All posts by adam@adamsatinsky.com

Zowie

Learning about my eating disorder instructs me to become a student of healthy eating. Like relearning how to eat. This seems to correlate to my efforts to relearn how to play the cello. I am doing long bows, of single notes, seemingly rewiring my body to do those motions correctly. It’s an amazing practice.

NEDA – National Eating Disorders Association

I want to be able to find purity. Is it still existent? If you want to find it, does that mean it’s lost? What should I do to regain it? I’ve tried a lot of things. I write. I read. I go to therapy. I pray. I try to take the high road. I try to be an adult. I try to be a child. I am myself. That’s my destiny.

I just perused the NEDA website. National Eating Disorders Association. It just dawned on me that this is why I am so phobic of cooking. It is connected. I read about someone who was petrified of eating at restaurants. I am the opposite it seems. I am extremely reticent and resistant to preparing food for myself.

I wonder if this is also connected to my difficulty sleeping in silence. My self talk. Someone else was writing about their self talk. Negative, it seemed. They said their self talk was worse than their eating disorder. I can’t bring myself to sleep in silence because then I can’t escape from my self talk.

Let’s say I have other compulsive behaviors that have a deleterious effect on my life, besides eating. Isn’t it possible that by starting with eating, I can begin a healthy process that spirals into the other issues, sucking them down along with the eating disorder? I tend to worry myself into paralysis about what if scenarios. It’s not too fun. I guess the point is that the eating is potentially the compulsion that will send me to the hospital or the grave faster than any of the other neuroses. So it’s not wrong to address it more immediately than the others.

Phantasm

So what if my compulsions can be deciphered? Can I come full circle with them? Can they be resolved, reunited with themselves, and set free? To perhaps annoy another hapless victim? Because I don’t want or need them. I don’t need them in their present form, I don’t need them in their infancies, and I don’t need them while they’ve been festering and foisting themselves on me in the intervening years. I need peace. I need undistracted wisdom. I don’t need insecurity. Or nail biting. Or nose picking. Or finger picking and squeezing tension. Or compulsive eating. Or obsessive thoughts on all manners of things, one of which is food of course. Or tension filled sleep.

I want them to be reunited. And returned to sender. They are of no use to me. Goodbye. Goodbye. It’s been nice knowing you. See you. See ya.

I need balance. I need to find a place where the fear of death and the quality of life is not filling my mind and heart with tension and dread. Let my first encounters with fear and my current adult obsessiveness emerging from them become friends of the first order. Let them have a merry old time together. They don’t need me to have fun. Fear and compulsion are fast and intimate bedfellows.

Hmmm

So let’s say I do have an eating disorder. Let’s say I’m on the slide. Somewhere. Let’s say I’m not a big fan of puking. But I’m a big fan of bingeing. So to speak.

Let’s say I’m generally compulsive. But let’s say I’m not OCD. But I could be on the slide. Can you be a slob and be connected to OCD? Am I an OCD cellist? I generally thought of myself otherwise. Like a mellow cello guy. But should I perhaps look a little more closely?

And is my writing an example? I feel off the cuff. (More later)

Okay, I’m back. And with a vengeance. I’ve been ruminating on the subject throughout the day. Why I do this. Did I learn it? Perhaps. Is the problem that compulsive behaviors bleed into each other? I guess I can compulsively undereat as well as compulsively binge eat.

But the compulsiveness is the final step in an already ongoing process, I think. That’s what is visible and noticeable. What about the lead up to the compulsion? I’m supposed to be anticipating the compulsion. I’m supposed to be nipping it in the bud. But how far back can I go on a moment’s notice? When I feel myself succumbing to a compulsion, I don’t have much time to retrace my steps back months and years. What about hours? What about days? The question is how self aware can I be.

I’m also trying to retrace my steps on the cello. It’s a process of unlearning. Every kid is trained to learn. But what about unlearning? Are we supposed to bypass the unlearning curve by never learning the wrong things in the first place? In my case, I can’t relate to that suggestion. Except as part of the unlearning curve that I’m already participating in. As I unlearn things, I try to be somewhat careful not to replace or retrace with other misinformation.

Early

It’s the same old thing. I don’t want to feel pain. So I immerse it in sugar. Or other such things. I am trying to admit that I’m in pain, and see if that helps. I think I knew that I was using the sugar for that purpose. In real time. Sort of. I was sitting there with the knowledge that I couldn’t handle the pain. But I didn’t write here. That wouldn’t have been self destructive. I chose my go-to resource. Bingeing. I thought I was on the verge of bulimia. I saw myself buying too much snacky food. I guess I would have thought I was immune to bulimia because it always gave my chills to see movies about it. It always disgusted me. Why would I want to participate in something I find so distasteful? Isn’t that ridiculous? Isn’t that crazy?

But there I was, going straight for the binge food, as if I was then going to purge later. Whether or not I was always drawn to bulimia, it seems to be a very natural course of action for me. Maybe that’s a discovery I can use. I need to know why. I wonder if it’s hereditary / learned. I mean, I was wondering that in real time last night.

Another potential problem is that I do take things very hard. I do go deep into things. I do go deep, too. That is a lot of ground to cover, emotionally speaking. I am very multi layered. So I think I’m doing okay, and then a different layer emerges, that I had either forgotten about, is newly discovered, or deliberately pushed out of my awareness, and I don’t feel I have the resources to deal with it. So I quickly have to find some way to deal with it. I binge. I binge.

If only OA covered this subject in the ways I would need them to, to make it an effective support tool. Wow. I just looked over at my bingeing evidence. I suppose the food companies didn’t really know what destruction could be perpetrated on an individual by means of their products. I kind of want to blame them. But it’s not their fault. Or even if it was, that doesn’t equal the solution to my problem. I suppose there are factions that want unhealthy foods to be swept from the grocery store aisles. They blame them for obesity and diabetes upticks.

In my case, that isn’t really the point. I make concerted efforts to seek out the binge foods. They don’t come to me. Theoretically, I am supposed to be seeking food for the purpose of nourishment. Or perhaps flavor. Or pleasure. But drowning my sorrows isn’t really the best idea. Poor sorrows, they’ve drowned. Aaaaa! I’m a murderer.

Regressing in earnest / One Hundred Years Of Solitude

What if tomorrow morning, I set back the clock. Back to when I was best friends with Alex – and others – and I got up in the mornings and practiced for my 3 hours, from 7 to 10. High school. I could do it. I could decide to do it. I could regress. Revert. What did I do at night? I talked to Deborah. I talked to Stephen. I talked to Mom and Dad. I went to sleep. I dreamed. Peacefully. Life wasn’t too bad. Was it. I was waiting for my first love. Waiting. I knew partial versions of love. Semi-loves. But I was an emotional and physical virgin. I was waiting. I was pure. Can I remember? I was not so hopeless and weighty. I had more lightness than weight. I had plans. But I didn’t know my plans would intersect with great sorrow. I had plans. Initial plans. But I’m getting ahead of myself. I was only thinking to regress. Not to regress then progress. Just regress. Try to do a do-over. A do-over. A do-over. A do-over. Will I catch my mistakes the second time around? Was my mistake that I fell in love with the wrong girl? Could I control that? Am I supposed to understand that there’s a dance between destiny and personal choice?

Maybe I’ve spent a lot of my life trying to remedy errors I’ve made. Is life going to turn out to be like One Hundred Years Of Solitude? Coming face to face with yourself, a different version of yourself possibly, your own re-creation. My effort to regress could send me on this kind of path.

Glacial progress / pliability of youth / beauty of being mundane / being in the now / unseen forces

What does it take? Ha ha. Glacial. That’s a fact. I’d loathe to think I’m back where I started, with Harriet. What qualifies as progress? I’d loathe to think I’m writing for nearly nothing. I wonder if I can emulate the Men of a Certain Age guys and do some male bonding to cure my ills. Is that who Dick represented for me? The rare male bonding example? Life is glacial. I still haven’t figured that out? Cody is a perfect example of non glaciality. He is so pliable. Like Stretch Man. Can I take after him? I was hoping to regress, after all.

It’s hard to know whether to regress, stay absolutely still, or progress. Maybe I’m pliable enough to have some choices still. Staying absolutely still is kind of nice. To savor the moment, not worry. Not worry about regressing or progressing. Just be. Just appreciate.

It’s so quiet, appreciating the moment. The now. I wasn’t raised to appreciate the mundane, was I? The mundane moment. Ha ha.

But look at today. Didn’t I do that fairly well? What could be more mundane that jury duty? Hmm? I think I came away pretty grounded in the now. In reality. Certainly by my standard of comparison. I can appreciate that. Right? I can appreciate my accomplishment in that arena. I made small talk. I stayed on target with the goings on. I allowed for mundanity. It was ok. I didn’t have to be in the spotlight (most of the time). And I felt something. I felt some compassion. I felt something that wasn’t about me. I felt sympathy. I felt anger. I felt a lot of things. I was a real human being. Interesting. At least I verged on it. Honesty, as Joe says.

So many beautiful mundane people in the world. I hate them. Because I envy them. I hate their savant-like ability – to not be a savant. All the mundane people, where do they all come from? All the mundane people, where do they all belong?

And not to get synchronicity-ish, but the fact that I was the very last juror to join the jury, that I just barely got edged in by a fluke of numerology, with the odds and my own self will rooting against me — is that the universe saying something about my novice-ness for this normalcy stuff? With it only tenuously allowing me to participate in this kind of process, where patience, quiet focus, and some level of compassion are the key elements.

Writing for expression / broken pieces of a life / innocent hope of youth

Is writing here (or elsewhere) a direct link to what my heart wants? I would also surmise that it balances my heart and mind. I do wish that there were other places that that could happen in my life. That would be too easy, I guess.

It’s better I guess that I hoe this long road of learning, inch by inch. I have to see it here on paper. I have to find out what I really feel and really want by reading it on this screen. Maybe I should be a screenwriter. Maybe this is their experience. Your heart expresses itself on paper, you get people to speak those words, and it miraculously comes to life in front of you. I don’t know. It never occurred to me to use my writing this way. I write for readers. I have a love hate feeling towards actors and theatrical/cinematic production. It’s not my drive, so to speak. But I don’t like the way it sucks the life out of me. But it is so cathartic in its way. To see expression in that form. It’s one of my vices, living vicariously. Or seeing others doing it. I actually cut out moviegoing a while back. It was too fun. Too mood altering and personality altering. I knew it was confusing me when I returned to the real world. I decided I needed to exist in the real world primarily. I suppose I want that for my son. It’s a lot to explain here, it seems. I would have to retrace many many steps to explain what got me to that point. It reminds me of Cody and his Lego set. He sets his mind to embarking on the building process. He is fearless. He is undaunted. He has his whole life ahead of him, after all. He can do anything. That is beautiful. That is precisely how I want him to feel. Fearless. I seem to be in the process of piecing my life back together, a life that is broken, and desperately needs repair. I mentioned something about that tonight with the 2 of them, and Cody was utterly innocent to what I was referring to. He only knows hope, thank god. I of course would love him only to know that, ever. I just can’t believe how long I’ve spent trying to piece my life back together. I don’t know whose fault it is. Maybe it’s someone’s. Maybe it will forever be unknown to me. The onion. It will continue to unpeel itself.

Regressive tendencies of musicians / appreciating my circle

I was thinking that musicians are more in touch with their childhood selves than other people. But now I’m not so sure. Perhaps music itself helps elicit that regressive dreaminess, but most anyone can enjoy that, not only performing musicians.

In fact, it can be tough to correlate a musical career, with its politics and clock-punching mindset, with that innate, beautiful experience of music. It could just be orchestral musicians that face that sort of challenge. But I imagine each line of musical work has its own frustrating quirks.

I guess one’s career in general will help dictate whether you can still view life with a rainbow’s perspective. Full of possibilities. A lot of things play into it I’m sure. Family, culture, chemistry, geographical location, world politics, local politics, era. I feel fortunate, if I’m paying close enough attention, to associate with those who can touch their inner beauty and innocence on a regular basis. Not all the time. But who is happy and optimistic all the time? Not me, for sure.

Regressing / bad influences

It’s certainly a challenge to regress, especially if I’m not surrounded by other regressors. My goal is to regress. I realized that if Cody’s job is to mature and grow, my job is to regress, to stop thinking of myself as someone who is aging.

I guess I equate that to worrying, to catastrophizing, to nitpicking. It’s also an emotional thing. I can feel myself aging. I can feel myself withering, worrying myself to(wards) death. I can feel the difference between conversations and activities that encourage that inching towards my demise, and those that encourage youthfulness and a recapturing of what I once had at all times.

But it’s hard when you are close to others who wouldn’t understand this sort of thinking or dreaming. Those who revel in the banal. In the most adult thought patterns. Those who are dark. Adulthood is a dark, hellish place, if you don’t know how to find escape hatches from it. But I won’t give up. I can be strong. Maybe I can even find better examples to be close to. To surround myself with. I need to look back. Backwards. I need to keep regressing. It is my best and only hope.