I *tried* to keep it non-whiny...
Wrote this yesterday morning.
I wasted an hour yesterday starting to type up a very whiny and annoying update entry which I fortunately didn't get to finish or post. I'll take some advice I've been meaning to give myself, and try to keep things shorter and less emotional from now on, because whenever I post things like that, I worry so much about what people will think that I can never go back to read. I have to learn to keep things to myself if I'm so worried what others will think.
In any case, updates.
* My mother was recently diagnosed with an ulcer and had to be put on an all-liquid diet through a nose tube. Said tube was shortly afterwards removed when it clogged (probably due to her sabotaging every effort to keep her on liquids), and that seemed to improve her mood vastly, thank goodness. She's since returned to work, thank goodness also, because while I do like spending time with her, it was getting unbearable with all the arguments we seem to end up engaging in over every little thing. I hope she won't end up needing surgery. *cross fingers*
* Had another appointment with Psychologist, which wasn't much, as I've run out of things to discuss with her, hence leading to much worrying on my part. I dread her kicking me out of therapy just like Old Psychologist did because I'm not really moving forward. Thing is, I really just like talking to her--even if it's not improving my anxiety or depression, I think it helps in itself, seeing as I have nobody else to talk to. Thing is, she doesn't know any of the right things to ask anymore--just, how is your anxiety doing, and your depression, and can you think of any suggestions to improve--hence I have nothing to talk about. I rather wish she were one of those TV therapists who engage their patients in all sorts of discussions of non-therapy things, like my writing, and end up learning all sorts of deep psychological things that way, but she wouldn't have the time anyway. She can hardly be my talking buddy. So I have no idea what to talk about anymore and it fills me with fear. I ended up discussing a dream I'd had in which I met Dianne, whom I haven't written to in over a year -_- , and I asked for suggestions on how to make better friends with somebody you have little in common with, but Psychologist had nothing to offer that I haven't already tried without success. She basically said to compromise where we don't share common interests, and "test the waters." I ended up pouring my guts out in a really long letter and rattling off a huge list of my personal interests and basically saying I never feel close to someone unless we have a lot in common (when I already know Dianne isn't big on reading). Needless to say I have not yet sent the letter...like yesterday's Skew entry, I should probably just redo it.
* I hate bringing it up, but it's kind of unfair to not mention it to anyone who's been following this, so, apparently the SSA judge considered me disabled according to guidelines and I should start receiving payments. I have about $15,000 backpay, over $3000 of which is going to Lawyer, another undisclosed amount to his out-of-pocket expenses, and I have to repay half of what the state has already paid me. And I have to pay my parents monthly rent. And had to get a checking account opened. (For which my mother couldn't find my state ID, and assumed that I'd lost it when she made me take it to Mackinac Island, when it turned out she'd had it hidden away all along. This part occupied a much longer section in my scrapped Skew entry, it pissed me off that much. Even when I'm not to blame for something I still end up being made to feel guilty.) It's all terribly confusing. And I do wish she'd set it up to receive the payments directly rather than through the bank because I'll just have to withdraw it anyway. Ugh. She and Dad are disagreeing on what the government thinks regarding money sitting in a bank, so I have to figure out what to do. UGH. I hope this will help with gas bills and such though.
And I've basically been feeling lousy lately due to loneliness, the ever-present feeling of worthlessness, and the frequency of arguments between my mother and me, since, if I feel she misunderstood something I said, I'm apparently telling her she's stupid and never mind, she just won't bother talking to me in the future. And oh yes, also that every time I legitimately worry about something and want clarification, I'm just "putting worms" in everything and being an annoyance. It's terribly disheartening to have all of one's emotions written off so bluntly as meaningless. When she complains to me about something, I always listen and try to sympathize. It'd be nice to get that in return. I don't want her to solve all my problems, I'd just like someone to listen.
What changed my mind on posting the entry? Well, firstly, the fact that it's so embarrassing and I never end up reading responses. I owe a few e-mails to people and have for so long that every time I get thoughts of replying, I tell myself, this person surely can't still want to hear from me. So I exist in a sort of limbo toward these people, wanting to still try to be their friend, but too afraid to find out that they stopped caring. ... I'm coming to realize that one of the reasons I take so long, if ever, to read and reply to something somebody says is because I feel they've long ago given up on me. There are one or two people who I reply to whenever I feel like it--after a short time or a very long time--and just because I know they're not likely to be upset by the length of time between my replies, it makes it possible for me to respond, because I know I'm not likely to be facing a bunch of anger or upset-ness at my delay. The thing is, it seems too much to ask that of anyone else, especially considering how *I* tend to get when people take forever to reply to me. I'm trying to be more open regarding that, but suffice it to say that if you promise a response within the next month and then like six months or so go by, and you've still obviously been active online, I've probably given up on you. There are always exceptions, but after two or three months one really gets the feeling there isn't going to be any further communication...*and I hate saying that since it's been two or so months since I replied to the people I mentioned above*
And I also changed my mind because I planned on typing all this woe-is-me, I feel so worthless and useless stuff, like usual, but last night had a dream.
I'm currently reading Two Essays On Analytical Psychology and Jung (no offense but he likes to repeat himself a lot, like me) just told a little story about a lowly locksmith's apprentice who somehow gained the delusion that the world is his picture book. How does he know?--simple, every time he turns around, there's a new picture awaiting him. This reminded me of a story Jung shared in his autobiography about some Southwestern Indians (I forget the tribe). They believe that they are responsible for the sun rising every day. Now--is the world really this crazy guy's picture book, and does the sun really rise due to the will of this tribe alone? On the one hand you can say no, but I like to just say, what does it matter? THEY believe it, and their belief gives their lives meaning--thus, even if the belief is strange or wrong in our eyes, it still serves a purpose, and it's true enough to them. This got me to thinking, I really wish *I* had a belief or, yes, even a delusion that I could believe in so strongly that it would give my life purpose. Even if it sounds incredibly crazy to everybody else--as long as I believe in it, and it gives my life meaning, that's what truly matters, isn't it?
The example that springs to my mind is one that I keep mulling over but can't quite yet bring myself to believe. Regarding my writing. I feel my writing will likely never serve any use to anybody else, which is the very thing I NEED it to do. I need it to matter to more than just me. Thing is, that probably won't happen. So how to justify keeping working on the stuff? I looked at my personal beliefs regarding spirits. I'm panentheist, meaning I believe God, in some way or another, exists in everything. I further believe it possible (I haven't yet convinced myself 100% to believe it) that ANYTHING possesses the potential to have a spirit of its own, whether this be animals, natural objects, locations, or even inanimate, manmade objects and concepts. I've believed this for quite a while now but it never occurred to me, until recently, to think that something like stories can have their own spirits. But it fits in with what I believe. I believe (remember, I haven't convinced myself fully so I still doubt at times) that something without a spirit can ACQUIRE one through the love and concern of another being. Know the story of the Velveteen Rabbit? The toy rabbit who became "real" once the boy loved and believed he was real? That's along the lines of what I mean--in fact, I've known of that story for ages but never really looked at it until recently, and was surprised by how alike it is to what I think. (And used to think--when I was little, I believed that EVERYTHING was real, even if only in one's imagination, because even an imaginary concept is a real thing.) This explains how something like a toy, mass produced in some soulless company overseas or something, can acquire a "spirit" simply because some child loves it so much and for so long. Whereas a lot of other toys exactly like it are probably just toys, no spirit or anything. It's the mere fact that the object MATTERS so much to another being that can lead to it becoming "real."
In traditional belief, there are already spirits of concepts like love and war and famine. And stories themselves can be sacred things. It's not such a leap to believe that a story can have or acquire a spirit. Granted, not every story would have one, because then all anybody would have to do is sit at a campfire and say, "Once a boy and a girl went into the woods, fart, the end," and poof, a spirit is born. *rolling eyes* Again, it's the concern and love of someone else that make it possible. Well--I've spent frigging YEARS on these things I write, and I'm still working on them, and agonize over them so much that when others don't care about them it hurts me personally. If that's not concern and love then what the heck is? My stories are "real" to me. Does my belief in fact make THEM "real"?
If I were to just say, screw it, who cares, and throw out every single word I've ever written, would I in fact be killing living things? Things that I brought to life--and not just in a hokey figurative sense? Every time I sit down and work on a story, am I nurturing and caring about a living thing with a spirit just like mine? If I turn my back on a story, and try to forget about it, and say it's worthless, am I abandoning something that has as much right and need to exist as I have? Am I committing some kind of murder?
I don't know. That's the problem. If only I were more delusional, then I could easily stop doubting, and bam, life would have its purpose. No matter how weird.
Anyway, I went to bed sad as usual and had a dream. In it, I was being taken to court for some reason (shades of the disability appeal hearing?) and had to defend myself against...something. Two people, both experts on native (Ojibwa?) belief, were being called--to my defense. One was male, and I believe it was the Ojibwa author Basil Johnston, whose works I admire and which have heavily influenced my writing and beliefs. I mailed him once but never heard back...*sigh* The other, I don't know who it was, but I believe they were female, so perhaps they were Ruth Landes, a white woman who spent time among the Ojibwa in the early 20th century and wrote a lot about them. Anyway, these two experts were being called to testify that I knew enough on the subject to speak with authority--not as an EXPERT, mind you, but, as I interpret it, as somebody who's interested and whose views have meaning. While this was going on I seemed to be reading some kind of fortune or something with the use of small, flat, runelike stones or pieces of ceramic inscribed with designs--and my fingers were clacking over them like I was typing. I remember getting them wet and there was also something having to do with mixing up some kind of food substance. But even shortly before the dream ended, I remember thinking, how very much my actions were like typing. I suppose the two expert witnesses were going to testify that I had every right to do this without doubting myself, and to share what I know without second-guessing everything I say and believe. They were there to tell me that even if I'm not some kind of expert, my views and opinions are still valid and I should give them credit. At least, that's what I first assumed the dream meant. I figured it dug up the persons of Basil Johston and Ruth Landes as authorities whose words I've come to trust as reliable, and made them my "defense witnesses" to tell me to stop doubting myself so damn much, and if I wouldn't do that, well, here are two people you DON'T doubt who will tell you it's okay to believe in yourself.
That was all right after I woke up, though, and still in the afterglow thinking, "Wow, what a dream!" Now that I've had time to think, I again doubt. (*sigh*)
I don't know though, but there's my update entry and I do hope I haven't said anything regretful.
Here's a song from Within Temptation's CD The Silent Force, which I recently got and strongly recommend. I ended the original entry with this. I'll omit my whiny commentary and let the lyrics speak for themselves. It's a song I do wish I could take to heart.
Pale
The world seems not the same
Though I know nothing has changed
It's all my state of mind
I can't leave it all behind
Have to stand up to be stronger
Have to try
To break free from the thoughts in my mind
Use the time that I have
I can't say goodbye
Have to make it right
Have to fight
'Cause I know in the end it's worthwhile
That the pain that I feel
Slowly fades away
It will be all right
I know, should realize
Time is precious, it is worthwhile
Despite how I feel inside
Have to trust it'll be all right
Have to stand up to be stronger
Have to try
To break free from the thoughts in my mind
Use the time that I have
I can't say goodbye
Have to make it right
Have to fight
'Cause I know in the end it's worthwhile
That the pain that I feel
Slowly fades away
It will be all right
Oh, this night is too long
I have no strength to go on
No more pain
I'm floating away
Through the mist, I see the face
Of an angel who calls my name
I remember
You're the reason I have to stay
Have to try
To break free from the thoughts in my mind
Use the time that I have
I can't say goodbye
Have to make it right
Have to fight
'Cause I know in the end it's worthwhile
That the pain that I feel
Slowly fades away
It will be all right
EDIT: Have since gotten into an argument with my father, who basically said that, since they're not bringing in money, my interests and the things that I care about aren't that important. He's since tried to modify what he said, but still stands by it and the damage is already done. Never mind that I tried to say they're important to ME--they're not important to the REST of the world, and that's apparently what matters.
Perhaps that dream was just stupid wish-fulfillment after all, since everything in reality points to what I care about being meaningless. Where do people get any sense of self-worth when all signs point to there being none? How do you know for sure that any belief you have in yourself isn't just your ego puffing you up for nothing? I honestly can't figure it out.
I wasted an hour yesterday starting to type up a very whiny and annoying update entry which I fortunately didn't get to finish or post. I'll take some advice I've been meaning to give myself, and try to keep things shorter and less emotional from now on, because whenever I post things like that, I worry so much about what people will think that I can never go back to read. I have to learn to keep things to myself if I'm so worried what others will think.
In any case, updates.
* My mother was recently diagnosed with an ulcer and had to be put on an all-liquid diet through a nose tube. Said tube was shortly afterwards removed when it clogged (probably due to her sabotaging every effort to keep her on liquids), and that seemed to improve her mood vastly, thank goodness. She's since returned to work, thank goodness also, because while I do like spending time with her, it was getting unbearable with all the arguments we seem to end up engaging in over every little thing. I hope she won't end up needing surgery. *cross fingers*
* Had another appointment with Psychologist, which wasn't much, as I've run out of things to discuss with her, hence leading to much worrying on my part. I dread her kicking me out of therapy just like Old Psychologist did because I'm not really moving forward. Thing is, I really just like talking to her--even if it's not improving my anxiety or depression, I think it helps in itself, seeing as I have nobody else to talk to. Thing is, she doesn't know any of the right things to ask anymore--just, how is your anxiety doing, and your depression, and can you think of any suggestions to improve--hence I have nothing to talk about. I rather wish she were one of those TV therapists who engage their patients in all sorts of discussions of non-therapy things, like my writing, and end up learning all sorts of deep psychological things that way, but she wouldn't have the time anyway. She can hardly be my talking buddy. So I have no idea what to talk about anymore and it fills me with fear. I ended up discussing a dream I'd had in which I met Dianne, whom I haven't written to in over a year -_- , and I asked for suggestions on how to make better friends with somebody you have little in common with, but Psychologist had nothing to offer that I haven't already tried without success. She basically said to compromise where we don't share common interests, and "test the waters." I ended up pouring my guts out in a really long letter and rattling off a huge list of my personal interests and basically saying I never feel close to someone unless we have a lot in common (when I already know Dianne isn't big on reading). Needless to say I have not yet sent the letter...like yesterday's Skew entry, I should probably just redo it.
* I hate bringing it up, but it's kind of unfair to not mention it to anyone who's been following this, so, apparently the SSA judge considered me disabled according to guidelines and I should start receiving payments. I have about $15,000 backpay, over $3000 of which is going to Lawyer, another undisclosed amount to his out-of-pocket expenses, and I have to repay half of what the state has already paid me. And I have to pay my parents monthly rent. And had to get a checking account opened. (For which my mother couldn't find my state ID, and assumed that I'd lost it when she made me take it to Mackinac Island, when it turned out she'd had it hidden away all along. This part occupied a much longer section in my scrapped Skew entry, it pissed me off that much. Even when I'm not to blame for something I still end up being made to feel guilty.) It's all terribly confusing. And I do wish she'd set it up to receive the payments directly rather than through the bank because I'll just have to withdraw it anyway. Ugh. She and Dad are disagreeing on what the government thinks regarding money sitting in a bank, so I have to figure out what to do. UGH. I hope this will help with gas bills and such though.
And I've basically been feeling lousy lately due to loneliness, the ever-present feeling of worthlessness, and the frequency of arguments between my mother and me, since, if I feel she misunderstood something I said, I'm apparently telling her she's stupid and never mind, she just won't bother talking to me in the future. And oh yes, also that every time I legitimately worry about something and want clarification, I'm just "putting worms" in everything and being an annoyance. It's terribly disheartening to have all of one's emotions written off so bluntly as meaningless. When she complains to me about something, I always listen and try to sympathize. It'd be nice to get that in return. I don't want her to solve all my problems, I'd just like someone to listen.
What changed my mind on posting the entry? Well, firstly, the fact that it's so embarrassing and I never end up reading responses. I owe a few e-mails to people and have for so long that every time I get thoughts of replying, I tell myself, this person surely can't still want to hear from me. So I exist in a sort of limbo toward these people, wanting to still try to be their friend, but too afraid to find out that they stopped caring. ... I'm coming to realize that one of the reasons I take so long, if ever, to read and reply to something somebody says is because I feel they've long ago given up on me. There are one or two people who I reply to whenever I feel like it--after a short time or a very long time--and just because I know they're not likely to be upset by the length of time between my replies, it makes it possible for me to respond, because I know I'm not likely to be facing a bunch of anger or upset-ness at my delay. The thing is, it seems too much to ask that of anyone else, especially considering how *I* tend to get when people take forever to reply to me. I'm trying to be more open regarding that, but suffice it to say that if you promise a response within the next month and then like six months or so go by, and you've still obviously been active online, I've probably given up on you. There are always exceptions, but after two or three months one really gets the feeling there isn't going to be any further communication...*and I hate saying that since it's been two or so months since I replied to the people I mentioned above*
And I also changed my mind because I planned on typing all this woe-is-me, I feel so worthless and useless stuff, like usual, but last night had a dream.
I'm currently reading Two Essays On Analytical Psychology and Jung (no offense but he likes to repeat himself a lot, like me) just told a little story about a lowly locksmith's apprentice who somehow gained the delusion that the world is his picture book. How does he know?--simple, every time he turns around, there's a new picture awaiting him. This reminded me of a story Jung shared in his autobiography about some Southwestern Indians (I forget the tribe). They believe that they are responsible for the sun rising every day. Now--is the world really this crazy guy's picture book, and does the sun really rise due to the will of this tribe alone? On the one hand you can say no, but I like to just say, what does it matter? THEY believe it, and their belief gives their lives meaning--thus, even if the belief is strange or wrong in our eyes, it still serves a purpose, and it's true enough to them. This got me to thinking, I really wish *I* had a belief or, yes, even a delusion that I could believe in so strongly that it would give my life purpose. Even if it sounds incredibly crazy to everybody else--as long as I believe in it, and it gives my life meaning, that's what truly matters, isn't it?
The example that springs to my mind is one that I keep mulling over but can't quite yet bring myself to believe. Regarding my writing. I feel my writing will likely never serve any use to anybody else, which is the very thing I NEED it to do. I need it to matter to more than just me. Thing is, that probably won't happen. So how to justify keeping working on the stuff? I looked at my personal beliefs regarding spirits. I'm panentheist, meaning I believe God, in some way or another, exists in everything. I further believe it possible (I haven't yet convinced myself 100% to believe it) that ANYTHING possesses the potential to have a spirit of its own, whether this be animals, natural objects, locations, or even inanimate, manmade objects and concepts. I've believed this for quite a while now but it never occurred to me, until recently, to think that something like stories can have their own spirits. But it fits in with what I believe. I believe (remember, I haven't convinced myself fully so I still doubt at times) that something without a spirit can ACQUIRE one through the love and concern of another being. Know the story of the Velveteen Rabbit? The toy rabbit who became "real" once the boy loved and believed he was real? That's along the lines of what I mean--in fact, I've known of that story for ages but never really looked at it until recently, and was surprised by how alike it is to what I think. (And used to think--when I was little, I believed that EVERYTHING was real, even if only in one's imagination, because even an imaginary concept is a real thing.) This explains how something like a toy, mass produced in some soulless company overseas or something, can acquire a "spirit" simply because some child loves it so much and for so long. Whereas a lot of other toys exactly like it are probably just toys, no spirit or anything. It's the mere fact that the object MATTERS so much to another being that can lead to it becoming "real."
In traditional belief, there are already spirits of concepts like love and war and famine. And stories themselves can be sacred things. It's not such a leap to believe that a story can have or acquire a spirit. Granted, not every story would have one, because then all anybody would have to do is sit at a campfire and say, "Once a boy and a girl went into the woods, fart, the end," and poof, a spirit is born. *rolling eyes* Again, it's the concern and love of someone else that make it possible. Well--I've spent frigging YEARS on these things I write, and I'm still working on them, and agonize over them so much that when others don't care about them it hurts me personally. If that's not concern and love then what the heck is? My stories are "real" to me. Does my belief in fact make THEM "real"?
If I were to just say, screw it, who cares, and throw out every single word I've ever written, would I in fact be killing living things? Things that I brought to life--and not just in a hokey figurative sense? Every time I sit down and work on a story, am I nurturing and caring about a living thing with a spirit just like mine? If I turn my back on a story, and try to forget about it, and say it's worthless, am I abandoning something that has as much right and need to exist as I have? Am I committing some kind of murder?
I don't know. That's the problem. If only I were more delusional, then I could easily stop doubting, and bam, life would have its purpose. No matter how weird.
Anyway, I went to bed sad as usual and had a dream. In it, I was being taken to court for some reason (shades of the disability appeal hearing?) and had to defend myself against...something. Two people, both experts on native (Ojibwa?) belief, were being called--to my defense. One was male, and I believe it was the Ojibwa author Basil Johnston, whose works I admire and which have heavily influenced my writing and beliefs. I mailed him once but never heard back...*sigh* The other, I don't know who it was, but I believe they were female, so perhaps they were Ruth Landes, a white woman who spent time among the Ojibwa in the early 20th century and wrote a lot about them. Anyway, these two experts were being called to testify that I knew enough on the subject to speak with authority--not as an EXPERT, mind you, but, as I interpret it, as somebody who's interested and whose views have meaning. While this was going on I seemed to be reading some kind of fortune or something with the use of small, flat, runelike stones or pieces of ceramic inscribed with designs--and my fingers were clacking over them like I was typing. I remember getting them wet and there was also something having to do with mixing up some kind of food substance. But even shortly before the dream ended, I remember thinking, how very much my actions were like typing. I suppose the two expert witnesses were going to testify that I had every right to do this without doubting myself, and to share what I know without second-guessing everything I say and believe. They were there to tell me that even if I'm not some kind of expert, my views and opinions are still valid and I should give them credit. At least, that's what I first assumed the dream meant. I figured it dug up the persons of Basil Johston and Ruth Landes as authorities whose words I've come to trust as reliable, and made them my "defense witnesses" to tell me to stop doubting myself so damn much, and if I wouldn't do that, well, here are two people you DON'T doubt who will tell you it's okay to believe in yourself.
That was all right after I woke up, though, and still in the afterglow thinking, "Wow, what a dream!" Now that I've had time to think, I again doubt. (*sigh*)
I don't know though, but there's my update entry and I do hope I haven't said anything regretful.
Here's a song from Within Temptation's CD The Silent Force, which I recently got and strongly recommend. I ended the original entry with this. I'll omit my whiny commentary and let the lyrics speak for themselves. It's a song I do wish I could take to heart.
Pale
The world seems not the same
Though I know nothing has changed
It's all my state of mind
I can't leave it all behind
Have to stand up to be stronger
Have to try
To break free from the thoughts in my mind
Use the time that I have
I can't say goodbye
Have to make it right
Have to fight
'Cause I know in the end it's worthwhile
That the pain that I feel
Slowly fades away
It will be all right
I know, should realize
Time is precious, it is worthwhile
Despite how I feel inside
Have to trust it'll be all right
Have to stand up to be stronger
Have to try
To break free from the thoughts in my mind
Use the time that I have
I can't say goodbye
Have to make it right
Have to fight
'Cause I know in the end it's worthwhile
That the pain that I feel
Slowly fades away
It will be all right
Oh, this night is too long
I have no strength to go on
No more pain
I'm floating away
Through the mist, I see the face
Of an angel who calls my name
I remember
You're the reason I have to stay
Have to try
To break free from the thoughts in my mind
Use the time that I have
I can't say goodbye
Have to make it right
Have to fight
'Cause I know in the end it's worthwhile
That the pain that I feel
Slowly fades away
It will be all right
EDIT: Have since gotten into an argument with my father, who basically said that, since they're not bringing in money, my interests and the things that I care about aren't that important. He's since tried to modify what he said, but still stands by it and the damage is already done. Never mind that I tried to say they're important to ME--they're not important to the REST of the world, and that's apparently what matters.
Perhaps that dream was just stupid wish-fulfillment after all, since everything in reality points to what I care about being meaningless. Where do people get any sense of self-worth when all signs point to there being none? How do you know for sure that any belief you have in yourself isn't just your ego puffing you up for nothing? I honestly can't figure it out.