Venting. Airing. Not trapping. Not contracting. Living. Loving. Being surrounded. Being alone. Being inhibited.
I’m like a moth. Involuntarily drawn to things. Drawn away from the truth, drawn to vacuousness. I exist in hieroglyphics. I am nomenclature.
No. Don’t. If you doubt it, then go.
A lack of discipline. Of all things! Difficulty integrating ideas coming from different directions. Assimilating. Star Trek put a bad spin on assimilation. Ha. Is compartmentalizing so great though? The right hand doesn’t know what the left hand is doing.
Everything I do erroneously is for safety. For protection. Ha. Maybe I’m just protecting myself from being alive. I am nearing death. Here I come! How bloody ironic. To think I have any say in death’s inevitability. I remember thinking that Buddhism seemed obsessed with the subject of death. But isn’t religion generally like that? Is Judaism? Depends which denomination. But Buddhism seems to be very direct and honest about life and death. Very, very direct.
Since I’m now delving into my religiosity and spirituality, it causes me to notice how other lifelong practicers have journeyed through and beyond questions such as these. It turns out I’ve only just started scratching the surface.
The more I learn, the more I realize how little I know, like Sebok noted.
So, I hate God, and God hates me. Is that what I believe? I never knew it. If I feel God’s love for me, then I guess that means I am capable of feeling His hate. Love and hate are not miles apart. We have to find the wisdom to put distance between them. Without that wisdom, they are easily conjoined.
So I should write. I should do work. I will otherwise be unable to do step 10. I will keep hurting others, and myself. I feel put upon. I feel there is no one looking out for me, anymore. I used to feel my parents were.
Am I powerless over food? And what if I am? Can’t I just die a peaceful/painful death and call it a wash? Who really cares? Aren’t we all going to die anyway? Shouldn’t I go out with some pleasure and excitement? Do normal people ask question after question after question? Only if they’re practicing their question mark typing.
What is my bottom? Is it physical, emotional, intellectual or spiritual? Haven’t I proved I can hit physical bottom enough times? Maybe I need an intellectual bottom. Like the robot in Star Trek. I need to intellectually admit I am at a total loss. Logically. Or is it spiritual? Do I need to realize I should not give up on my own soul? That it is worth something. That it is worth saving. I am not very in touch with my soul. That would explain a lot of the agony and angst, consternation and confusion. I don’t cherish my existence. I don’t think I matter. Perhaps my physical self doesn’t matter much. Perhaps it could just continue to take crappy care of itself and die a simple death, and nothing would change much. There would be some sort of eulogy and obituary and some tears shed over my physical self.
I am amusingly forgiving in regards to my particular brand of overdosing. My brand of bingeing. My brand of self poisoning. My brand of the death march.
What am I doing on Earth? I wonder if I’m getting any closer to figuring that out. I seem to have been put here to confuse, hurt, and please people. I was put here to eat an inordinate amount of food, junk or otherwise. Just as long as it’s inordinate.
I was put here to watch an inordinate amount of tv. I was put here to be unproductive. I was put here to spend. I was put here to be sore in my left arm. I was put here to keep wisdom to myself.
Isolating should also be mentioned.
Listening to oodles of music from a variety of sources has been a lifelong pastime.
I have written some journals, I guess. They cover the gamut. Although there is certainly a lot of repetition.
When will I find out why I was really put here? Tonight? How’s tonight? Was I put here to help build and run a few restaurants? Was I put here to keep a house in order? I wonder if the 12 step program can elucidate these questions for me. It’s tricky though, isn’t it. I don’t give myself to this program. Maybe because it really is a tall order. It certainly isn’t what I have typically done in my lifetime, as a whole. I am more likely to do Mad Libs and eat chocolate til the wee hours than do the soul searching and higher power opening up necessary to be a program role model.
What’s the point of writing? I immediately see the point. What’s the point of not writing? I rarely see the point. We are at the Y. At her behest. I like to come here, but not for me.
I need to get to work. Work inside and out. Writing is inside work. It can lead to good outside work. I need to use the tools, the OA tools. They are a better plan than what I seem to have come up with from my own personal history.
I heard that gluttony and perhaps sloth are too judgmental to be productive ways of inventorying myself. Not forgiving. I don’t know. Dick suggested the 7 deadly sins as a starting point, didn’t he?
I would say it’s safe to say that gluttony and sloth are close bedfellows. Avarice? Hmmm. What is your potential? Where is the bar? An outside program helps to provide a non moving bar. Or any bar. An outside philosophy. Don’t rely on your own shaky will power.
I think anything that keeps me on track and isn’t hurtful is helpful. If it’s the sins, the Y, the meetings, the fellowship, work, friendship.
I’m reviewing my library in search of answers. I have seen my emotional roller-coastery self of late. I feel I am in a good place to pull back and reflect. I must feel a certain stability right now, as though I’ve been through something dangerously wonderful, or wonderfully dangerous, and lived to tell the tale. Also I’ve been practicing pretty regularly, which has a grounding effect. I am still a walking advertisement for neuroses, but somehow I’m just that much more composed.
So I have reconsidered the possible sources of who I am and why I do things. I have come back to something called borderline personality disorder. In reading my books on it, I would have to say I am borderline borderline. The reason it is called borderline if I understand correctly, is because it didn’t quite fall into any readily identifiable psychiatric categories at the time the name was coined in the 1930’s. It borrowed symptoms from various illnesses and seemingly arbitrarily glommed them together, based on the patients observed. Nowadays it is an established disorder. I myself only have a portion of the symptoms, which is why I say borderline borderline. I also feel like the name borderline aptly describes my feelings in life generally, kind if like I’m in a no-man’s land between normal, functional, real-life society and a weirder place of my own making full of dreams and emotions of both wondrous and frightful nature. I am straddling the two almost all the time. It is rather frustrating because I feel I cannot commit to anything 100%. I only know how to exist on that borderline.
I think that is why I spend much of my time not being particularly productive. Non-action is the best means I can come up with to guard against falling off this fence. I guess I feel either choice is going to be a disappointment. Any choice, really. Of course I do have to make choices sometimes, but I try to keep them to a minimum.
The choices I make are usually fine. And the dreams and fantasies I muse upon are generally of a reasonably pleasant or useful sort. The trouble is this dang-blasted split between the two, frequently leaving me in limbo, a dead heat of indecision. Thankfully I have found that writing helps bridge the gap.
originally published on 11/17/07
I realize that I have evidence of my recent assumption about the mirroring of those around me. I have friends who seem rather adept in social situations. But when we have discussed their comfort level socially, they tend to say the same thing I say, which is that they are uncomfortable and insecure. This is one reason why we are friends, because we are coming from the same place. And eventually we find our lives have many of the same properties, despite all the superficial differences.
Therefore I can see that, like it or not, seemingly or not, you draw your own ilk to you.
originally published on 7/15/08
I sit in orchestra and watch people. Or observe is a better word, due to my feeling of non-belonging. I see all sorts of bizarre movements and expressions that are solely a result of an individual’s idiosyncrasies. They are unrelated to the essence of the music being played. They are their egos. That is actually fine if they prefer to do things that way. My dilemma is that I cannot seem to get away with even the slightest departure from total discipline in body and mind without everything unraveling at the seams. All these other people appear to be humming along perfectly contentedly. And I have in fact asked people or alluded to the possibility that they are suffering from any of my same physical or mental symptomology, and almost always it is not the case. This is one reason why I have spent much time trying to look for answers to my cellistic issues outside the musical realm – I keep hitting a brick wall when I address it directly.
One other aspect to this is the question of whether others are striving for the same kinds of things I aspire to. If generally they are not, then it may be perfectly logical that they have none of the same problems I do. I assume people are on my page. I strongly wish that they are. It’s painful for me to even write that there’s a possibility that they aren’t. I despise being different, separate, and in the end isolated. I cannot believe the way people take all these human differences and/or commonalities in stride. I freeze up when I become aware of these things. And I freeze up if I try not to be aware. Maybe the only thing I can attempt to do is take my inability to take things in stride, in stride. That’s only once removed from other people, right? Not too bad.
originally published on 9/3/08
Driven to distraction. There’s a funny expression. Maybe I should research its derivation. It might have something to do with the alliteration. It seems to presume that one’s natural state is non-distraction, which one leaves after some unpleasantries. I suppose it can happen that way. But I think life goes more frequently in the opposite direction. You reach the end of your distracted rope, thereby having no alternative but to find some kind of peace of mind and soul.
Or maybe distraction is considered a good thing in our society, and in this statement. You are driven there due to the evilness of boredom and peacefulness. Non-action is a risky thing.
There’s a fine line between doing things as an act of expression or a means of distraction. It’s easiest not to even know that there’s a difference. I think this non-awareness leads naturally to mindlessness and boredom. But if you are more attentive to your environment, you’ll find you do have a choice. A choice between doing things just for the sake of doing them, or engaging in an act of creation.
originally published on 6/28/09
Contrarianism has a close cousin, procrastination. They are easily interchanged and mixed up. Waiting for the last minute to do something is akin to doing it when it really can’t be done well anymore, at a time that it really shouldn’t be done in the first place. But for the contrarian/procrastinators among us, sometimes doing something at a late date is still a far cry better than never doing it at all.
Of course I sometimes have a tendency to do things way too soon and too fast. It’s the flip side to procrastinating. So perhaps being a contrarian causes extremism in many cases. You’re sort of required to tap into the extremes, in order to get to the desired opposing feeling.
It’s just a lot of hoops to jump through. And I’ve been a little busy lately with actual life to accommodate these propensities in the way that I used to.
originally published on 12/5/10
The cello is a way for me to exhibit me, both to my own eyes and to others. I’m equally unpredictable musically as in real life. I am now surmising that most everything is equivalent. I was not trained to think that. But that doesn’t make it irrelevant.
When I play the cello I am thinking about and feeling the same series of ideas and sensations as in regular life. Why shouldn’t I be? Any energy I am exerting to heal myself is just as easily directed to music-making. And anything misdirected in real life also falls short on the cello. I have always suspected that but I have never received solid confirmation from outside myself, so I couldn’t take it seriously due to my difficulty individuating myself from others. Are some things the problem and the solution simultaneously? I can’t individuate, but I must.
The important aspect of this is how I apply this learning theory to my music. I need to be sensitive to how my feelings reflect in my performance. It’s all in there if I listen for it. If I am feeling unfulfilled, for instance, I will create music in a stifled way. But it’s not even that simple. Because like life, the music is in flux. The emotional journey and processes are more reflective than a momentary mood swing. It is trickier and subtler than what I might consider my surface state of mind.
originally published on 12/19/06