mind, in the mental onslaught of inadequacy.
One thing that comes up while thinking about these words is, that 'there's just something wrong with [him]' has been my main description of my dad when asked what he's like. He's just always unlikeable, has his forehead furrowed, lacks loving thoughts, just seems to eat and not be interested in taking care of himself, always wants to help but is always in a rush with a short fuse, and then will laugh easily, it looks mean to me, at some people's jokes and not others. So, I deserve this a little - I have thought it enough times that its coming back at me (if I remember right I haven't said it out loud though, and it really hurt). Most of that description could just as easily be me in his view, and we both have come to the conclusion that there is something wrong with the other. We each don't respect each other, don't like the others behavior, and have written it off as something being wrong with the others attitude.
Except that I came to believe that there was something wrong with me. And doubtless that self-perspective has lead to more suffering. In contrast, I don't think my dad thinks that of himself. In fact, when I brought stuff up with him at my last trip home, he said 'YOU, Marissa', 'You are the problem, not me. I don't have these issues with anyone else' (neither do I, I thought). I was pretty appalled but it made me feel more right, too, that I was not so close minded as him.
So as far as staying on with this job having its stated issues in hand, I don't know what wins out. Being my grandmother's caretaker allows me to live without paying any expenses. I was really getting financially worried before this. Since I'm sleeping at home or at her house, I don't have to pay rent, pay for food, or gas, and I get to eat fruit from home, which I usually don't treat myself to. I also get to play piano a bit, read (which I wouldn't do when I was living on my own, its hard to explain, but when I am working I can get a lot more done), do weights, and there's a large open floor for me to do my body meditative stuff. And I have a role, so I don't have to worry about having no reason to be where I am when I wake up in the morning. Plus its given me a computer to use and lots of time to spend on facebook, which has been self developing since I realize that I am being read / paid attention to.
$100 a day is minimum wage, and I did end up getting much less time relieved from caregiving than I had originally bargained for, and had to sit out some opportunities I might have used to socialize with people on meetup.com. But I probably wouldn't have gone to those things if I'd just been sitting around all day with no job, because I would have to explain myself to people, etc. I've never babysat, but know that it pays terribly and of course a babysitter would want to be doing something else, or at least earning more money at her task. How do babysitters feel about their work? What about when you're a kid and taking care of younger siblings, and not getting paid anything?
But the more the conflict grew, the more it became about how unfair this was, that I wasn't getting paid enough to make this worthwhile. Then I got more obsessed with food out of frustration, and so spent more money, further disappointing myself in my situation. But as soon as I start complaining about it, I will probably be relieved - between my dad and the other caretaker, Iris, there will be less time I have to spend here.
And you know what? I don't want the time without work. I don't know what to do with myself except for go home and eat. I usually forget that I could play with my dog. I've been a little better about letting myself just watch TV without feeling so disappointingly self conscious in my lonely activities. So the problem is that my time off isn't a huge breath of fresh air that I can rejuvenate myself with - I'm still unhappy.
And you know whats confusing- I don't think either of my parents strive toward self improvement, at all. Or my grandmother. They just go about their lives, not up in a rut, and not trying to get to another level of anything. They seems pretty neutral, not particularly happy or unhappy. Next post on issues with generalizations.
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