Category: Mind (page 3 of 5)

I’d rather have guides than masters

I do not want to do morning pages anymore. 12 weeks? It’s been like 3 days.

I feel like just typing asdflaks;dfja;efaoisdjfalsdk;jsdf over and over for three pages.  I feel like throwing the laptop across the room.  No, I feel like browsing the internet, some Facebook here, some Netflix there.  Maybe just engrossing myself in a book until bed.

[Look, I KNOW typing them on a computer instead of writing them by hand is a bad idea – it introduces a lot of distractions – but I’m having even more resistance to hand-writing].

I don’t know why I am already so resenting the time I spend doing them.  I don’t know why I am procrastinating until evening rather than writing “morning pages.”  I don’t know why I am so resistant when the time comes to click the keys and put letters onto screen.  I don’t know what will come out, I guess.  I don’t know why I can’t just think and type and write.  What am I afraid of seeing come out?

Yikes.  My stomach just lurched when I typed that.

While procrastinating, I spent some time doing research on different training programs that are available in the Seattle area.  I found a promising looking site/teacher for “healing touch” energy medicine, as well as a reiki training class.   The “healing touch” instructor’s name seems very familiar.  I feel as if I have seen her name on another intuitive’s site or perhaps have seen advertisements at a fair for her services.

I’m interested in exploring this more to see if the training is useful and fruitful for someone who is not already in the health care field. Meaning, would I be able to even see clients?  Do I even care if I’m able to see paying clients?  Perhaps that’s not something to focus on at this point.

I realize part of me already knows what to do, but I don’t feel confident working on others, because I have no explanation for it.  I’ve not been taught, I’ve not been certified, I’ve not been legitimized by someone else.  My heart swelled with pride at a quick mental image of myself as a healer, a helper, of others.  I self-corrected and disciplined myself, insisting it is wrong to be prideful and to want an outcome where I feel important or powerful.  But, I almost immediately realized it isn’t wrong, because that warmth wasn’t about desiring great power.  It was about being seen, noticed, remembered.  Being valued at all.  Maybe even being important.  Not important like the leader of the free world is important.  But important to some. Important to others.  Someone who would be dearly missed if gone.

This surely goes back to childhood, to psychic, emotional and physical injuries that were inflicted on me by dad, by mom and by others. I was told before that I need to get angry about this, to feel and process and release that anger.  I always replied that I just couldn’t see it happening, I just can’t summon up the anger.  Well, tonight I finally did.  Admittedly, it was mild.  Barely a stirring as I read about chakra development stages and realized how much dad had screwed me over and screwed me up in literally every phase.  There for a split second, I felt it.  In the center of my chest, but also high in my gut, a rush of warmth and a clench of tension.

How dare he? How dare he? How DARE he?

It’s baffling to me that my siblings have become so religious when they had the same parents and same upbringing as me.  How can they not see this all as hypocritical, at best, but possibly even more sinister and harmful? Was the abuse I received more impactful than that they received? Perhaps.  I would think though that they saw and felt enough to know something was very very wrong, something was WRONG with the person who promoted himself as our spiritual superior.  Our spiritual guide.

Master. That’s a better word. He never guided us — he ordered us around.  I racked my brain to think of any situation in my childhood where my dad ‘guided’ me. Does grabbing me by the arm or gripping my head hard to jerk me in his direction count? No? Okay then.

Unable-ified

Today, I saw my psychiatrist for the first time in almost two months.  I admitted to him that I stopped taking Abilify and was very surprised that he was not upset.  I told him 11 days, though really it’s been on and off for weeks. It started as an accident, forgetting to take it on nights when I fell asleep very early, but changed to purposeful, not taking it on an evening where I had planned to have drinks.

I feel relieved to be off of it — more than seems appropriate.  No one believed me that it was making me anxious.  I don’t know if that really was a side effect of the pharmaceutical or if it was just my mind, but either way, I feel less anxious now.  I had an unshakeable fear that the anti-psychotic was just masking what is really here.  It made it almost impossible for me to check my own aura and chakras, not to mention having only the most blurry view of other ‘things’ around me.  I hope that stopping this medication makes things clearer… and that clearer is better. It’s possible it will all spin out of control again, but if it does, I know I can always go back on the medication.

More than anything, I think I’ll actually be able to get shit done again.  Even if that just means doing things I enjoy, instead of shutting down and doing nothing.  I’ve spent months frozen and need to be freed again.

 

I try to set goals even for my fun

Today, I made my first attempt at “morning pages” (an exercise from The Artist’s Way).  I’m planning to do these for at least twelve weeks in an effort to “unstick” myself creatively and otherwise.

I’ve long missed having creative pursuits within my life.  It seems for the past fifteen years, I’ve only made time for isolated projects — a Halloween costume there, picking out colors to redecorate here.  I’ve made occasional efforts to sketch, only to find myself drained of creativity and unable to access any talents.  I’ve been content to just “come home” (or move from desk to bed) and watch hours of Netflix or passively hit refresh on Facebook.  I haven’t even kept up with my reading which was always theinterest I felt defined me.  Well, reading and music.

I can tell that I am still depressed not by the days when I feel very low but by the rest of the days when I feel little of anything.  I haven’t listened to music in weeks.  I have no longer been motivated to try anything new, whether an album or a TV show.  I’m re-watching the same shows I already watched in the last few years. What’s strange is I don’t remember seeing the episodes, though I know I did.

I feel even less motivation to write.  Every few sentences, I find myself distracted, checking Facebook or email or just staring off into space.  I haven’t felt engaged in a long time.   Part of this is the lack of engagement at work, which destroys my morale.

When I found out I would be getting laid off, after the initial shock and worry quickly wore off, I began planning my new life, one that didn’t bind me to a computer for set hours each day.  I dreamed of finally doing something artistic as a business pursuit. In fact, I didn’t just dream — I dove in, setting up a business license, PO box, and a website.  I bought supplies to craft — jewelry making, clothing making, photography. Hundreds and hundreds of dollars were spent intending to set up a productive business.  Months later, I sit at my desk surrounded by this clutter and feel no motivation to begin.  It’s more than that really — I fear I have no ideas, or at least no original ideas, no ideas that others would want to buy.

Something as simple as watching some YouTube tutorials for the type of jewelry making I want to do….  has taken me three months to even consider watching.  To even start looking for and queueing up playlists, not even to watch.  Is this just my fear of failure at work?  Or is it something deeper?  I know doing these projects would be enjoyable, even if they don’t result in something I feel I can sell.  Why am I so unmotivated? Why do I not even want to do things I have previously enjoyed?

Worse, I have turned every potential project, every potential way to make money into a way to spend money.  Rather than making some basic jewelry, I’ve accumulated hundreds of dollars of crystals and stones that I may or may not ever use.  I’ve acquired more painting supplies than I could use in years (if I were to actually paint).  Each time I consider artistic work, I find something to spend money on instead. Instead of learning how to use my camera or Adobe products, I almost bought Ultra Fractal.  It looks cool – don’t get me wrong – I want to buy it some day, but today if purchased, it would become another thing I never used. Instead of trying a basic cross stitch sampler or one of the patterns I’ve purchased, I wanted to buy a cross stitch pattern making program.  Another thing I would probably never use.  Just like my old camera.  Just like my knitting pattern making program.  Just like the thousands of dollars of yarn and fabric I ended up donating when I left San Francisco.  I think I am still reeling from the loss of so many supplies (and knowing I wasted so much money).  Yet I keep doing it.

What would it take for me to begin being creative again?  I am starting with my environment.  For at least 12 years, I lived with nothing on the walls, no art, no objects.  In San Francisco, it was tolerable because the walls were (mostly) brightly colored themselves.  Gold encrusted brown in the living room, “lilac lavender” in the bedroom, sunny yellow in the laundry room, pink tiles in the bathroom.  The rooms I frequented had vibrant color and it made the lack of art less noticeable.  Here in beige Bothell, that lack is noticed.  It’s gotten to me.  So now I am putting up Art in an effort to make myself want more “art” in my life.  Heidi has encouraged me to use my own photographs as artwork, so I’ve begun. It feels a bit false to me, like I’m not really hanging artwork at all, but I’ve proceeded nonetheless.

Only a week ago, I was finishing my Psychology course, the first college course I’ve completed in years and the first of several I must finish in order to be eligible to apply for grad schools.  Making art or crafts of some type was intended to be a source of income while I attend school, and it occurs to me that I would have to treat it like school or a job in terms of making the commitment and the time.  I was miserable within my course schedule, I felt like all my time was booked, but I was able to do it.

So perhaps it’s time to make that commitment to myself and to my art.

I won’t force myself to work on something I am not able to work on, but I can make myself spend the time on Art.  Whether that is framing and hanging art, sketching ideas, watching tutorials, or creating… that will be up to me, myself and I on the days in question.  I will also give myself the time to write these pages each morning — if not before work, early in the day.  I will also give myself time to meditate on creativity and feeling protected and encouraged to produce creatively.

Due to our work’s “Flexible Fridays” program, I’ll be off work by 10AM on Friday.  I need to get my allergy shot and can spend some time reading while waiting the requisite time.  But, after I get home, there is a lot of time open for projects.  I’d like to accomplish some goals before Friday, to remove excuses from having an extended “art date.”  On Wednesday and Thursday, I want to cut mats and frame the art that is on my couch — the art for my bedroom.   By Friday morning, I should be ready to put up pictures of San Francisco, Paris, Granada.  I can be inspired by the places I’ve been and the artistry I saw in these landscapes and buildings.  I can be inspired by the beautiful photographs I took in these cities.  I can be inspired by my “garden” just feet outside on the patio.

On Friday, weather permitting, I’m going to draw or paint outside for at least an hour.  After that is done, I’m going to watch or read tutorials and practice wire wrapping basics.  I’m kind of afraid to even try either of these things, but I’m going to do it.  If my efforts go miserably, what have I wasted other than a few hours and a bit of supplies?

 

Addendum: obviously I did not follow through on any of this. :/

 

Vampire Nightclubs, obviously

Man, I had some very weird dreams last night. Getting deported with pockets stuffed with undiscovered “baggies,” and then a two part dream where my friends and I discovered we were vampires and had to hide from vampire hunters and the police who were trying to kill us all.

What have I been going to bed thinking about??

(This is some Vampire Nightclub shit right here… How do I know? ‘Cuz everyone’s in Rick Owens…)

Wow,… weird flashback to Monarch on New Year’s Day, 2012 maybe?

Go Away

Nightmares all night. Would like to stop dreaming that my father is alive, stalking me, and trying to kill me.

Inattentive type

Struggling to do my psychology homework and read the term ‘ADHD Inattentive Type’ for the first time. Just realized I so have ADD…

‘Mares

I would love to stop having dreams that entities are attacking me in my sleep, especially because it takes me forever to realize I’m still sleeping. Meanwhile the biting, choking, etc feels so real that I’m surprised to wake up without any marks.

Though, not as surprised as I am when I do.

 

Neon

In the canoe of highness down the river of drugs, population: me

(I enjoy this show a little too much…)

Dungeons & Demons

My PTSD is giving me 100x worse PTSD

Hey friends, I am in a pretty dark place. In the last few months, some old demons resurfaced, and it seemed necessary, emotionally and psychologically, to deal with them. I’ve been trying to stay positive, but I feel like I’m losing ground every day. I would never hurt myself or anything that, but I’m reaching the point of… despair. That’s the best way I can explain it. If you believe in good vibes, prayers, “helpers”, and that sort of thing, all I can ask is that you send some my way.

The Journey

It just hit me, why people would work on shedding their desires. I understood it made clearer one’s spiritual path, but I always thought that must an impossible struggle. But I’m realizing the more content you are with yourself, your place in this existence, the less you seek external means of altering your mental state.

We all seek an ecstatic state. We catch fleeting glimpses of this happiness when we supplement our lives with things and behaviors meant to give a quick fix, be it drinking or drugs, buying yourself something, eating something decadent, or even sex. I’m not saying any of these things are bad. They do help for a small while – until you wake up the next morning hungover.

When you realize you can reach a similar state without any external stimulation, it’s less interesting to get there using ‘something’ to make you happier. I’d even say it’s easier to find contentment.

PS – this is not one of those smug ‘look at my wonderful life’ posts intended to make you feel less good about your own. My life is not ideal, and I’m working through some serious, pretty dark issues. But, I am absolutely happy with the progress I have made at this point in my journey.

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