Making meaning of suffering

 Of course because I was feeling good all afternoon I had to give myself a test. 

I was reviewing the emails and texts of the breakup with M. One of the things that bothered me so much at the time was that it felt like a missed opportunity, it felt like she was saying over and over "if only..." while I was saying "but I am willing, and you said no." It was this weird mindfuck that left me feeling more and more frustrated, anxious and ashamed. The longer it went on, the more it felt like she was projecting on me. She would say "You weren't willing to talk" while writing brief emails, while I was more than willing to talk and she was saying "I don't want to process with you." She was saying "I couldn't manage your anxiety and balance." While routinely saying she was dealing with boundary issues in her own life -that I had nothing to do with, and that was the reason she couldn't say more. She was saying "you gave up, you left." when she was the one who broke up with me. The gaslighting, which I only could recognize at the time as her "trying to make a meaning of the situation." left me questioning my own reality. The reality I experienced was that she was running away when things got tough, that she wasn't communicating. But the story she made was that -I did that (as did her ex, and ex before that who I now recognize were probably being gaslit as well).

It left me angry, and still does in a way that it is hard to describe. It feels like someone isn't willing to take responsibility for their own shit, but it's someone you love, so you want to give them every opportunity to do it, and no matter how many times you offer the option... they choose not to, leaving you heart broken again and again. 

She said, "You don't believe that you are enough." and I agree. I didn't believe in myself, because when I called her out on what I was experiencing, she denied my experience. Denied that she was flirting. Denied that she was pulling away. Denied that she was ignoring my feelings. Denied that I loved her despite my willingness to demonstrate it. I was told over and over that my experience was inaccurate, while she was doing the thing she would say she wasn't doing. So I questioned myself. I still do. 

I read these emails and say "if only I had worded this sentence better, maybe..." and it's like... "dude, she was probably already dating the next guy." (something she denied) There was nothing I could have done better. If a person doesn't love you, they don't love you. If they are scared of working through things with you. If they aren't willing to work it out, no matter how much you give, they aren't your person. She wasn't my person. 

When I was in college, my college therapist (very brief)  said that to me"Becky didn't leave you because of porn, she left you because she doesn't love you enough to be with you." 

Done. Fuck the feeling of love, is the person willing to act? I have broken up with a few friends and a few lovers. I wasn't willing to act, even though I loved them. Even though I was ashamed of leaving them. I wasn't willing to act in love. It wasn't because I hated them. It wasn't because I disliked them in anyway. It was because I couldn't see myself continuing to love them by being with them. 

Becky and M (and many others in my life), didn't love me enough to be with me. 

This is what I have to work with. It's the suffering that I have experienced, and will experience, until I can learn from it. It doesn't mean they hate me, wish to hurt me, dislike me in any way. It means they couldn't seem themselves continuing to love me if they stayed. So they left. Good for them. 

Same with my parents divorce (minus the affair which this whole thing triggers in me).  

I have been trying to regain my sense of self ever since. I go through waves, just like I did before I was with her. I go through waves in life. But making meaning of an experience of suffering that doesn't feel like it has to happen just sucks.  She could have said "Mike, you're right I am falling for this dude at my work. I am sorry, it's not your fault, I just see myself doing better with him."  And I could have said "but what about..." and she would have said "Yeah, thank you for that. Again, this isn't about you. I am making this choice for me." And I could have been angry and hurt, and rejected, but I wouldn't have spent all that time wondering ...if I just say it this way, maybe she'll finally hear my heart, or if I just behave differently. Because I would have recognized, oh she isn't interested in my heart. There is no "winning" except to move on. Questioning isn't the point anymore. 

But it has been for me... questioning what I did, and how I could have, and what went wrong... has been the search for meaning, and made the meaning in itself. It gave me new drama to review. A new function to get through the day. I began a relationship with our breakup, instead of a new relationship. Not that I have anyone in mind. But that's what it has been. That's what my brain does, creates relationships where they don't exist. I've been in love with the drama, been in conflict with it because I was bored and wasn't sure what else to do. 

I think I know that the meaning of these mistakes is that I can't enter into a caretaking relationship if I want it to last. I think I have gained a lot of knowledge of how hard it is to work with people who won't accept reality... and it has served me well in work. But I haven't put it into action in relationships yet... and so the meaning of the suffering hasn't gotten to be fully tested. I haven't moved forward -I am still trying to figure out how. Even though I know 50 millions ways, none of them seem right.  

So I stay in this relationship with my hurt and anger, my envy and the grief I have over this ghost. 

Frankl

 Reading man's search for meaning (I know, I should have read it by now). 

Finally getting to the sections on logotherapy, which I think I practice even though I haven't read all that much about it (just excerpts). I think my conceptualization of people is so inline with his theory that when I see people getting trapped in other stuff it really bums me out. Like defense mechanisms and addictions, depression, anxiety etc. It is why I feel very annoyed with our culture all the time which doesn't emphasize meaning other than what can be bought and sold, humans as meaningless. Productivity rather than responsible growth. And yes, I get very much caught up in my own bullshit too, and that is why it bothers me so much. 

I was thinking though, that I am more in line with his hypothesis that it is existential dynamics, a search for how to live in a meaningful way, rather than just simply anxiety. I want to take responsibility and make good choices with the life I have been given, and I am not always sure what to choose -thats where my anxiety comes from. But his reframing is helpful, not me getting stuck asking what is the meaning of life, but life asking what meaning I will make of it. Flipping the viewpoint. Saying that life has given me a set of circumstances and I am unique in my ability to respond -this goes hand and hand with that spiritual concept of a soul contract. You are here for a reason, don't question the framework, respond to it. Sort of the act wisely and then feel/think about it. Rather than the dig yourself a feeling/thinking hole and then try to choose. 

When I think of the things I am proud of, it is because I felt inline with the signals of the universe, felt that I was fulfilling my meaning. When I think of the things that bring me shame, it is usually because I veered from that path. The relationships that hurt, however, are the places where I am still in tension... what if my purpose is taken advantage of? I should feel proud of giving... but I don't, I feel wounded. I feel despair over the losses, and great worry about the other person not fulfilling their own purpose. 

In fact, sometimes I worry that some of us have the purpose to disrupt. To be the "bad guy." in people's lives, specifically to challenge. In some ways that thought gives me some contentedness, a rationalization of an unfortunate situation.  The homeless beggar. The disabled person. The bully. The tyrant. Maybe they are there to support our purposes, challenge us in our growth, the same way that children challenge parents to grow.  Or maybe that is just a rationalization, the same as the colonizer or slave owner or prison guard justifies their purpose. 

Is it power, meaning, survival?  who knows. 

Some things fuel me, others cause me to feel stuck.  

More thoughts another time. The sun is setting and I have a need of blankets. 

Holiday weekend

 

On the way to Minneopa State Park, Rachel said she found it curious that I was so anxious about being around people. She said people like me, delight in my awkwardness. In my head I was full of excuses for why that isn't true. My loneliness being first and foremost, but only gave examples of food, and how inside I lose steam quick and have to leave social gatherings. It was interesting though. A check in. Maybe the stories I tell myself are all wrong. Maybe I have chosen to remove myself from people and they have all wanted me back. It just doesn't feel that way. 

I have to remind myself of what I am grateful for. 

The other night I went to thanksgiving. I'd spent the day feeling lonely, or rather feeling like I was missing someone critical. I was replaying all the arguments. It didn't help that it was such a gray dreary day. 

But when I got to my Dad's house, it was warm and inviting. They made a fire because I told them it'd be good to be outside. I wore my mask. No one else did. We played the same old games -the ones I used to protest in self righteousness. They used derogatory language, and people drank. But it wasn't horrible. It was nice. It was nice to be included, even if I was holding my tongue from the potential arguments. Even if my siblings don't really know what I do with my life. It was nice to have food and desserts I could count on. It was nice to be part of something. 

We went to the State park today. Probably something I wouldn't do on my own, or even invite someone to do, though I should! because I always have a good time exploring. Sure it was a bit of a long drive. But it was a good time. I need to get out of my way more often and just say Yes to things. 

Then I got home and didn't know what to do with myself. I took a nap. I woke up and still didn't know what to do. Finish a book? a painting? use some of the clay your mom bought you?  Do the work you brought home -that you should have finished? no, of course not. Nothing appealed. 

I played a computer game more out of habit than desire, and then watched some youtube. I am set in my ways. I am stagnant. 

It was around 12:30 AM, and for some reason i just had to search, twitter, instagram, the Washburn website and then back to facebook. She doesn't work there anymore. Is she a stay at home mom to 5 kids? yes 5. They have officially moved in together, seem to have bought a place together. Each picture or story leaves my chest with this weird warm shaking feeling. It's a mix of nausea and anger and envy and rejection and sadness. They have the life I envisioned for us. All my little worries seem to have come true. And when I stop to ask myself why she doesn't deserve that, I can only come up with because she hurt me. I don't know all these angry things I say in my head to be true after all, I only know that the way she treated me was shitty. Maybe she isn't the person she was around me. Maybe lying to me has that effect and she really did change her ways with the right person?   Or maybe it's more of a matter of time.   

But I am left with this weird shaking feeling. This desire to disconnect while I am still so ridiculously envious. And of what?  of being jealous and insecure all the time?  Of worrying I am not good enough because she doesn't invest in me?   

None of this is what I want... so why does it bother me so much to think of her having that life?

I look around my crowded lonely apartment. It's cuz I don't know what is next, don't have a dream to fulfill, or work towards. 

I am back to the place I was at before my trip to Latin America. I have a handful of friends I can call... but it doesn't mean as much as I wish it did. I have a fulfilling job, but it is draining. I have a church I could attend once quarantine lifts. But I am directionless.  

The book I wanted to write seems less meaningful than it did, because I have lost hope. I am cynical in my political beliefs and don't really give much. I am wary of the direction the world is going. Everything seems to paint the picture of the disasters that are predicted. 

I work my ass off, and see the results in some kids. Genuine growth. And in others... I don't know. I was listening to Brene Brown talk about how important it is to look at kids without shame, to just assure them they are lovable and worthwhile. Thats how I look at my students. I give them that experience over and over and over, and only question why they fight against it. I can't imagine any of them ever doing anything that would make he hate them. I can't really imagine hating anyone I've ever met in real life, only the politicians and oligarchs at a distance. 

But I am also spending a lot of time lately fantasizing about dying. It's not suicidal ideation. It's this idea that at some point I'll just not care enough to keep going, and the issue is that I don't have any counter weight anymore to balance the thought.  It's the if I get cancer or covid... does it matter question. It's the tried for 37 years, feels like 90, why then am I... 

Rachel finds it astounding that I don't understand people like me. I understand they appreciate me, but the kind of love I want doesn't seem possible these days. I have lost hope again. 

On the night of Nov 22

 

I stared at my cupboards, full of the same old stuff. I got bored. 

I went to go get food in St. Paul. On the way I drove too fast and listened to music too loudly. I guess I wanted a bit of a rush. Nothing happened. But on the way I was thinking about how boring and routine my life is, and began to sing loudly over the music to M, thanking her for lending me some meaning and purpose for a while. 

Thats what it felt like. Thats why I loved being in a relationship and what has felt so missing from my life all these years. A purpose outside of my own. I often think about why I do the things I do, the work, the friendships, my role in the family, and when I escape or do a creative project or teach or whatever... they are all pretty related.  When I was a kid I'd tell the stories of the action figures out loud, talking to myself. Same when I was drawing. I was in relationship even when I was alone. When I travelled I would think of how I would tell others what I was seeing, would explain it to them as I walked mile after mile. A million conversations in my head. Sometimes I would think of how I'd teach it. I am actually not a very good story teller. I miss the natural punchlines, emphasize the wrong parts, tell details that don't matter, forget the arc.  I share the meaning I make, the feelings. I ask questions and try to bring about understanding. But all the same, the way I have gotten through life is telling people things, relating my experience to others, if only in my head. 

When I was a child there were numerous times when I got lost, the loneliness, the pain, the feeling of being abandoned, left out, left behind, my hurt asked me to question the world and G-d, childhood depression led me to existential despair... I don't remember how old I was the first time, but I know it happened on several occasions and one of those times I ran away and found myself in church crying in the pews, asking G-d why he made the world full of such suffering, and why he blamed and judged us for doing wrong when it was so clear that we only did it out of our pain. I remember saying I'd dedicate my life to serving if he promised not to send people to hell, and I have done so. 

I've fucked up. But I return to the promise again and again. It gives my life meaning. That martyrdom kind of meaning. I've been wondering if I need to renegotiate the terms -as an adult. My child self saw the world in black and white and said to G-d don't judge the darkness, and I will try to add to the light. 

I'm not really a christian in the traditional sense anymore. I don't know that I believe in the G-d that I made that promise to. I don't know that I would serve that kind of god. But I do serve G-d still. Do seek to understand and bring light where I can. 

But it is lonely. 

When I was driving through St. Paul, I was thinking of all the nights that I rushed over to M's house after the kids had gone to bed. Or the nights when I would drive all over the city to buy her a snack or a treat. The errands I sent myself on because I wanted to make her happy or make her day just a bit easier. Wanted to share something with her.  How each little thing suddenly had more meaning than just taking care of myself. 

I've struggled with St. Paul ever since we broke up, because all of the places remind me of her. Memories come back. And yes there are other memories, but they take effort to recall, where as the ones with her were effortless. It was a vacation (a very difficult one in reality), but my mind made magic of it all -said that it was meaningful. And then suddenly the balloon was popped. The magic disappeared and I was left with all this evaporated "meaning," and forced to look at the painful reality. And further, forced to go back to my dullness, my own wary mind which already has too many unhelpful thoughts. Where to put them????

It was funny to be driving and remember how easy it was for me to be in love. It felt good to make the effort. It made me want to do things. Yes, I was still a curmudgeon and a homebody. Yes I was still anxious and I didn't go out of my way, but I did for her, would for her, at the slightest hint that she wanted it. 

That was also why it was so painful to have my love questioned... like, wow have you really not noticed that I am head over heels for you? That I spend all day thinking about you? That I go out of my way? That I sneak little things you didn't know you needed into your apartment? and clean up when you are in the shower? and take care of you when you are sick? and notice when you haven't eaten or slept or need to exercise? That I encourage you in your relationships? And plot vacations? That I think about your family and your kids as much as you do? Are you really not aware that I am totally attuned to you, cry at the parts that are hard, believe in you, know you better than you know yourself OR is it just that you don't care... and haven't made the effort back... oh shit. You haven't.    

I saw that she was entering into another relationship, pointed out the behaviors, even pointed out his... and she went "no, he doesn't like me like that."  rather than "you have nothing to worry about I love you." 

 And then she blamed me when she dumped me... and I apologized. 

Because I'd fucked up. I made someone my world... and didn't wait to make sure they wanted to be part of mine. And why did I do that?  because I was sick of mine. I was bored by it. It was getting old and I was stuck in my ways. I wanted a reason outside of the one I have always had, a reason for me. I wanted to selfishly hold on, even as I saw it failing. I wanted love so badly I was willing to ignore all the signs. 

Sometimes I still do, because I am not sure what else will fill the emptiness.   ? is that what it is?

Attached to nothing, connected to everything as the Buddhists say... but what about when you detach from everything and can't connect?  

Or in short....I need a crush.

that other thing

 Death and suicide

Some of my students deal with suicidal ideation routinely, week after week they struggle. Some attempt. Some ask for help. Some try very hard, and still it persists. It is one of the trickiest and scariest part of the job. I've been watching some videos: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W3qBxgilmVk 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ApccemGnh78

A lack of creativity, of imagination for what could go better. An alternative where life isn't as much of a struggle. I feel that. 

The pandemic exacerbates, it is a system wide external metaphor for the thing going on inside. What if things can't get better right now? Does that eliminate all possibilities forever? Does living through it, make it more or less bearable, depends on your imagination. 

I often think about the question of medical response to a cancer diagnosis. Would I? This weekend, the answer feels like a no. A year ago? probably a no. 2 years ago? probably a yes. The year before that? I don't remember. It's not that anything is particularly wrong or bad. It's just, that I feel like I give more than get, I am depleted. And I don't know how to change that. I am not even in a bad mood, I am feeling relatively good... feeling energized... but for what? So that I can give more? 

What leads to this lack of imagining a better possibility? The strain of existing without remedy of the burden?  I often have to remind my students that labeling a whole day with a mood, is too much weight to give it. I was sad that day... no you were sad for part of that day, and gave it all the weight of the world. Throughout my days, my weeks, I have moments of connectedness, of meaning, of sincere awe and joy. And I also have downtimes, loneliness, doubt, guilt and shame, fear, worry, and meaninglessness. The weight of meaning is another thing I often have to check with students about, does your suffering have meaning? Can you give it some? 

The pandemic for instance -those who buckle down have to remind themselves their sacrifice is for the greater good, not just pain. 

I am feeling lonely, but I struggle to imagine that connecting with folks would bring an end to that feeling, or would bring meaning to my existence. The connections seem paper thin in their impermanence.  I am seeing all things as impermanent, and wishing to attach very little. 

I was just walking around the lake with my Dad, we were talking about our family's disconnectedness. 

I am looking forward to a dark isolated winter. Not sure what to do about that. The last couple of weeks I started to feel more hopeful, but nothing really changed. Just perspective, and the energy shifts do make a hell of a difference. But it doesn't necessarily make life better...kna mean?

I read a quote the other day about how the hardest relationship is the healthy one after a toxic one. 

Boredom, routine and novelty

I was thinking that I am too routine... I don't go out of my way to create new experiences. I kind of do the same old thing, so there are no stories. I went to bed early last night because I was bored. I didn't read or write, or finish the paintings, or use the clay my mom bought me. 

Maybe the technology makes it harder. Too much artificial dopamine brought on by drama and what not on the computer... so I have no interest in real life, or creating my own stuff. But then also, I have no one to share it with, or experience it with. So what's the point?

Creativity for yourself is hard to maintain. 

This is more depressing than it should be. 

I am gonna go watch clips of 90 day fiancé because Jesse told me about it, and now I am struck by the drama. 

Morning

 

Waking up.

I got a massage yesterday and got super beat up. It's funny because I don't actually like that kind of massage, but the entire time I was aware of how tight I have been and how even in the moment I could feel things getting more loose. This morning I am all achy. 

My head is a certain amount of foggy this morning, my temperature is all off. It's sunny but cold. Do I need my happy light if I sit by the window? 

I was thinking about a prompt someone had written on social media, about what would the ideal holiday meal look like for you. I think it's funny because I don't actually like the holidays, I haven't really liked big gatherings or parties, or dinner parties.  How did that come about?  I think the holidays remind me of high expectations and not knowing how to manage the feels with my family. In high school and college I looked forward to parties and gatherings, but ended up taking care of other people and not always having fun myself. Most recently, my biggest dinner party experience was ruined/shifted by news I couldn't process in the moment. It feels like all my attempts to bring folks together, has led to me losing myself... so maybe it makes sense why I avoid them?  What would I want?  I would want to have all my friends and close loves join in a space and enjoy each other without drama. For people to enjoy the meal, or the game, or the music. To make art or have a creative project.  

I am often envious of friends who enjoy social gatherings, or who bring folks together in that way. My roommates used to do that all the time, and I really liked being able to be part of it, without having responsibility. I miss people. But my response to other's feelings is to try to control/help... and that doesn't work well in gatherings because at least for me, where do I go?  Where is my fun and enjoyment...

Im usually the guy who goes to a party, finds a person they genuinely want to talk to and then leaves with or without that person and spends some time winding down. Weddings are the most significant example of this. I left both James and Pete's wedding a little early because I needed the space. 

Work. 

The type of work I do requires constant vigilance against falling into traps. I over think, and over feel, and that is my issue. A lot of people remind me that my instincts are good, and I should just act. But I have the same anxiety traps as the kids, I get stuck in indecision, or second guessing. The role of therapist requires a certain amount of joining, and a certain amount of distancing, and the balance is tricky. Don't do for them, but don't allow them to stay stuck in their shit. The ideal is to create the situations in which they decide for themselves that they are ready for change, but stuff like trauma and attachment wounds can royally fuck that up. For me, I often get lost in the understanding of why people do the things they do, without remembering that having a reason doesn't make it right.  But what is right?

Family roles and the intergenerational process

I know this journal blog must read soooo repetitively. I think it's a good snap shot of my mind, how it carries away on some topics more than others. I don't think I've written a single post about sports, cars, or fashion except as a sociological study or to critique their place in society. I am guessing there are a million subjects that have never once come across these pages... no, my mind trips on relationships, growth, hurts and healing, occasionally creativity, daily life, education, society, roles, and morals. It tries to understand me, and my relation to the world. It tries to understand everyone around me, and why my heart and stomach respond to them the way they do. 

I am often thinking of the intergenerational process or family lately, namely, what is my role and work to do?   This comes up because of work, and it comes up because of love, and it comes up because of the feeling of obligation, and it comes up because of my lack of community. Where did I learn these things? family.  

Ali called James and I out on not doing our part. I think James and I are both responsible enough to name our own bullshit, but the conversation sucked because when you turn it around and ask what is everyone else doing to meet our needs, they get all self righteous.  I won't say too much about James' stuff, but it sucks that since he was a teenager he has been asking my Dad to acknowledge and respect certain boundaries/values, and my Dad and Colleen just haven't. They get stuck. My Dad avoids things. Colleen gets passive aggressive or plays victim. Meanwhile, James or myself just continue to have to stand our ground and stay true to our values in the face of opposition. 

I guess I don't see it as impacting me nearly as much as it used to, but the thing that bothers me now is the victim response, and the avoidance. I see my Dad doing this again with his lawn mowing business. He wants something for himself or to pass down, ok, but at what cost?  It comes off as a weird subconscious passive aggressiveness. He believes this thing he is doing will create a better outcome for himself, but the reality is that it only pushes him further away.  I guess it reminds me of M taking on more and more work, she would ask in one minute why we don't take time off and go some where for the weekend, and then book several appointments every Saturday or Friday night. Similarly, it is my Dad not trying to work things out with the people, but listening and then going his own way. It is my Dad leaving the family -his family of origin, and then his created family, because he didn't actually like the role he was asked to play, but couldn't do anything about it... so he left instead. 

Ali and Steve are our drama, and so when they are not entertaining or being dramatic, the family has very little to focus around. Their role as the babies of the family (and the drama) has shifted to the actual babies in the family, but with quarantine it has made that complicated. Ali is right, the family is falling apart. Maybe it should? We don't have relationships. We have roles. Ali says "I don't even know what you do for a living." and she is probably right, is there room to ask instead of playing out a role?

Same with Steve, I love my brother but he creates a dynamic where other people have to take care of him and then he rebels against them. Thats bullshit. If he wants a relationship, he needs to put effort into building a relationship. You can't rant about conspiracy theories or basketball for 4 hours and then expect the other person to feel good about it. He needs to acknowledge his stuff or he is right, there isn't a relationship. He often says that he wants people to accept him for who he is rather than trying to change him, and I think that's a great goal but then you have to find the people who are interested in the same stuff, you can't just expect everyone to hop on board your next hyper fixation. 

Steve and my Dad to some extent point to my mom's stuff. This week I wrote to her "I probably need to figure out how to be angry with you." and she validated that -but of course, in a way that I felt like I needed to sooth her. I probably don't notice her manipulation, I see it as a person who has worked through their shit and is addressing it in a healthy way. She validated my need, and acknowledged that it also sucked for her. I don't need to drop my stuff to validate her hurt...   but I do.   Why is it hard for me to be angry with her?  I don't have any major examples of her being cruel or disappointing me. I have many examples in which she was too spacey, or too tired, or didn't understand. These things are part of every day life, why should I expect anything different?  Or maybe it is that I needed to rebel against her, to be angry, not to have her tell me "be angry." Maybe she was too understanding of my situation? I don't know. Ultimately, I am in some ways too much like her understanding side, and not enough push back. I am the avoider that my Dad is. 

The theories say that a child is born to take on the work their parents could not do for themselves. I should be dissatisfied with their work and later grateful or able to acknowledge they did what they could... but the way it plays out is that I am proud of my mom and wish I had a life more like her -without wanting to take her stuff directly (I need to build it myself to feel confident and proud). And I am upset with my Dad for not being conscious of his own stuff. I am forgiving of James for doing what he can. I am frustrated with Steve. And Ali? I wish she would create her own family to remedy the bullshit she was born into. 

Me? I would like to love someone and have them love me back. Not a caretaker relationship based on worry and insecurity, but one in which we both do our work separate and together. 

But what will I do this weekend to make that happen?

Laundry... maybe a little art or reading, computer games? scrolling on social media?

it's a pandemic. Some of us are dying, the rest are hiding. 

HEY!

 Well first off, let me just say that I am pretty much in love with this YouTube channel 

So please enjoy that as often as you can.

Second,  shit. 

Thats kind of what the week's felt like. Haven't gotten much sleep, feel like I am not on top of my job, feel like I am all around being tested and flung around. Feel like my dreams are meaningful but can't figure out the meaning. Feel like I am so much bigger than this. Feel like I am so much smaller than this. 

Thats a weird feeling isn't it?  Like where do I fit, where am I supposed to be? How am I supposed to be?

meh. 

If I end up not being a therapist, can you remind me that's ok. I didn't enter this field to be a therapist, I entered to get some knowledge and continue on my journey of helping people. If this isn't the right field, I will lose interest, or run aground, or whatever. I didn't necessarily quit teaching because I hated teaching, I quit because I didn't like the field and felt it wasn't focused on the right things. Maybe social work and therapy are the same?  Maybe I should take up chanting. Maybe I should have an office decorated for me? Maybe I shouldn't care about breaking the rules or doing things "right."  

Today I sent a kid to the hospital, or rather I recommended they go. Not because I actually worried about their safety, but because I told them if they did something to make me worry, I would follow through. Not because I wanted to punish them, but because they don't realize they can scare people OR they do and they are not being held accountable. Either way, I don't think they need to spend the night in the hospital, I don't think they need to have the trust frayed... but then again, maybe that's exactly what they need?

I have no control of how they take it. Only control over my actions. I told them I would. I did. 

And yet... do I sleep easy?

Probably not. 

I went to work worried about my brother. I went to work with the gut feeling something was wrong. I went to work distracted by my personal drama... but it was a pretty good day other than the shit show and the worries...and the second guessing. 

I need a massage.  Maybe I should book one for Friday?

I need a hug.  I need sex. I need to figure out if there is something wrong with my body.

I need a beach and a retirement. A getaway. 

I don't know what I expect anymore... everything feels messy in life right now. We are going back towards hibernation, quarantine. We can always go to the office, but I also need to clean my dumb apartment. I could use a few days off. Next week. No holidays...

I dunno. 

Shades of gray

Listening to a playlist of beautiful acoustic cover songs and feeling apprehensive, melancholy, eager, wishing that my life had more connection. Makes me want to sing and learn guitar or piano. 

I've been painting. It's not finished and who knows if it will be any good. I decided a painting of a crow and a painting of a humming bird for the office. 

I've been thinking of spirit guides. Fuzzy was obviously my guardian angel, but I haven't been thinking of cats for a long time. Michael, only because of the name, but I like the idea of wings enfolding me in the knowledge of G-d. Crows were the ones that kept reminding me that there was something else, something other worldly. The silent moose, the meditating moose, strong, resilient, not moved. The hummingbird is new, the struggle and passing through. These are just images. I don't know what my spirit guides actually look like. I've been wondering if I can send them to people, the same way I pray all the time, just be with them. 

Sunday nights are always a little... anxious, a little grief that passes by the next day when I throw myself head first into work. 

I have a lot to do this week. A new client. A DA. A number of suicidal kids to deal with. I've got a group that doesn't trust me, and one that over relies on me. I'm questioning my abilities because the kids are hurting. I know it isn't my fault, but I have decided it is my responsibility I guess. And now because I have nothing else, I am questioning myself. Not believing in their natural resilience, their strengths, the life time ahead of them, the amazing people they will meet and become. It isn't fair or right, but I am questioning it all the same.  

I've been trying to figure out how to address their drama, how to say, how will you take responsibility for your own mental health instead of blaming everyone else, or forcing them to save you?

But... I know that desire too well. I was thinking how much I am like them, addicted to the roles, wishing someone would save me from myself. Like how I like my supervisor for forcing me to feel. How I got mad at my last therapist because he let me play the role of always being ok, let me deceive him, didn't force me to go deeper. 

My supervisor asked me why my feelings don't matter, and my life reinforces it. There is no place for my feelings, only my giving and sometimes my thoughts. Thats what people accept. 

I've been thinking about my parents a lot this weekend. Trying to figure out what work of theirs I was born to take on. My father's passiveness, his people pleasing, his desire to bring people together, and his avoidance when he can't do it the way he wants. My mother? her manipulation and rationalizing everything in healing and growth? Her brushing over things when she doesn't want to admit she took on too much? Her way of doubting, while holding out hope?  I don't really know with her. Maybe it's just that I fit her image, follow too closely in her foot steps. My mom thinks she's a 7 on the enneagram, and that makes sense to me. A healthy seven. It's hard for me to see her faults, sometimes I feel slighted by her indifference, or her memory slips. Her stress positions. Maybe that's my clue... what I get frustrated with her with. It felt good to step up and take responsibility, but it wasn't mine to take, I wasn't ready. 

I think about things like the getting lost and walking home in Hong Kong. She was so sure I was fine, and I was completely terrified and alone. And I did end up being fine. I was praised. I felt more confident. I went to Europe on my own and got through the panic attacks and depression. I went to South America and did the same. Maybe all of these things I am so proud of were just my subconscious way of me trying to say "No one is willing to hold me (the way I need), so I might as well go away."

Not entirely true. I mean everything is mixed. Maybe I need to explore more of this people pleasing and taking on people's shit. Maybe I need to work up the effort to finish this fucking book, but again, for what?   Because I NEEEEEED a project to keep me busy. 

It's really easy to feel like there isn't a point.

I learned to stay sober, neutral, unaffected because it saved people's lives, helped things get better, sometimes it doesn't work and it is painful to realized that no matter how much I care or sacrifice, I can't  fix things. But sometimes listening, or caring, or taking on shit... or staying sober or staying neutral and loving them even when they are hurting you does work. Not always, but some of the time. Which is the kind of pattern that gets reinforced the most. 

I held my nephew today, played peek a boo over and over. He's a little guy and I've only seen him  like 6 times since he was born in January. I don't love him yet... not really. 

I was thinking about the love we have for children. Specifically I was thinking about N and C, because of course I was. How N caught my heart in his anxiety, his intelligence, and his rift with his mom, like he already knew he couldn't rely on her, and I wished soooooooo badly to help repair that (playing the role again), but what 5 year old starts calling his mother by her first name with disdain. Sure he was testing too, testing and being naughty as a 5 yr old must, but it was so clear already that he knew something was wrong in their relationship, and Mike? -oh instead of taking  that as a warning sign I just moved closer. C, no one could not love that girl. She made you earn it, and one you did it was addicting. I guess she is her mother too. Even now I am jealous of the people she is smiling for (both of them). C was just figuring out who she was, a baby too long (probably another warning). But N will take care of her. I miss them. Maybe I didn't love C either, just loved that she forced me to love her so easily. I pictured them growing up far too often. Pictured who they would become. Loved all the possibilities, loved that they had a life time ahead to figure it out, and that at every moment they would be a challenge that forced me to rethink my own shit. I indulged in their voices, in their running around the house. Every where I went, I would see things and wonder if I should buy it for them. I was enamored of the feeling that I could be... something to them. 

It's so funny, I am clearly so angry with M this weekend... it's spiteful and envious. She changed her Facebook picture, and I am unfurling venom in an attempt to not be drawn in. 

I am such a weirdo. Maybe that's the other reason I don't want the clients to know me too well. Maybe I am just aware that I am a fucking weirdo, don't have my shit together, have hurt people, have fucked up... maybe that's the exact reason I should be more real, but they've had to deal with such bullshit...

I don't want to disappoint them. Fragilizing, playing the role. Mike's drama. 

Mike's drama. On some level, I wonder why I keep rededicating myself to helping people. I know it helps me. Makes me feel confident, and I would do it anyway... but... if I hatched my great escape plan now instead of in 30 years, it wouldn't be that different. I'd probably see more whales if I run now. Maybe I should move to Oregon. Life is so expensive in the US. 

Jesse keeps telling me about 90 day fiancé. I am sure it reminds her of her parents or something...  but it feels weird because I wonder if she ever pictured us that way. She hasn't shown any interest in me in that ways in years. I keep thinking I am gonna end up being that guy... the loser who doesn't realize they aren't actually interested, just using me for status. Somehow like M, I would convince myself that I was aware and conscious and making the decision anyway. That it was ok to be used...  because maybe that's all I think I deserve. 

I was gonna do some reading tonight...  maybe I still will. But felt a little like I should journal and I didn't feel like leaving the music...

Relief tears and ...

 

I really like my clinical supervisor because even though she gets spacey and talkative and complains, she calls me on my shit. She says Mike "How is this impacting you today?" and I deflect, and then again, and then she asks again until I am crying. And then she asks, "where did you learn that you have to put yourself on hold?" and... I feel seen. 

I do the same thing with the kiddos, its probably too therapeutic, but she says "I  worry about you in this job," and I say, I do too. I worry because I don't have the supports in place that I need. I am isolated, lonely, and easily swayed into the drama of the world. I am a child and the chaotic world is heart breaking. The joy and sorrow of it all. 

Last Sunday I kept having flash memories of university students waving banners from their apartment and dorm windows, calling for reform in Syria. And I kept picturing how they were massacred and tortured, how the middle class, multicultural and educated society fell into a bloody civil war with a half a million dead, and millions of refugees internally and externally displaced. Outside invaders without checks or balances, without regard for human rights, chemical weapons, epidemics. Once it began, no one could stop it. And in my head all I could picture was these students. Like in Les Miserables. Like countless squashed revolutions. Like countless disappeared. And all they were asking for was just to have their voices heard, to matter. 

I tell my supervisor this, and she reminds me that when you don't see division between people, when you see only "us" then the tragedy (and the progress) is felt at the core every time. Half the country voted for Biden (so that the American empire limps on), the other half voted for a fascist. And despite the incredible relief of the news today, I am still carrying the weight of the fact that half of the United States doesn't see their neighbor as deserving the same dignity and respect (or rights) that they have. In fact, they feel so unheard and disenfranchised and afraid that they would deny the humanity of everyone around them just to feel a pinch of feeling like they matter, like they belong. And it reminds me of camps I have walked through, that are exactly like the camps and prisons of today. And it reminds me of the slavery that used to exist, that is exactly like the slavery of today. And it reminds me of the suffering of a man who some believe was G-d, tortured and dying and asking that they all be forgiven, and how angry I am that "his followers" are the ones crucifying us, without any regard or acknowledgement or responsibility. 

And I just can't handle the weight of it, so I ask people how they are, and listen hoping that they will do the same. 

And My supervisor calls me on my shit, and implies that I am putting others before myself, saying that I am in essence saying they have more right to dignity than I do. And I have to stop and ask why I am so afraid of raising my own voice for me?  And in the moment I think about how many times I put myself on hold this week. Because... I also don't feel like I belong, like I matter, like I am important. I've used my voice, I've invited others into community, I've fought, I've organized, I've taught, and held space for a lot of folks. 

But I've seen how the beautiful and innocent can be destroyed without regard. And how even the powerful can be erased. And it's like... "Who the fuck do I think I am?"  not guilt or shame, just a reality. The story continues with or without me, and I am doing what I can and feeling good about my contributions for the most part. But then what? I go home to watch YouTube or sleep, and none of it matters. 

"Why is your stuff not important enough? Why is it less important than the folks you're working with?" And it's true...  I can only assume that I am just as afraid. I am afraid of being used, abandoned, of disappointment of heartbreak, of being called out as a fake, as a bad person, of being too much. People have been asking me all week how I am doing, checking in with me in person and texting, and I deflect, turn it back on them, ask them, take on their stuff. 

Whats it like when you feel too much? Well, you feel like a wreck. You intellectualize, you deflect, you defend, you create drama so you don't have to address it, you avoid, you hide, you lie, you manipulate. You do all the things I call my students on, with a smile on my face because "I'm like...yeah, I do that too." We all do. And I tell them, use the space to speak your truth. Just like my supervisor does. Cry if you need to. Break apart if you need to.  Be your true self for a moment, not the version you've had to be to stay sane. Be insane for a moment, and then recognize, you're alive and fine, and fucking wonderful. 

But I don't allow myself to do this, not nearly as much as I need to. I've gotten better at asking for help at work, but each time I feel like an idiot. 

And of course, because I don't give myself the space to emote truly,  I lose myself in drama too. Their deflection. Their defenses. Their asking for attention. All the things they do to not be seen despite being desperate to be seen.  I smile, because thats me too, afraid of being seen, of being too much, of asking for my heart to matter. I learned this at a very young age, but I am playing it out even as an adult in my soon to be late thirties. 

And maybe it's just that I am not really sure who I am and which of these feelings are mine. I can't always discern. I pick it up and then oh shit... A civil war that began 9 years ago? The chilean's disappeared 3 or 4 decades ago? The fucking French Revolution? Why the fuck am I holding onto trauma that isn't mine, has nothing to do with me and happened hundreds of years ago????!?!?!?!?!?

Because it was us, hurting us. And it's still happening. 

The more personal stuff... I've been trying so hard to stay mad at M. To discount her. To call her a narcissist and be done. But I am still caught in the drama of it in my head. She was the last person I loved, and I am still picturing her as a teenager being told why she was abandoned, and watching her relive her story over and over. And I can't separate the cause and effect. I want to hate her for hurting me, but I still feel her hurt and it's so hard to be angry when you see someone suffering. Why do I do this to myself? 

Because it's us, hurting us. And it's still happening. 

And where am I in all of that? This mucky residue that no one else sees in me,  an archive of qualia forgotten (to lift a partial quote). Or really they do see it, and see how helpful I could be and seek me out. It's not my pain, but my heart is broken all the same. So I hold space, put myself on hold, because it doesn't seem to matter either way. Whether I break your heart, or you break mine, my heart is still broken all the same. Whether we are joyful together or separate, I still delight in it. 

This is who I have been. Who I learned I was from the time I had any consciousness. Same story over and over. When I hear my own voice amongst the stadium, sometimes it sounds like a child victim demanding attention, and other times like a sage walking through the chaos smiling in the knowledge that everything is as it should be... and the 36 yr old in-between?  He's just confused between the two and playing the role that has kept him safe, and seemed reasonably helpful to others.  

When will I change this story? What else would it look like? I don't know. 

Control?

 In the mental health field, we often talk about how mental health is related to control, our response to the things we believe we should have control over, our response to the things we are aware we don't have control over... our desire to have control and how it manifests. 

Sometimes I get a weird feeling about work, a sort of ominous feeling. A nervous anticipation. I usually get it on Sundays, but today felt a little more striking. I was chalking it up to a couple of things I have going on tomorrow, and also the fact that I spent much of this weekend sleeping and socializing (unlike me), and maybe didn't have enough "down time." I still think this is the reason I was feeling off. I think the impending election, and the shift in day light hours probably adds to it. I think the cold with winter coming, my loneliness and the horoscopes that keep telling me I will meet someone soon, are all adding. 

Tonight I got one of those texts. Those ones where everything is fine, but it could have been different. Teenagers are impulsive. I never know how to respond. Should I respond with my actual feelings? the fear and anger, the hurt and confusion? Should I put that aside and say thankyou for informing me? Should I send them a meme or a funny video?  There isn't really anything to do. 

People do what they will do.

And if I am grounded in this reality, then it is as fragile, harsh and sometimes unforgiving as it appears. 

I've been wrestling with that idea this weekend. The idea that when I meet people I actually assume the best, give them the benefit of the doubt, always assume better -even when they tell me otherwise. It gets me in trouble and leaves me shocked, disturbed, broken. It's not naïveté, it's a choice. I was thinking about how M basically told me over and over and over that she was this way, and I always chose to believe she could be otherwise. Not a savior thing, in fact, I find I am still believing this, hoping despite all evidence, that maybe she actually will work through her shit in the relationship she is in now. Not because he's worth it, but because maybe she'll realize that she is. I knew all along she could hurt me, throw away our relationship, do a million stupid things, and gave her the opportunity because that's who I want to be. 

Its hard because I keep thinking about the future and whether I will have better boundaries with the next person, maybe less people pleasing, but I can't imagine it ever working if I don't assume the best. 

But it gets me in trouble. How ignore the evidence in front of me sometimes. The alternative is that I am cynical and suspicious of everyone. I have lived that way and it sucks. It certainly isn't helpful for building relationships or working with people. 

But when it happens. When someone I love or care about hurts themselves or me... what can I do with it? Where should I turn with the fear? The pain? the confusion?  I can rationalize with the best, I can say my prayers, I can write my poems and my journal rants. I'll have to let go just like with anything else. 

This is not in my control, only my response. Only what I choose to believe.