therapy journey

My journey to better mental & spiritual health

Tag: relationships

Grace. The unconscious mind. Personal religion.

I’m not going to wax lyrical about being in any way spiritually enlightened, because I’m not. I’m no guru or saint, I’m just starting out and I’m learning a lot of things. I like to keep them safe and close to my heart by writing about them. I hope to remember my learnings and make them part of me. The Road Less Travelled has obviously made a big impact on me, as I don’t seem to be able to stop writing about it.

There are a couple of loose ends from Peck’s book that I’d like to tie up. We have discovered Peck’s belief that the ultimate aim of personal evolution is to be like God. Spiritual growth is how we as individuals evolve. And love is the force that overcomes the entropy intrinsic to the natural law of the universe. I wanted to explore the idea of God being a force within our unconscious, as this really stood out for me while reading this book.

We still have no idea why the unconscious mind possesses knowledge that we have not necessarily already learned. Peck suggests that the interface between God and man is at least in part the interface between our unconscious and our conscious. Perhaps we can go further and postulate that where God inhabits is Jung’s collective subconscious that we all share.

I find it very interesting that Peck’s view flips around the beliefs of the preceding age of psychotherapy, which held that the unconscious with its tumultuousness, nightmares, mental illnesses and assorted demons, is the seat of psychopathology. In Peck’s version, diseases of the mind occur because our conscious self resists unconscious wisdom and it is amidst this conflict that the unconscious seeks to heal. Far from being dark, unruly and fearful, our unconscious mind is an expression of a far greater power.

But, we are in the dark about what our unconscious mind – God – is telling us. Dreams are open to contradictory interpretations, dark nights of the soul seemingly serve little purpose except making us miserable, and we are very quick to discount those situations when we intuit something but cannot figure how we could possibly ‘know’ it. Perhaps on occasion we are being assisted by a force other than our own conscious will. This is where grace comes in.

Grace is a “powerful force originating outside of human consciousness which nurtures the spiritual growth of human beings”. Examples of grace include near-misses in potential accident situations, dream phenomena where revelations are made; miracles of health; examples of extra sensory perception; and other fortuitous incidents, peculiar coincidences, synchronicity or serendipity that we cannot explain. The following four conditions define them:

  1. They nurture human life and spiritual growth.
  2. They are incompletely understood by scientific thinking.
  3. They are commonplace among humanity.
  4. They originate outside the conscious human will.

Peck goes on to assert that the fact of grace basically infers the existence of God. Whether or not one believes in God is a personal matter which no argument from a book is going to change – but unbelievably it can and does change over time. This got me thinking about my own faith and asking the question, how did I go from being a hardline atheist who pretty much felt like punching every devout religious person squarely on the nose, to someone who only today over breakfast, told my flatmates that I believe in a God as a soul of the universe, a oneness, source, a spirit that unites us all?

There’s no simple answer to this. I didn’t see any huge signposts pointing me towards God or grace. I didn’t dodge death or see Jesus in a watermelon. I can only conclude my faith was slowly awakened during the fourteen months I’ve been publishing and asking questions. In searching for mental peace and desperately wanting to shake the problems I used to have with anger, violence, neuroses etc, I found that there was much more blossoming within me given that I had made a commitment to change. I had no idea when I started how much potential I have to be joyful and spiritually whole. This is my therapy.

There was one final point that Peck makes in the ‘Growth and Religion’ section that really hit home. From the theologian Alan Jones “one of our problems is that very few of us have developed any distinctive personal life. Everything about us seems secondhand, even our emotions. […] I cannot survive on a secondhand faith in a secondhand God. There has to be a personal word, a unique confrontation, if I am to come alive”. And if sitting around waiting for God to show himself to us won’t do, we must each of us forge our own religion. This is “a wholly personal one, forged entirely through the fire of our questioning and doubting in the crucible of our own experience of reality.” I love this idea, and I think it’s what I am doing in my myriad ways.

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Spiritual growth.

“Genuine love is self-replenishing. The more I nurture the spiritual growth of others, the more my own spiritual growth is nurtured.” – M. Scott Peck, The Road Less Travelled

Spiritual growth as the ultimate aim of human existence crops up many, many times in Peck’s seminal work, The Road Less Travelled. It has got me thinking about what is meant by such a far-reaching and lofty concept as real spiritual growth. Could it be, awareness of universal truths? Truly understanding and accepting the self? Behaving out of love unwaveringly? Knowledge and insight into the nature of God? Cultivating the spiritual growth of others? I have a few ideas, but for now let’s stick to what I understood from the book.

Spiritual growth is the one and only will of love. Love, we remember, is defined by Peck as, “the will to extend one’s self for the purpose of nurturing one’s own or another’s spiritual growth”. When real love occurs, we cannot help but extend our limits into a larger state of being. Self-love and loving others go hand in hand because ultimately they are indistinguishable. Loving is self-evolution.

If spiritual growth is the purpose of love, what is the purpose of spiritual growth? It is evolution. The phenomenon of evolution shouldn’t exist. It violates the second law of thermodynamics, which states that energy flows from a state of higher differentiation to a state of lower differentiation – or entropy as it is known. Entropy is the force of decay, of homogenisation, of chaos. Evolution is nothing short of a miracle in our cosmos.

Spiritual growth is the evolution of the individual. While the decline of physical competence is an inevitability, the human spirit may evolve throughout one’s lifetime. Such growth is so difficult and effortful because it is conducted against a natural resistance. The natural inclination is to keep things the way they are. Growth entails embracing and seeking change – not merely for the sake of change, but in as far as making changes allows us to become better and better versions of ourselves, and there is no end to this process.

So, what is the force that pushes individuals and the whole species to grow in spite of our natural lethargy, and against our instincts to keep things the same? It is love. Love is a struggle, it is work. It is the extension of the self, and it is evolution in progress. Love is the force that defies the natural law of entropy which is present throughout the known universe on the micro and macro levels.

I wonder if without a significant other or others to love, can an individual grow? The kind of love that Peck is talking about isn’t the general ‘love they neighbour’ sort, nor the ‘in love’ feeling. By love’s very nature, an individual has only enough energy to manifest real love to a few chosen individuals. Vast amounts of energy are required to extend the self truly to others, and our individual stores of energy are as limited as hours of the day.

I am not nurturing another’s spiritual growth at the moment. I wonder if I ever have. My own growing process is stalling, like all aspects of my life now. I have had some bad times lately and have struggled to identify where they have come from, and what recent experiences or run-ins may have triggered them off. At the end of the day, it comes down to a lack of connection and simple loneliness but this is what I expected as I am in the middle of a huge giving-up/ growing up process. I live a transient lifestyle. So, this lack of soul connection is a hard reset. I know I am lucky to have possessed the wisdom and guts to do something about what I lacked.

If spiritual evolution could be said to have a goal, what is that goal? This is where Peck loses a lot of his readers. The goal of spiritual growth is Becoming God. Peck writes, “We are growing toward godhood. God is the goal of evolution. It is God who is the source of the evolutionary force and God who is the destination.” Peck concedes that it would be putting it mildly to say this is a terrifying idea. But think about it. While we deny our godliness and shirk our responsibility, we don’t have to worry about the responsibility of spiritual growth. We can reject the hard work, relax, grab a beer, watch TV, stick a hand down our pants and just be human. Of course the idea that there is a path to godliness sounds crazy, because that’s just it, it’s the road less travelled. But once you’re on this path, like I am, you realise you might as well enjoy it because after all, the journey is the destination.

Giving up & growth.

This was a post I didn’t want to write, because it may contain negativity. However, in the interests of honesty and dealing with the rough as well as the smooth, I’m going to attempt an understanding and acceptance of my current mindset. And I’m going to be as positive as I can while dealing with its inherent negativity.

In Peck’s psychology as propounded in The Road Less Travelled, a principal reason why people seek psychiatric help is because of depression. When we give something up, depression is the feeling associated with that process. Since mentally healthy humans must grow, and giving up a part of the old outdated self is an integral part of growth, depression is reframed as a normal and healthy phenomenon. It only becomes unhealthy when something in the giving-up process is unresolved or interfered with. On a fundamental level for me personally, the giving-up process has started in my psyche.

It is quite common for individuals not to know why they are feeling down, but my subconscious knows, for it has already kick-started the process that will prefigure the next phase of my life. The idea of the ‘stages of life’ or identity crises was explored by developmental psychologist Erik Erikson. The stage I am at corresponds with Love: The Intimacy vs. Isolation conflict which is emphasised around the age of 30. This is a stage at which young adults seek to blend their identity with their social group. Our egos have had experience of rejection, which for some is so painful that we will do anything to avoid it, including cutting some of the ties that bound us.

In his 1950 book, Erikson writes, “Intimacy has a counterpart: Distantiation: the readiness to isolate and if necessary, to destroy those forces and people whose essence seems dangerous to our own, and whose territory seems to encroach on the extent of one’s intimate relations”. When I read that, it was another one of those Eureka moments. What I used to call freedom has turned into isolation. What used to be exhilarating is now meaningless. Life was for a time a dazzling blank canvas full of too much possibility to have to tie down just one experience to each moment, but it has become stifling and I have briefly considered jumping in the Thames.

Since excelling at one’s current stage involves mastery of the previous stage, this leaves me in a pickle. I don’t feel that I emerged triumphantly from the Fidelity: Identity vs. Confusion stage. Studies have shown that those with a poor sense of self (me) tend to have less committed relationships (yes) and are more likely to suffer emotional isolation, loneliness, and depression (yes, yes and yes). Damn me for being a late developer.

So what is my subconscious trying to tell me – what am I giving up for Lent and indeed for life? To keep things very broad, this is a time in my life when I am realising just how many of my social peers, that I’d previously relied upon for validation and support, have grown divergently from me – or have stayed in exactly the same place. We’ve outgrown each other. Eventually we all have to choose with whom we want to surround ourselves, because like it or not, they’ll influence what we believe is possible for ourselves. Obviously this growing apart process is going to hurt, and in seeking the new connections I’m yet to make, I’m exposing myself to more hurt. And in between, yes, it’s going to be lonely.

What else am I giving up? Cherished notions, I suppose. A safe, cosy view of the future which I now believe isn’t my destiny. Closing my eyes and hoping for the best – that was always a favourite. I realise how much work I still have to do on myself before I can feel that I am truly authentic and ready to give the world, or at least those close to me, my gift. The gift that is the best of me.

Lastly, I became aware yesterday while stomping through London in a huff, that I am saying goodbye to this city, where I have spent on and off the last 12 years of my life, or to put it another way, my entire adult existence. In just over a week I will no longer be a Londoner, and it is my choice not to return to live here again.

I know in my rare strong moments that this too shall pass. I give myself a pat on the back for giving up my old ways of doing and looking at things. And not a moment too soon, some of my old behaviours. It’s not in my nature to cling to the past for comfort and reassurance. I’ve always been the sort to dream about the future. I’ve not experienced a yearning for ‘the way things used to be’ – perhaps because things always turn out kinda sh*t. Many people are unwilling to suffer the pain of giving up what has been outgrown. They cling forever to their old patterns of thinking and behaving, failing to negotiate the crisis of their time. To grow up is to experience the joyful transition that accompanies our many transitions into greater maturity and I for one am pleased to be on this journey, as f***ing hard as it is at times.

Love. Newness. Dependency. Cathexis.

While I’m somewhat stagnant in getting to my goals at the moment, I am spending more of my time connecting with fellow bloggers. Thrillingly, I see a lot of parallels between those whose journeys I find particular interesting, and my own. There is a common thread of love binding us, a vibration in our collective consciousness. We are individuals who write about self-discovery, spiritual empowerment, becoming better people, loving others, achieving good mental health. We share something. These bloggers have come into my life at a time when I am reaching a hand into the darkness.

I want to thank everyone that has showed me an alternative to self-hating, self-blaming and seeing the world as a hostile place. I understand now that it is my destiny to create something good for myself and others. This thing’ is my life’s work. I will make whatever it is from scratch and share it with others. I will use everything in me to make this a reality. I am entering into a vibration of its newness. I have written before about being in a transitional state, having lost lots of things and now readjusting. This is ongoing, but I am allowing myself to believe in the next step – aligning with the vibration of the good that it is in my power alone to manifest.

In the meantime, I am filling my cup with learnings from The Road Less Travelled by M. Scott Peck. In my last post I wrote about the idea that falling in love is essentially a trick played on us by biology, vs real love which Peck defines as “the will to extend one’s self for the purpose of nurturing one’s own or another’s spiritual growth”. Real love requires effort, discipline and commitment to growth, long after the butterflies associated with ‘falling in love’ have taken flight.

I very much enjoy Peck’s style which is at times as brutal as it can be gentle. On the subject of dependency, which is sometimes confused with love, Peck writes, “when you require another individual for your survival, you are a parasite on that individual”. Love is the free exercise of choice. It is when two people are quite capable of living separately, but choose to live with each other. Dependency, then, is “the inability to experience wholeness or to function adequately without the certainty that one is being actively cared for by another”. It is a pathological sickness, a mental illness or defect. Yet, every single one of us has desires to be cared for by someone stronger than us with no effort on our part.

I wonder how many of us can truly say we have never been dependent? I can’t. Though not dependent by nature (in fact, happiest when I can express my fierce independence in my own eccentric way), I have certainly been sucked into another’s dramatic dependency needs. I fostered dependency out of a misplaced sense of duty. Such passive-dependents are so busy seeking to be loved that they have no energy left to love. Their inner emptiness can never be filled, so they move from one partner to another, constantly seeking relationships that may while seeming intense and dramatic are in fact extremely shallow.

Genuine love is a self-replenishing activity in which the self is enlarged rather than diminished. It involves a change in the self, but one of extension rather than sacrifice. The aim of real love is always spiritual growth. Further, love is an action, not a feeling. A genuinely loving person will take a loving action even towards an individual she consciously dislikes. I am not this spiritually advanced yet, and I cannot guarantee that love towards my fellow man is always the choice I make. I am trying.

Peck makes a distinction between the action of real love and the feeling of cathecting. To cathect means ‘to invest emotion or feeling in (an idea, object, or another person).’ There is a misconception that love is a feeling because we confuse cathecting with loving. We can cathect a person without caring for their spiritual development. The passive dependent in fact usually fears the spiritual development of her cathected partner. Genuine love isn’t an overwhelming feeling, it is a committed decision.

I have been thinking about my mother and how all my life I’ve been the object of her cathexis. Her love for me is not such that she would like to see me grow to fulfil my unique potential, to be the very best I can be. Her love consists of keeping things the way they’ve always been. She wants to shield me from the outside world. She wants to keep me close, forever. She desperately seeks to influence me. Her love is conditional upon my upholding certain religious values and social conventions that she holds dear.

From the earliest age, I was taught that the world was a hostile place. My mother would scare me into believing that there were rapists and murderers hiding around every corner, waiting to pounce. My worldview growing up was that I had no power, and that those with power would abuse it. Bogeymen, ghosts, spirits and devils were real. I was taught to believe in a vengeful God that you can never please except through a lifetime of servitude and self-sacrifice. I thought, until surprisingly recently, that people were out to get me. Even those that seemed nice initially would turn ugly, according to her. Men were not to be trusted; no-one was.

The worldview and the coddling that she gave me served their purpose, and I love her for it. It is my triumph that despite some of the more distressing and regretful aspects I was forcefed growing up, I am not only being influenced by the wonderful, hopeful works of others but I can feel them changing me fundamentally all the way through.

Love & all who sail in her.

The Road Less Travelled is truly ground-breaking and so brilliantly brutal in some of the conclusions it draws and arguments it puts forward. What follows is a breakdown of Peck’s rebuttal of notions of romantic love, and how it differs (is actually at a polar extreme) from real love in that it doesn’t allow for enlargement of the self necessary for spiritual growth, but instead, temporary release from it.

So ‘falling in love’ is a specifically sex-linked experience. It occurs only when we are sexually motivated whether consciously or unconsciously. The feeling of ecstatic lovingness always fades.

To understand the inevitable ending of ‘falling in love’, he explores what psychiatrists call ego boundaries. When we are babies, we cannot distinguish between ourselves and the rest of the universe. When we are hungry, the world is hungry. When we move our legs, the world is moving. Through various stages of childhood and adolescent development, we learn our identity as individuals, the limits of our flesh and boundaries of our power.

Falling in love therefore represents a sudden collapse of one’s ego boundaries, permitting an individual to merge their identity with that of another.

In this respect, falling in love is a regression. It echoes a time when we were merged with our mothers in infancy. Feelings of omnipotence, much like a child at the age of two might have, make a comeback. What also reappears is the false sense that problems are no more, all boundaries can be overcome and loneliness has been banished.

Sooner or later, ego boundaries snap back into place and two separate identities re-emerge. Either the ties are dissolved or the individuals begin the work of real loving. Real loving occurs in a situation in which the feeling of loving is lacking; when we act lovingly in spite of how we feel, not because of it.

This is because falling in love is not an act of will. It happens even when it is inconvenient and undesirable. While we can choose how to respond to the experience of falling in love, we cannot choose to create the experience itself. Further, falling in love is not an extension of one’s ego boundaries, it is a temporary collapse of them. The experience requires no effort – those who are lazy and undisciplined fall in love just as easily as dedicated and disciplined ones.

From a biological point of view falling in love serves only to terminate loneliness and facilitate successful procreation. Spiritual development is not something that can be summoned through the process, as when we are in love we are at peace, striving no higher than what we already have achieved. Falling in love, according to Peck, is “a genetically determined instinctual component of mating behaviour”.

If that isn’t a passion-killer, I’m not sure what is. I’m sure I have come across the idea before as the book has been around since many years before I was even born, but it makes for an arresting, eye-opening read. As with most things that strike me as exceptional, it’s always better to know them and have the capacity to mull them over, than to ignore the more unpalatable truths that our society avoids dwelling on.

Every day I am making more of a conscious decision that an alternative lifestyle is where I’m headed. I don’t want to be fed on popular media that patronises and perpetuates myths that are flagrantly untrue. I refuse to work in a job which has no intrinsic purpose apart from the acquisition of wealth. Money is the most stupid, ridiculous reason to do anything. I reject spending my vital life energy in an environment which deadens the mind, and which is exactly what it was designed to do.

When I am insulted or misunderstood, I like it because it shows me that I am going the right way. I was told yesterday that I have “a sh*tty outlook on life”. I am delighted to hear such words because they remind me that I am destined for bigger and better things, far beyond what those unenlightened and conventional slaves to the system are even aware of. I’m designing my own philosophy of love, life, self and career.

I’ve been aware of it for a while but I am unconventional. I’ve tried to fight it and spent much of my twenties toeing the line. I thought that if I did the things that everyone else did, I’d truly want them too. I strove to be a normal girlfriend, to want normal material things, to work in a normal job, do normal things on a Saturday night and fit in with anyone who happened to be around me. For a while I kidded myself I was just like everyone else.

It never worked. My relationships were fraught, my friends were merely drinking buddies, I made myself depressed through work, I found emptiness in the things I bought, and drinking made me irresponsible and thoroughly unlikeable.

Now, everything has changed. All the trappings have gone. Friends have gone, my livelihood will change, my lifestyle has uncluttered, my life in England is coming to an end. Fundamentally my priorities have shifted. What is most important to me now, in this period of transition, is to be true to myself.

And then I realised I was the earthchild.

The title of this post comes from a creativity meditation I attended a couple of nights ago. I felt it strongly and powerfully and it made my aching soul sing just a little bit. I’ve been feeling strangely misaligned recently – that really is the best word for it. My intentions are out of kilter with my reality, my perception isn’t in accord with true nature, and I’m failing to see abundance and joy some of the time. I’m experiencing anger rising sometimes. I’m rubbing up against people’s bad sides. And I’m experiencing that most ungodly of all emotions: fear.

However this is just one small part of who I am today. Yes there’s fear, neuroticism, panic, worry, anger, paranoia and doubt. But there are also measures of true authenticity, joy, laughter, the ability to see absurdity, as well as magnetism, happiness and the pure sublime. Above all the feeling is freedom, which propels me forward in a world without limits.

My wishes for this most sacred of times, the winter solstice of the year 2014, are to trust myself, to live with authenticity and to see the abundance that is all around. I also wish to be kind to myself, although I find this concept the hardest to understand let alone put into practice. I wish to acknowledge some of my struggles of the past as I work hard to put them behind me. There is literally no time for the past.

A friend sent me the link today to an article which puts everything I wanted to say better than I ever could on this auspicious day. We learn that by facing up to our deepest, darkest emotions we can move forward.  I believe that no-one is broken and ‘healing’ is a redundant concept but I agree with the sentiment that self-forgiveness leads to the release of toxic and self-sabotaging patterns. However challenging this may prove to be, writing about it here is one of the steps to making it reality.

As part of the ‘releasing the darkness’ stage, we are urged to write an intention, and then burn the paper on which it is written, followed by smudging sage. I am not doing this myself because I can’t get my head around rituals yet, coming as I do from a tradition full of them, and finding pain and inauthenticity there. Rituals still freak me out. Nevertheless the words Syma Kharal uses are beautiful and I wanted to share them here:

“Dear Higher Self/God/Spirit/Universe: No matter what has happened in the past, I am now willing to release everything about it that brought me fear and pain. I surrender to you all that no longer serves me for healing, cleansing and purification. Help me to forgive and be forgiven by all involved. Align my vision that I may see everything from your enlightened perspective and move forward with wisdom, grace, strength and love. So be it.”

Speaking of rituals, it is my fond hope that in the future I overcome my fear of ritual and prayer, and participate in spiritual rituals in order to experience what’s called “liminality”, derived from the Latin limen meaning boundary or threshold. These boundaries might separate the sacred from the profane. A ritual is a dynamic and engaged creative prayer that allows us to set aside the time to recognise, honour and celebrate seminal aspects of life. I’m currently reading about this in ‘The Red Book’ by Sera Beak. The book is all about igniting one’s divine spark and is intended as a no-nonsense guide for young women.

It’s a very inspirational book that I wish I could have read fifteen years ago. But – no regretting the past in any way, shape or form, as the present time is all we have. That’s why the present is a gift. Beak writes that when we open ourselves up to the divine,

“[…] life becomes much  more flavorful. Profound meaning illuminates even the most mundane of events. My relationships deepen. My voice becomes clearer. My work excels. My personal issues become less draining and dramatic. I am less affected I require less outside approval. My self-confidence beams. I laugh more. I judge less. My sexuality roars. Random acts of kindness become a necessity, not just a whim. […] My perspectives are amplified. I see the world around me at much more than face value, and as a result, I make clearer choices across the board […] I realize I’m not just some well-dressed biped trudging through life but actually an incredibly powerful and integral piece of the divine pie.”

She’s a spunky chick and I aim to go deep with my learnings into my divine spark and how to enhance it and be true to myself. Remembering always that authentic divine truth never separates people from each other, countries from each other, religions from each other. I’m receiving the tiniest spark of divinity but it’s possible to smother it with too much kindling, or to let the fire go out without the right nurturing. I want to see this through. Intention is everything. There will be times when I am rude to people. There will be times I am frustrated and utterly disappointed. I will continue to be angry some of the time, because this is a divine part of me, but these will be fewer and further between, I hope, as intentions and reality align. I am the earthchild, I am divine, I am myself, I am everything and nothing.

“It’s all about paradox, mystery, meditation, sexuality, long walks, and momentous haircuts.” – Sera Beak, ‘The Red Book’.

abundance

Love is the drug.

I had some realisations about love recently. I don’t doubt that love is all that the universe is made from. I don’t doubt that to love is to live authentically. But I have my doubts about the existence of the love between two people in a romantic sense. This hit me like a punch in the stomach in the not so wee hours of yesterday morning, at a moment when I needed the kind of solace that only I can provide to myself. A shroud lifted and I felt strangely brighter. I felt relieved rather than saddened. It put an abrupt end to my epic and ridiculous nighttime weeping.

I’ve been living with more fear than I am used to because a few days ago I unexpectedly and suddenly ceased taking my anti-depressant paroxetine. I’ve found myself cold turkey just before Thanksgiving. The circumstances are somewhat convoluted but I will outline them so that others can see how easily these things can happen in the fractured world we live in. So, I came to the States a few weeks ago with a small supply of my anti-depressant, thinking that it would be easy enough to get hold of more. I intended for my friend to post me a couple of months’ supply, and provided her with the paper prescription. Unfortunately she informed me it turns out that all items entering the US through the postage system are scanned and medication isn’t allowed in.

My second idea was to see a doctor out here and get him to write me a prescription. Medical care is covered under my travel insurance so I thought I would claim back the costs of the physician visit plus the meds. Wrong. Because the meds treat a pre-existing medical condition, no costs associated with obtaining anti-depressants will be reimbursed by the insurance provider. And as the cost I was quoted was $220 for the appointment alone, I won’t be going down that route. My final idea was to buy from an online pharmacy, the kind that dispense anything you want without a prescription. After a bit of searching I was surprised to find the cheapest option would work out in excess of $2 per single 20mg pill for a small order. So that also isn’t going to work for me.

The upshot of all of this means going through real or imagined withdrawal symptoms of coming off paroxetine. These for me included complex and very disturbing dreams, severe difficulty falling asleep and staying asleep at any time of day, fear, anxiety, irritability, vertigo-like “welling up” short waves in my head not stomach, and bouts of crying for no ostensible reason. I did some research online and found that the following symptoms were reported in patients coming off Paxil. This is from the Royal College of Psychiatry website, with the rate of reported incidence in brackets:

anxiety (70%)
dizziness (61%)
vivid dreams (51%)
electric shocks/head zaps (48%)
stomach upsets (33%)
flu-like symptoms (32%)
depression (7%)
headaches (3%)
suicidal thoughts (2%)
insomnia (2%)

I have had all of them apart from suicidal thoughts. That’s probably a good one to skip out on.

While I didn’t plan coming off anti-depressants to be so sudden, I plan on weathering this storm. My doctor back home suggested staying on paroxetine until I am successfully installed in a more permanent and stable living arrangement in the UK, and I agreed with his advice but the non-availability of my drug here in the States has rather scuppered that plan. No matter though. I will stay off the meds even if by some weird chance there is a way for me to get my hands on more. I just hope the withdrawal symptoms abate soon. Not that I am letting that stop me from doing all the things I normally do, most of which includes “venturing into the complete unknown” which is awfully good fun.

The realisations I’ve had have made me feel somewhat disillusioned but at the same time grateful that a veil has been lifted that kept me encased in a bubble. I was willing to believe anything other than what was right in front of my eyes. Love is indeed all, and it’s simpler than I ever imagined. It is oneness without the complication of romantic relationships which are by their very nature confused, conflicting, contradictory, frustrating, complex and impossibly, horribly, resolution-free. I’ve heard it said  ‘let each soul walk its path’ and I understood the meaning of those words for the first time.

amor y respeto

How to be a social dynamo. And then some.

Thursday 30th October 2014

As part of my ongoing journey which has encompassed research on academic subjects, therapy for mental healing, and ideas for spiritual wellness, my personal development quest has taken me to the realm of social intelligence, and how I can improve mine. My interest was piqued when I heard about a group called Jaunty here in San Francisco that promises social mastery through use and understanding of social science, psychology, the science of attraction, neuroscience and human behaviour. The organisation calls itself ‘Higher education for social intelligence and people skills’ and is run by Eric Waisman.

It’s a really simple premise and one that is definitely in demand in this city – the class participants numbered over 20 and places were filled up well in advance. A lot of these people were at the top of their games in various fields, and wanted that edge that sets them apart. Social anxiety is an increasing problem for many individuals, and is it any surprise with the varied forms of communication in which we all partake, and the resultant disconnect from actual human beings?

It all starts with our old, reptilian brain which is responsible for our basic survival needs – feeding, fighting, flight and f**king. From that we evolved into our mammalian, ‘middle’ brain where love and bonding come from, with a decreased number of young and a long gestation period. Lastly is the newest part of our brain, the uniquely human logical brain which we use to analyse.

To enhance our social intelligence, we need to understand how all of these parts of the brain fit together, and sometimes overcome the more primitive parts which threaten to overwhelm us. For example a car crash seems to happen in slow motion because one’s senses open up, everything is on high alert, meaning you take in visual and auditory information that you wouldn’t normally. This was how it was for me when I was involved in a minor car crash twelve years ago, I remember each and every moment of it like it was yesterday: the other car not stopping, the sunroof shattering, the airbags inflating, the sound of the crash.

With practice we can avoid falling into the traps of the reptilian brain, which evolved to deal with threats to survival in a hostile world. Social intelligence is the ability to connect with and get others to get along with you. Let’s say we meet someone new. At the bottom of the attraction pyramid, the foundation on which everything else rests, is our status and our health. So we look at a person’s relative position in the social group, confidence, skillset and belief system, as well as external status such as wealth, possessions and power. This relates to the reptilian brain. Next up is the emotional connection which encompasses their intelligence, uniqueness and the uncertainty of what could happen, which we thrive on as humans. Right on top is the logical part in which we can apply our own rational analysis of this person. (Just as a tangent, confidence is defined as ‘getting as close as you can to mastering a skill’.)

Interestingly in the online dating game which I have had some experience of, this pyramid of attraction is inverted, as the first thing we use to make a judgment is our logical brain, then we make an emotional connection and finally when we get to meet them we can judge their status, health and hygiene! This theory of social dynamics is to my mind just one of the many reasons why online dating doesn’t work, except if you get two people of matching desperation.

We were taught seven skills which will hopefully help us to be social dynamos. They only work if they are practised regularly as by exercising the skills, you break the neural connections that the old reptilian brain has forged unhelpfully in response to non-existent threats – which results in social anxiety.

1. Body language
Anxiety is betrayed by the way you hold your body. Defensive stances cover and protect our vital organs. Open body language helps other people feel relaxed as well. Humans are contagious!
2. Conversational agility
Always have good stuff to say. It’s only awkward if you make it awkward! People respond to whatever you present them with. Make a situation seem like the most normal thing in the world! People will be like ‘Oh this is how we’re doing it, cool’.
3. Assertiveness
The ability to express your views, opinions, beliefs and feelings while respecting the other person. There’s aggressive, passive and assertive. If you truly have good, respectful intentions you are simply not responsible for the feelings of others. So just be assertive!
4. A sense of humour
5. Magnetism & charisma
The art of storytelling. The use of touch to create bonds. Sexual presence.
6. The approach & introduction
First impressions matter.
7. Mental pattern shifting
Positive reinforcement. The attitude ‘what’s stopping me?’

One thing I was surprised to learn about is the strength in vulnerability. We say snooty people stick their noses in the air but what they are really doing is exposing the most vulnerable part of their body – their throat. Moving slowly and deliberately helps to create an air of dignity and grace. I’m known by my friends for my jerky and unpredictable movements, which says it all really!

The exercises were awesome and this is where it really took off. Standing in a big circle, we locked eyes with someone across from us for a few seconds, then caught someone else’s eye. There was a lot of tittering. Then we paired off and were asked to look our partner in the eye for five whole minutes. A lot of people expressed difficulty at first, and the awkwardness seemed to come in waves before settling down. We were told to put aggression into our stares, then gratitude. We all really felt it, and my partner reported feeling a twinge when I first turned up the aggression. Regrouping in a circle, we repeated the staring-across-the-group exercise. This time, guess what, it was so much easier and everyone was happy because we’d spent five minutes overcorrecting, and thus crossed the boundary that made it awkward.

The next exercise was in verbal dexterity. It was a game of ‘threading’, or using our partner’s last conversational titbit as a springboard into one of our own stories, opinions or trivia on a totally different subject. We would latch onto one word they had said then turn it around on us, using the phrase ‘speaking of…’.Very simple and we all learned a lot even though some people said it felt a little weird to commandeer the conversation rather than overcoming nerves by asking questions about their partner’s conversational subject matter.

The final exercise was a ‘cold-reading’ and quite revealing. This is something you can do to bolster a person’s ego because you get to complement them! We followed a script which began ‘so what do you enjoy doing?’ they answer the question, and then it’s ‘so what is it about that activity that you like?’ And when they’re answered, your response is ‘It sounds like you’re a really [insert incredibly perceptive adjective here] sort of person.’ Repeat to fade. I got a comment back from someone that I was ‘introspective’, which kind of riled me a little because while pretty close to the bone, wasn’t that complementary. I said she was visionary.

I’m not sure if I’ll remember to put all of this into practice in my day to day living but I will try. The energy and the vitality of the group’s leader, touched us all and inspired us. There was something about the zany start-up culture that was evident in the company’s cool offices, way over-subscribed session and Eric’s infectious humour that I aspired to.

start with yourself

Inflammation, mutation, sex in the religious biosphere. A token mother rant.

Tuesday 28th October 2014

I’m going to continue my musings on how believe I religion is a virus after reading Darrel W. Ray’s excellent book. I had talked about the parallels between religion and a biological virus, both of them infect people, propagate the virus, create antibodies to make itself stronger, spread to viable targets using certain covert methods and ultimately take over the host to the point where they are no longer a useful, intelligent member of their wider society, and unknown even to themselves. So, the God virus infects the individual and inoculates that person against other viruses.

On a pathogenic level a strain of virus mutates over several generations. Mutations can either be eliminated by the original virus or as in biology they survive even the strongest defences and the mutated strains infect totally new populations such as Martin Luther’s god virus of the sixteenth century which swept through uneducated populations of northern Germany faster than the original Catholic virus had done a thousand years previously. Buddhism similarly swept through India from 480BCE – 180BCE which was a mutation of Hinduism; Islam in the Middle East from 600CE – 800CE.

Sometimes it pays to exist in a crowded religious biota or in the highly pluralistic Western world, as an ecosystem develops in which viruses actually depend on one another to strengthen each other, as well as giving the illusion of choice to the infected, but only where there is little threat to each competing pathogen. In Islam for example the polytheistic viruses that live side by side are weak in comparison. Judaism is not parasitic and Christian sects are fragmented. Islam is in fact the only virus to combine religious and political controls – it is institutionally incapable of separating the two.

Fundamentalism is an inflammation of the virus. Just like in human immune systems, inflammation is a tool for fighting infection but should only occur for a short time, until the threat has subsided. Otherwise, uncontrolled fundamentalism can feed on society itself, upending it, left unchecked. But unfortunately inflammation can continue even after the immediate threat has passed as in the case of hay fever and rheumatoid arthritis. Fundamentalism, and with it terrorism, serves the parent religion well for the short term but causes collateral damage to institutions and the very fabric of society after it has served its purpose and the usefulness of the inflammation has passed.

So what is the antidote to the virus?  Like a hangover there is no cure, only prevention. Time can also have a healing effect, but unlike a hangover, to many infected the effect of time only makes the virus stronger. A preventative measure as far as one exists is a solid education in the sciences.

“Rational parents want to raise well-educated and well-balanced children with full logical and critical faculties. But once infected, no parent is rational. As a result, parents are unable to teach their children critical thinking skills with respect to religion, especially their particular religion.” – Darrel W. Ray, ‘The God Virus’.

Infected parents use guilt and fear, more related to the emotion of shame which feeds off anxiety. They ensure that every available resource is utilised to infect the child. Thoughts are sure to evoke primal fear of letting god down and failing in the eyes of others. Anxieties in sex-negative religions such as the one I grew up with centre around sexual shame and guilt. This prevents rational discussion about sex and relationships.

I have always been privy to adult matters, even as a child. When I was undergoing therapy recently in the village where I was raised, my mother grew suspicious of me. I came home once and told her that I had been out at an appointment, and she demanded to know where. I told her only the name of the road, and later heard from my father that my mother believed I was sneakily visiting a childhood friend of mine (who in fact lives 130 miles away, incidentally) – and by simple virtue of his being a boy, of course mum had cooked up in her head a scenario in which he was living in her village, corrupting her angelic daughter.

I thought this was so disgusting and pathetic of her, on a few levels. It demonstrates total lack of trust, it represents invasion of privacy, it betrays her paranoia, and I think more than any of that it’s really f***ed up. She has raised me to be pretty much asexual – I’m not supposed to have a sexual side to my being until I get married. Yet when I exercise the teensiest bit of freedom while under her roof, the conclusion she jumps to is that I must be with a boy? And surely as she knows so much about my life over the twelve years I’ve been away, it must be that I’m seeing the one and only male that she knows I am close friends with?

Is there any wonder that having been raised by a woman who expects me (even now) to be a nun, I have always sought illicit thrills wherever I could? I actually avoided meaningful relationships until I was 23 years old, and I only then renounced sluttiness because a boy that loved me very much pursued me relentlessly for two years. Before him, I was so deliciously wrapped up in creeping around, getting drunk and laid wherever and whenever I could. It was a taboo in my household growing up, despite it being talked about a lot and having to keep my dad’s affairs secret – the idea that I might have boyfriends growing up was an unequivocal no-no. For my entire sexual youth I had no idea about respecting myself, being safe, and falling in love. For me, it was all about screwing. Love didn’t exist.

This is the f***ed up result of bad parenting from my mother. If there are any parents reading this who are infected by the god virus or just prefer to bury their heads in the sand as regards the subject of their young daughters having sex, don’t. Be real, be honest and wise up! It’s going to happen anyway, and if it doesn’t then you’ve raised a freak. Your daughter can either respect herself and not be embarrassed, or she can sneak around and get it from wrong ’uns who fuel her self-contempt because they don’t love her.

beautiful burnout

The problem of female violence.

I have been thinking about violence in women and the causes and upsets behind it. The following passage in ‘An Unquiet Mind’ triggered off my research.

‘Violence, especially if you are a woman, is not something spoken about with ease. Being wildly out of control […] is frightening to others and unspeakably terrifying to oneself. […] I remain acutely and painfully aware of how difficult it is to control or understand such behaviors, much less explain them to others. I have, in my psychotic, seizure-like attacks […] pushed to the utter edge people I love, and survived to think I could never recover from the shame. […]

After each of my violent psychotic episodes, I had to try and reconcile my notion of myself as a reasonably quiet-spoken and highly disciplined person, one at least generally sensitive to the moods and feeling of others, with an enraged, utterly insane, and abusive woman who has lost access to all control or reason.’ – Kay Redfield Jamison, ‘An Unquiet Mind’.

The book was written in 1996 but still holds painfully true. According to a study conducted in 2000 by Dr Malcolm George, a lecturer in neuroscience at London University, 50 per cent of those who initiate aggression are women. This isn’t self-defence. This is a woman who consciously decides to cross boundaries, just like her inexcusable male counterparts. One facet of my own violence I sought to understand was whether it was premeditated in some insane way, and I can only conclude that it isn’t. My violence occurs when either I don’t have the words or I’m not being heard and so to hit my partner seems like the only way to get his attention. I can relate to this, written by Nikki Gouldeman of Ravishly:

‘When I resorted to violence, it truly felt like my only recourse at a point of complete powerlessness –like I couldn’t effectively communicate the fury within me unless I resorted to primal, prototypically masculine violent rage. I was also, of course, lacking good sense, drunk as I was on a heady cocktail of confusion, hatred and breathless pain.’ – ‘Why Women Shouldn’t Be Excused for Violence Against Men’, Huffington Post, 27th May 2014

This sort of behaviour was a part of my own personality particularly when I used to drink a lot in my early twenties, and in a similar way, craved attention because of poor communication. It was senseless and self-serving. I would pass it off as funny, but I am sure others found it unacceptable. To be honest, I never saw it as a problem.

This 1997 article by Erin Pizzey, founder of a women’s shelter in Chiswick, describes women who enact disturbances out of proportion with acceptable and appropriate levels of distress. Such individuals Pizzey terms ‘family terrorists’, who quietly manipulate other family members into ‘uproar through guilt, cunning taunts, and barely perceptive provocations’. She writes, ‘Although the terrorist may be consciously aware only of the spouse’s alleged offence, the pain of this offence (real or imagined) is invariably an echo of the past, a mirrored recreation of some painful situation in the terrorist’s childhood’. Residual pain from childhood, whether experiencing it directly or through witnessing it amongst parents or siblings, may create a pathological addiction to physical and emotional violence or pain.

From my own perspective, I would not say my family home was one where domestic violence was prevalent but it certainly was present. With regard to my parents’ relationship with each other, my mother has never been violent physically but, as my father testified very recently, had a way of causing immense hurt with painful insults. My father on the other hand has hit my mother, and as a child I often heard objects used as missiles being hurled across the kitchen and stormy arguments after I had gone upstairs. I never saw injuries except to furniture but I believe their relationship was a tempestuous and sometimes violent one. I was certainly aware of this growing up. It didn’t end when, in 1994 after twenty years together, they divorced, as they remained in one another’s lives. I had not felt that their violence had an effect in making me some sort of emotional terrorist, and have never regarded my compulsions towards violence as an addiction, but I have to admit it has reared its ugly head in more than one relationship.

The further I go on this journey, the more inclined I am to believe that as a sufferer of mental illness and behavioural problems, I must help myself and learn to use the resources inside me. You can find a therapist to provide justification for every sort of wrongdoing. In the article by Pizzey, she details a case in which the ‘terrorist’ started seeing a feminist therapist who staunchly supported the erroneous view that all feelings behaviours are valid. Such reassurances serve only to fortify the terrorist’s already pathological, solipsistic, and eternally self-justifying perspective. I am not looking for excuses. I would like, quietly and without fanfare, to change the patterns in my nature.

‘[Female abusers] are often promiscuous, selfish, and narcissistic. So they use their moods, rages, and impulses to control people around her and she cannot be satisfied until all others come to admire her. Then these women choose deceit, fury, and assault to get their own way and then they revel in the addicting exhilarating emotional unrest that they have created. In doing that, she presents a false image of herself to conceal her true character; she is addicted to her own personality and feeds on the emotions of others, for she is a narcissist who is in love with herself.’ – Edward Steven Nunes, ‘Abusive and Violent Women in Relationships

splintered

There is something wrong with you.

I made a lot of mistakes and the best I can do is to prevent them from happening again. I was violent and a domestic abuser. There is no recourse from this in terms of what’s passed, but I can address the causes of my problem and resolve never, ever to take my anger out on another person physically or mentally. Violence is unacceptable, full stop. It’s a bitter pill to swallow, but only I have the power to change my negative patterns. I lost a good man because I couldn’t control my temper. I insulted, criticised, belittled and nobody on this earth deserves that

Oh life. The past sometimes seems to fall away so fast, but my failing has been never to learn from the errors of my ways even when I see them clearly. This is a change I have to make a lasting one. A permanent one.

The Seroxat continues to keep any ill feelings at bay. In Spain, my last week there, I was a bag of nerves. Back home though and two weeks on, I feel strong and positive and quite ridiculously happy. I will make sure I see my GP about the meds I am on. I’m not ready to start a course of therapy yet; I would like the dust to settle first. J voiced a concern to me last time we spoke, on our last meeting together in the house we shared. I have not shaken it out of my head yet. In the same way that some people feel suicidal urges during the first few weeks of taking Seroxat, it is possible that I ended the relationship in the same way that some unfortunates choose to end their lives. The drug gives you a blasé attitude, where you feel able to rise above whatever contingent circumstances you happen to be in, and believe that nothing really matters – there’s always an easy way out. When under the influence of certain anti-depressants difficult problems don’t deserve tackling when you can just eliminate the problem entirely.

I had a painful conversation with my father, in which I chose to be open and honest about the serious matters that had arisen in my relationship. I had never spoken to him before about my violence and all I wanted from the conversation was simply to communicate to him that the problem has caused me and others deep personal pain. I didn’t want him feeling sorry for me or getting the wrong end of the stick as regards who was the victim. I managed to convey to him what happened in a nutshell – and his response showed me that he really understood. He thought and spoke slowly, “physically, mentally, spiritually, there is something wrong with you.” I’ve got a long way to go on this journey of life, but being heard and understood is fundamental and gives me hope and courage. I don’t see what he said as insulting in the slightest.

I am reading Kay Redfield Jamison’s ‘An Unquiet Mind’, after reading her memoir of life with her husband who eventually died of lung cancer, entitled ‘Nothing Was The Same’. In ‘An Unquiet Mind’ there was a passage that struck home. Jamison and her schoolfriends perceive the local loony bin as the world of the mad. Jamison muses,

“Despite the fact I had no obvious reason to believe that I was anything else but passably sane, irrational fears began to poke away at my mind. I had a terrible temper, after all, and though it rarely erupted, when it did it frightened me and anyone near its epicentre. It was the only crack, but a disturbing one, in the otherwise vacuum-sealed casing of my behaviour. God only knew what ran underneath the fierce self-discipline and emotional control that had come with my upbringing. But the cracks were there, I knew it, and they frightened me.”

I wonder what lies underneath my cracks. I’m going to find out, but there’s no rush. It’s OK to be boring. It’s OK to live a quiet life, and to be slow. I enjoy my art work and I’m making again. It’s OK to be happy for every moment. There’s dignity in that. And I love my life.

 

all I see

Untwining the ties.

Tuesday 26th August 2014

I’m in the process of disentangling my life from J’s. This isn’t the place to go into detail, but needless to say, it is draining and traumatic. I returned to the UK two nights ago, full of feeling suddenly. It was like being awakened from stasis. At my first sight of Britain, tears rolled down my cheek and my face kept breaking into a smile. I have never been so relieved to be home. Finally the nightmare is over, I feel OK, I can talk to people, I have an appetite and I see freedom from J’s world.

This brings with it an inordinate amount of sadness. I see him and feel him everywhere. I left him in his town in Spain, having gone there to pick up my things and give my car to him. He was the saddest person I’d ever seen. Watching him weeping next to me, it was as if a little bit of me died. And it has, really. I am grieving. I’ve lost J – truly the best influence on my life, the person I loved above all others.

weight-in-palmA Letter to J

It is breaking my heart but I cannot be in this relationship any longer. I love you but I can’t keep doing this to myself and to you.

I am sorry for all my bad behaviour. I have some serious personal issues that won’t go away by acting good.

You are right, I have cried wolf too many times and I understand that you cannot trust me anymore.

I think you would benefit from ending up with somebody calm, intelligent, creative, mature, patient and kind. I am none of those things. I am erratic, defensive, moody, conventional, stupid, selfish, weak and immature. I seemed to wind you up and upset you, even when I genuinely believe I am being kind and helpful.

I have always believed that I didn’t deserve you and perhaps my behaviour exemplifies this on some subconscious level.

The idea of us being together was so thrilling but the reality is conflict upon conflict.

Both of us are very sensitive to criticism which sometimes made it impossible to have even one normal day, without the drama.

You already know how I feel about you and I stand by it. You are so intelligent, wonderfully kind and patient, loving and forgiving, ambitious, thoughtful and practical, very funny and free-spirited, talented, brave and imaginative, and above all, the most special person in the world to me.

I wish you all the best in everything you do and I will always remember the good times we had with affection. Thank you truly for everything you have shown me, given me and taught me.

Always in my heart.

X

Intermittent Explosive Disorder / Borderline Personality Disorder.

Monday 25th August 2014

In my research on the internet I have unearthed information about a couple of conditions that I might have. I know, I know, I recently thought I might have psychopathic leanings but that was probably brought on by moments of excessive self-doubt and the unhealthy relationship I am (was?) in taking its toll and bringing out my worst sides. The reality of my being a psychopath is far from possible. I don’t lie very much or very convincingly and have a very developed sense of responsibility toward myself and others. Moreover I am too self-aware of own propensities which psychopaths are not.

More likely, it’s possible I have Intermittent Explosive Disorder. It sounds made up but it’s real. At the risk of pinning the tail on a scapegoat, I have been thinking more broadly about my behaviour in relations with friends, partners and my parents over the course of my whole life. I identify with all the risk factors for the condition.

  • Recurrent outbursts that demonstrate an inability to control impulses, including either of the following:
    • Verbal aggression (tantrums, verbal arguments or fights) or physical aggression that occurs twice in a weeklong period for at least three months and does not lead to destruction of property or physical injury (Criterion A1)
    • Three outbursts that involve injury or destruction within a year-long period (Criterion A2)
  • Aggressive behavior is grossly disproportionate to the magnitude of the psychosocial stressors (Criterion B)
  • The outbursts are not premeditated and serve no premeditated purpose (Criterion C)
  • The outbursts cause distress or impairment of functioning, or lead to financial or legal consequences (Criterion D)
  • The individual must be at least six years old (Criterion E)
  • The recurrent outbursts cannot be explained by another mental disorder and are not the result of another medical disorder or substance use (Criterion F)

I have to get used to talking about my violence. It sounds so strange that phrase, ‘my violence’.  Looking at me, quiet as a mouse most of the time, it would seem inconceivable to a stranger that I have done the things I’ve done. Hit an ex in the eye. Rip an ex’s phone in two and destroy it with a hammer. Pull down friends in the street and sit on their backs, squashing their faces into the pavement. Yank J’s fingers back so far that they still hurt when he makes a fist ten months later. Leave red fingernail marks on J’s face. Punched him while he was totally off-guard. That’s not to mention the verbal aggression; I’ve called people, some of them strangers, awful things that express so much hatred. I’ve had the police called on me, been chucked out of a hostel, a student union, pubs and nightclubs.

A commenter on my blog voiced an idea that I might have Borderline Personality Disorder. I have done a little research on this too, including some online personality quizzes. Guess what, I score high on the symptoms on every test. This from Psych Central

Psych Central BPD assessment

Wikipedia says: ‘The most distinguishing symptoms of BPD are marked sensitivity to rejection, and thoughts and fears of possible abandonment. Overall, the features of BPD include unusually intense sensitivity in relationships with others, difficulty regulating emotions and impulsivity. Other symptoms may include feeling unsure of one’s personal identity and values, having paranoid thoughts when feeling stressed and severe dissociation.’

Yup, yup and yup! I’m going to dwell on too much as them as diagnosis requires a psychiatric evaluation. Certainly something to think about. I think I would feel like less of a freak if I could have a label which would go some way to explaining my errant behaviour. All my life I have felt like there’s something wrong, but we’re told to ignore it, be happy and get on with things. I’ve been sweeping this under the rug for too long.

Blame, love & my violence.

Monday 18th August 2014

Exactly one year ago I wrote an entry in my diary, and put a reminder in my calendar for 18th August 2014. Today, I saw ‘J day’ in the calendar and after puzzling about it for a moment, opened up my diary and with a heavy heart had a look what I’d promised to myself twelve long months ago.

Sunday 18th August 2013

The meaninglessness here continues. I can’t find my stride here […] Spain leaves me cold (ironically). […]This isn’t for me somewhere I can thrive and make those important changes in life, because I am so dependent on someone else for the first time in my life. And that’s not a good starting point for a highly personal journey if that relationship isn’t full of support and encouragement and lightness, love and laughter. Which it isn’t. […]

The journey can’t start yet because this isn’t the place where I am to grow and change into the mature, calm and stable person I catch glimpses of from time to time. I remain absolutely sure that J can be my partner on this journey however. He was the one that convinced me I could be a better person.

I think I need to have a date in my mind where if things don’t get better, I get out. Why not a year from today. 18th August 2014, and if things aren’t already on an even keel, then I get out of it. If he hasn’t already dumped me by then, that is. He’s got very very close to dumping me more than once. Of course every relationship has ups and downs but this is ridiculous! We can’t even be ourselves around each other because we just f***ing argue all the f***ing time. […]

I just want J and me to be gentle with each other’s feelings and to be kind and considerate all the time. Not in an intense way, just to have quiet – silent – respect for each other rather than searing rage and contempt. Any small matter will set it off. It’s like a pressure cooker that’s ready to blow and just a little nudge on that valve will release a violent torrent of offensive build-up that rings in your ears and leaves a bad taste in your mouth for days and days and days. And like this, the wound never really gets the chance to heal. If it ever does, who knows, we might find that, after all, we aren’t compatible, or one of us doesn’t want the other one, but until a year’s time, I am going to keep trying, no matter what the emotional cost.

When I wrote that, I could not have comprehended how much worse things would get. I thought that what was happening in August 2013 was as low as we could go. How wrong I was. Back then I was blaming J as much as myself, convinced that if only he’d stop drinking so much or start listening to me more or stop being so oversensitive or if only we were in England, none of it would be happening.

How I’ve changed since then is that I realise the error is with me – it is always with me. I regret what I’ve done to us, making a kind, happy-go-lucky man who had already been through so much, into a monster. I regret having given in to my anger one too many times. Unfortunately it’s become clear over time that I’ve been unable to cope with life with my partner, without the readymade structure and meaning such as through being in employment. Living in a foreign and pretty unwelcoming land was also tough, or perhaps that’s just an excuse. I lashed out in every way I could and brought him down to my level every time. I nitpicked, criticised, provoked and twisted the knife. I carried on doing this until last week when our unexpected separation forced an end to my sick and disgusting behaviour.

Too many times I had been the initiator of violence. At the end of April this year we were in Belgium for a working holiday. I blogged about the aftermath but I never went into the details of what happened because I was just too ashamed. I punched him repeatedly in the face simply for having fallen asleep in the hotel room after a night of drinking when I returned with a kebab for us. I should have walked out there and then. Instead, I apologised profusely and beat myself up for weeks and still do. We moved on somehow, a testament to his caring nature, but I have no right to expect him to forgive me as I overstepped a boundary from which there’s no returning.

I am devastated and confused, I can’t function. I stare at the wall and can’t focus on any task, not that I have anything to do here. I can’t eat, I can’t think. I can’t sleep or concentrate enough even to watch TV. My only task, really, is staying as mentally healthy as I can, trying not to spiral any further into misery.

Putting things right.

Sunday 17th August 2014

 In seeking absolute truth we aim at the unattainable, and must be content with finding broken portions. – William Osler, Canadian physician

There are some things I would like to put right, before resuming normal transmission. It seems that writing this blog has got me into questionable moral territory with J, my partner. I have hurt him with the things I wrote in the last post which in his opinion were not an accurate reflection of the truth, and for that I apologise unreservedly. My intention through writing via the very public medium of blogging is not to injure someone else’s reputation, nor to strike out when I am hurt, nor to cause suffering and pain to anyone. But, I am aware that inadvertently I may have done all of those things.

I certainly don’t want to live through my blog and I am aware of some of the more unhealthy aspects of blogging such as caring more about your online life than the real world, the need to enlarge one’s readership, being wrapped up in your own story, appealing for validation and craving your truth to be as salacious and dramatic as possible.

I have a voice on this platform because I am looking to connect with others, yes, but first and foremost this blog is a journal of my hopefully improving mental health and spiritual awakening, anonymous and not connected to other online aliases or my real name.

For that reason, I stand by what I have written, for my last post was my interpretation of traumatic events in their immediate aftermath. Truth, as much as we would like to believe otherwise, is subjective, experienced through each of us differently due to our histories, filters, perceptions and all the other baggage we bring to the table. Our individual and highly personal versions of reality serve to confirm or challenge what we already believe.

So, without dwelling too much on what’s passed, here is my truth for what it’s worth. I have been a violent person. On more than one occasion, I have been the perpetrator of domestic abuse. As such, it was my duty to leave the relationship the very first time I struck out at my partner because violence in this context is always unforgiveable. 

But I didn’t leave after the first incident. Nor did I leave the second or third time. I begged for forgiveness – and J to his eternal credit gave me some semblance of forgiveness but, alas, the memory of unprovoked violence never really fades away. A lot of commenters on this blog have offered me support as I painted a picture of being the victim of physical domestic violence, even though I pointed out I was not the victim. I wish to point out unequivocally that I am not the victim of abuse. I never have been, in my current relationship or any other.

J sent me the following email, 3 days ago.

tj I just read your blog. Please stop spreading slanderous rumours. The truth is you were violent to me, yet again and I struggled to get away from you, you continued to rip my clothing and we wrestled to the ground, you tried to wrestle me to the ground and then I broke free actually, then i pushed you away from the door so i could get out. You repeatedly punched me with all your might in the face in Belgium when i was asleep and then repeatedly tried to punch me the first few mad contact in the face and neck, then you tried and succedded to claw me when I managed to grab your arms, i tried to calm you down, but you were in your very violent mood, even your father says you have a terrible anger and its well known that you hit people, thats why they avoid you, right?

I ask you to correct your blog to reflect the truth, and if you cant then to remove any implication that i was violent to you please. Its just not right.

I believe in some un healthy way you are enjoying this, its like a movie to you, well it isnt to me. I loved you very much and have been far to patient, tolerant and forgiving, thats why you think its ok to walk all over me.

I appeal to you kind nature, which i know you have in abundance wrapped up somewhere under all that anger from your childhood. Please remove the slanderous comments, it is not acceptable and you know that.

I really hope you are safe wherever you are and comfortable and continue with your therapy, it very admirable that you want to do so, but please stop punishing me.

You know I only ever want the best for you, but i cant put up with this.

J

J had been patient with me for too long, he’s right. Eventually he snapped because all his efforts were met with yet more rage and violence. My violence. All those promises I made that I would sort myself out, make resolutions to change, go to therapy to break my negative patterns, go teetotal, gain dominion over my emotions more effectively – they were all essentially hollow and did not individually or collectively do any good in repairing what I had already broken. How could they?

J’s mistake in his opinion was being too patient, tolerant and forgiving. I can’t refute that. His mistake was to carry on a relationship with an abuser that he could not trust and will never trust again.

I am sorry for all the damage I have caused. I am the one that has to live with myself knowing that I’ve broken somebody that I love. I have to live with the knowledge that I have continually struggled to control my temper and one day that might lead me to serious trouble. I have to live with myself.