Abandonment issues. I have them. It's not surprising. A large number of people do. They come in varying degrees with their own fun bundle of effects and spin off neuroses. It's not shocking that my parents are divorced and my dad is a verbally abusive drunk. He never spent much time with me at all. He always preferred my older brother, and even then that's not saying much. He wasn't the parent type and enjoyed sleeping around under the mask that the Navy provided. He'd sleep around when he was out to sea and he'd stay on the ship and pretend to work when he came back to port. He was never around, so I shouldn't have cared when he left.
In theory.
But he did leave, and I did care. I withdrew even more than my introverted self normally did. I internalized and made myself very sick. My brother became angry and lashed out, my mother grew bitter and depressed, and I was left to solve it on my own. I reasoned that everything bad that happened - the attitudes of my brother and mother, the coldness and hatred of my grandparents, the physical and emotional pain I felt, and the poverty - stemmed from his leaving. The more I observed and felt, the more I was assured of this.
As I grew older, people came into my life and left - usually after drenching me in hateful words, leaving me in a low and dark place. Every time someone left me, they did so in a dramatic and cruel way. It didn't help that when I was alone, I internalized and brooded over things. It didn't help that I distrusted people and mostly hated them, nor that wearing masks of who they expected me to be was exhausting. I hated people, and I hated them leaving me behind.
Now, I am alone again for the first time in... years. My fiance has a new job that's mostly travel. The house is empty and too quiet. It started again.
First, the gloom. The thick cloud settled over me and held me down. I spent most of Sunday in bed, asleep. Then came the stress. I'm not very domestic (I loathe it) and only clean/organize when I'm stressed. I scrubbed the bathroom in detail with a small brush, getting every single nook and cranny. Just like clockwork, the shaking followed. I'm jittery and my hands are shaking terribly. It makes it hard to write or do a lot of other things. I know what is to follow: more depression, eventually cleaning the entire house obsessively, bathing obsessively, sleeping a lot, refusing to eat, and then not sleeping at all.
I'll have to learn to cope. For the next two years, I'm on my own. I'll only see him for one weekend every two months. I've accepted that I can't make friends in person; my misanthropy keeps that from happening. I plan on getting another job - one outside of my home with a boss and with coworkers that I see in person; most physical labor is out of the question due to my broken body from a very reckless youth. I wonder if having a job that makes me interact with people will keep me busy or will make things worse.
I guess we'll see.
Monday, December 1, 2014
Monday, October 20, 2014
Clearing Negativity: A Lesson from M
My last two posts were full of anger and sadness, and I think it's time to clear out that negativity. I removed those posts because spreading my anger and grief helps no one, not even me. It only makes the world that much darker. I've changed them to drafts and they'll stay there as a reminder to me. This post will be uplifting (sort of). I have a wise friend, M. He's always tried to help me. The following section is an interview/conversation we had for the purpose of this post (and for my sake, too).
M: When we care about some one and they do something to hurt us, it cuts deeply. The more we care about the person, the more it effects us. We can brew a lot of negativity this way, and that negativity is unhealthy. It can make us physically ill and disrupt our daily lives. We need to clear the air.
Me: It's hard because I'm still so angry right now.
M: You need to explore those feelings in order to let go of them. State them simply and honestly. Be very clear and direct.
Me: She says I always make her the bad guy. But I feel like that she always says that to make me feel guilty for being angry. I feel that she says things with the intent of inflicting pain. Maybe she's being honest. Whether or not she means what she says, she succeeds in making me feel angry, hated, and depressed. I understand that she is upset. I feel that most of it is her own doing. I have seen it with others. She works things up in her mind during the silence and the pauses and - instead of using the time to calm down and think objectively - she allows her anger to fester, posting things where she knows the other will see them and then deleting them when she's sure they have. This keeps them from calming down and moving on. With the exception of today, I haven't done that. But today, I just had to get it off my chest.
M: Let's think of it from her view - or try to. From all the messages you took a screenshot of for me, I can see the exact point where she starts to get touchy. You didn't pick up on the defensive cues, but they were there. Clearly something else has been bugging her that you didn't take into consideration.
Me: There is a guy. But I don't think that gives her the right to be such a jerk.
M: No, and it went on. She seems to have mistaken the pause where you were typing out an explanation of what she asked, for you being annoyed. This clearly put her in defense mode. Then when the accidental message was sent, that's where the conflict started. She probably felt attacked and like you were losing patience. She then leaped to the attack, which upset you and you lost your temper.
Me: I just feel so sick of always having to pick up on every little cue just so that she won't jump to conclusions. Sometimes accidents happen like that. Sometimes things slip through the cracks and she takes it the wrong way. I'm just tired of her immediately jumping on me and beating me down, then acting like it's my fault that she misunderstood.
M: Have you told her this?
Me: Many, many, many times.
M: Then there is nothing you can do but let it go. Take a deep breath. Imagine this conflict as a stone cube. Tear away a chunk of your anger. Inhale. Ball up the chunk of anger. Exhale. Inhale and let it go on the exhale. Imagine it floating up into the sky and disappearing from view beyond the atmosphere. Let's move on to the next.
Me: She keeps posting things everywhere I go. In my feed, on other site statuses. She keeps saying how I'm inconsiderate, a bad friend, how I don't care about her emotions. This not only stabs me deep because of how tirelessly I work to act like normal people, to pretend to feel the same emotions but also because she knows what I am. But she doesn't care. She doesn't care in the sense that she always thinks of how a situation effects her and how she feels. I doubt she's thinking of my point of view and what I might be going through. She just goes through her life doing and saying what she wants, and when there's a conflict, she throws a huge tantrum. She only apologizes when she feels like it, and never means it. And when she apologizes, I've noticed (but ignored) that she'll slip passive aggressive things in there to make me feel bad - one last jab. Like "I'm sorry that I'm horrible. I'll work harder on concealing my emotions and pretending that I'm okay even when I'm not." That's not an apology. That's a slap in the face. But I let it go because for some reason, I just want to be friends again.
M: You're feeling resentment because you feel she's being passive aggressive and that she seeks to "accidentally" hurt you while seeming to vent. Then when she apologizes, she doesn't mean it and seeks to keep throwing barbs at you while vowing to close herself off in some sort of silent punishment to both you and her.
Me: Exactly.
M: Her possible side of this is that she just wants the fight to be over too, but she's still upset.
Me: Then she should just say that. She could just say that she wants to let things go back to normal while we heal. That we should speak again and try to repair the damage, rather than all these negative and thinly veiled attempts at making me hurt.
M: It's possible that she's human, like everyone. She makes mistakes and when she's hurt she seeks to hurt back. If she feels she's not getting anything from you - negative or otherwise (you do keep distance when you're mad), she could be seeking to provoke some reaction to feel like you still care one way or the other.
Me: It still sucks.
M: Consider that your distance could be hurting her. Take a deep breath and hold it. Think of this frustration and lack of communication. Exhale. Take half of that cube and ball it up. Ball up your resentment. Pack it up tightly and coil your body inward. Pull it tight until you feel you can't make yourself any more compact. Take a deep breath in through your nose, hold it and count to five. Now, slowly exhale through your mouth as you allow your body to loosen and expand, imagining the ball floating upward and disappearing as the first. And now the last.
Me: She keeps saying that she gives up. That she's done. That I win. I don't think there's winning in an argument. Everyone is hurt and everyone loses. There is no winning. But what hurts most - more than anything that's happened - is that she gives up. It's only been five hours. I've been trying to calm down and she gave me less than five hours before she was ready to write our whole friendship off and everything we've been through over her thinking that message was meant for her. It wasn't even a negative message! To anyone! She just took it that way, snapped at me, I snapped back, and then that was apparently all it took to destroy a relationship. I felt like she was my sister and this is how it ends? She's done? Just like that? She wouldn't even give me twenty-four hours to get my head on straight. Not even a day.
M: As you've said, silence makes it worse for her. Where you're not communicating, it's snowballing. It's possible that five hours of silence from you made this problem colossal and that's what destroyed it. Not the pebble, but a great boulder.
Me: So we're not friends anymore?
M: If she's made up her mind, there's nothing you can do. If she throws away a friendship over a misunderstanding and lack of communication while you calm down, perhaps she didn't value it as much as you did. Perhaps while you saw her as a sister, she saw you as less than that. To you, this relationship was strong. But if she can give it up, to her it didn't matter. If it's one-sided, then it wasn't healthy. Give it a bit more time. If she wants to talk, she will. If she doesn't, you have your answer.
Me: What do I do with the last piece?
M: Smash it. Find a pillow and swing away until you can't anymore. You have to sometimes just punch the pain out. Guys punch each other. (I'm not condoning violence. That's just what guys do. They beat each other up and then they're friends again.) You punch a pillow. And remember to breathe. What will happen, will happen.
M: When we care about some one and they do something to hurt us, it cuts deeply. The more we care about the person, the more it effects us. We can brew a lot of negativity this way, and that negativity is unhealthy. It can make us physically ill and disrupt our daily lives. We need to clear the air.
Me: It's hard because I'm still so angry right now.
M: You need to explore those feelings in order to let go of them. State them simply and honestly. Be very clear and direct.
Me: She says I always make her the bad guy. But I feel like that she always says that to make me feel guilty for being angry. I feel that she says things with the intent of inflicting pain. Maybe she's being honest. Whether or not she means what she says, she succeeds in making me feel angry, hated, and depressed. I understand that she is upset. I feel that most of it is her own doing. I have seen it with others. She works things up in her mind during the silence and the pauses and - instead of using the time to calm down and think objectively - she allows her anger to fester, posting things where she knows the other will see them and then deleting them when she's sure they have. This keeps them from calming down and moving on. With the exception of today, I haven't done that. But today, I just had to get it off my chest.
M: Let's think of it from her view - or try to. From all the messages you took a screenshot of for me, I can see the exact point where she starts to get touchy. You didn't pick up on the defensive cues, but they were there. Clearly something else has been bugging her that you didn't take into consideration.
Me: There is a guy. But I don't think that gives her the right to be such a jerk.
M: No, and it went on. She seems to have mistaken the pause where you were typing out an explanation of what she asked, for you being annoyed. This clearly put her in defense mode. Then when the accidental message was sent, that's where the conflict started. She probably felt attacked and like you were losing patience. She then leaped to the attack, which upset you and you lost your temper.
Me: I just feel so sick of always having to pick up on every little cue just so that she won't jump to conclusions. Sometimes accidents happen like that. Sometimes things slip through the cracks and she takes it the wrong way. I'm just tired of her immediately jumping on me and beating me down, then acting like it's my fault that she misunderstood.
M: Have you told her this?
Me: Many, many, many times.
M: Then there is nothing you can do but let it go. Take a deep breath. Imagine this conflict as a stone cube. Tear away a chunk of your anger. Inhale. Ball up the chunk of anger. Exhale. Inhale and let it go on the exhale. Imagine it floating up into the sky and disappearing from view beyond the atmosphere. Let's move on to the next.
Me: She keeps posting things everywhere I go. In my feed, on other site statuses. She keeps saying how I'm inconsiderate, a bad friend, how I don't care about her emotions. This not only stabs me deep because of how tirelessly I work to act like normal people, to pretend to feel the same emotions but also because she knows what I am. But she doesn't care. She doesn't care in the sense that she always thinks of how a situation effects her and how she feels. I doubt she's thinking of my point of view and what I might be going through. She just goes through her life doing and saying what she wants, and when there's a conflict, she throws a huge tantrum. She only apologizes when she feels like it, and never means it. And when she apologizes, I've noticed (but ignored) that she'll slip passive aggressive things in there to make me feel bad - one last jab. Like "I'm sorry that I'm horrible. I'll work harder on concealing my emotions and pretending that I'm okay even when I'm not." That's not an apology. That's a slap in the face. But I let it go because for some reason, I just want to be friends again.
M: You're feeling resentment because you feel she's being passive aggressive and that she seeks to "accidentally" hurt you while seeming to vent. Then when she apologizes, she doesn't mean it and seeks to keep throwing barbs at you while vowing to close herself off in some sort of silent punishment to both you and her.
Me: Exactly.
M: Her possible side of this is that she just wants the fight to be over too, but she's still upset.
Me: Then she should just say that. She could just say that she wants to let things go back to normal while we heal. That we should speak again and try to repair the damage, rather than all these negative and thinly veiled attempts at making me hurt.
M: It's possible that she's human, like everyone. She makes mistakes and when she's hurt she seeks to hurt back. If she feels she's not getting anything from you - negative or otherwise (you do keep distance when you're mad), she could be seeking to provoke some reaction to feel like you still care one way or the other.
Me: It still sucks.
M: Consider that your distance could be hurting her. Take a deep breath and hold it. Think of this frustration and lack of communication. Exhale. Take half of that cube and ball it up. Ball up your resentment. Pack it up tightly and coil your body inward. Pull it tight until you feel you can't make yourself any more compact. Take a deep breath in through your nose, hold it and count to five. Now, slowly exhale through your mouth as you allow your body to loosen and expand, imagining the ball floating upward and disappearing as the first. And now the last.
Me: She keeps saying that she gives up. That she's done. That I win. I don't think there's winning in an argument. Everyone is hurt and everyone loses. There is no winning. But what hurts most - more than anything that's happened - is that she gives up. It's only been five hours. I've been trying to calm down and she gave me less than five hours before she was ready to write our whole friendship off and everything we've been through over her thinking that message was meant for her. It wasn't even a negative message! To anyone! She just took it that way, snapped at me, I snapped back, and then that was apparently all it took to destroy a relationship. I felt like she was my sister and this is how it ends? She's done? Just like that? She wouldn't even give me twenty-four hours to get my head on straight. Not even a day.
M: As you've said, silence makes it worse for her. Where you're not communicating, it's snowballing. It's possible that five hours of silence from you made this problem colossal and that's what destroyed it. Not the pebble, but a great boulder.
Me: So we're not friends anymore?
M: If she's made up her mind, there's nothing you can do. If she throws away a friendship over a misunderstanding and lack of communication while you calm down, perhaps she didn't value it as much as you did. Perhaps while you saw her as a sister, she saw you as less than that. To you, this relationship was strong. But if she can give it up, to her it didn't matter. If it's one-sided, then it wasn't healthy. Give it a bit more time. If she wants to talk, she will. If she doesn't, you have your answer.
Me: What do I do with the last piece?
M: Smash it. Find a pillow and swing away until you can't anymore. You have to sometimes just punch the pain out. Guys punch each other. (I'm not condoning violence. That's just what guys do. They beat each other up and then they're friends again.) You punch a pillow. And remember to breathe. What will happen, will happen.
Why I Don't Have Female Friends - And Why I Want To Keep This One
She was emotional, fragile, immature. She constantly made assumptions
and picked fights when things didn't go her way. She demanded special
treatment and pouted when refused. Somehow, through all of this, I had
come to call her friend. But I was starting to wear thin. Everything was so dramatic with her. One small fracture in her perfect world and she was ready to end it all.
Meanwhile, I had to sit there and comfort her. I had to make her feel better because I was her friend and I cared. On the inside: I have never had an easy day in my life. Abuse. Neglect. Being moved from place to place, school to school, home to home. Crumbling, infested buildings where I didn't even have a bedroom. Where I kept my things in my mum's room and slept in the hallway or on the couch. Being beaten up daily by my sibling and kids from school. More suicide attempts than I'll ever admit, starting as young as when I was eight. Anorexia. Self harm. Drugs. Anything to make it stop. Sneaking out, being reckless, moving from boyfriend to boyfriend in a desperate search for love and worth. Being beaten by some boyfriends. Cutting myself in concealed places so no one would notice: my stomach, my thighs, ribs, chest. Crying myself to sleep every single night for years. Friends telling my secrets to the whole school. Being blackmailed by them. My closest friend lying to my brother by saying I was a lesbian (among many other false claims), which resulted in a huge family fight that almost got me given up for adoption. And here you are. You can't go somewhere you want? The world suddenly isn't worth living in. Your mum can't give you something you wanted? She must not love you. A friend didn't want to put up with you for one measly day because they are having a hard enough day without your mood swings? You go full emo and talk about how the world is cruel and unloving.
I was angry. I tried to reason that to someone with a life such as hers, these must seem like terrible hardships. Perhaps there was more to it than I was told. But with each of these episodes, it became harder and harder to find some sort of explanation in my mind. I tried to be good. I did. I tried to listen and help, to put things into realistic perspective, to give her a dose of tough love or reality for her own good - because one day, she would be out in the world and see how things really are. And because I love her like a sister, I wanted to make the transition into a real and hard life as smooth as possible. I even offered to let her come live with me. To help her pursue her dreams, whatever they may be. I gave what little I had so that she could feel loved.
But no.
Today, I was having one of the hardest in a while. Several small, but important issues merged into one gigantic "fuck you." I was caught in the middle. They all wanted me to take sides, but at the same time they were sure to get pissed with any decision I made - even if it was on their side. They demanded I mediate. I couldn't turn my back. Family is family, blood or no. And she chooses today to get short tempered. I accidentally sent one harmless message to her instead of someone else, and it offended her. "Done. Bye." An agreement to do something and quick parting for someone else turned into "I hate you" to her.
She makes assumptions all the time. About everything. Instead of asking for clarity to make sure that something is intended the way she took it, she immediately pulls out the guns and starts firing. So when that simple message was accidentally sent to her (while I was typing a long message in a notepad, explaining something she was asking about), she asked what the hell my problem was and told me to stop freaking the hell out on her. This was the last straw for me. She already knew I was feeling ill. That alone should have (in my mind) made her a little bit kinder. I lost my temper and snapped back that I meant to send the message in another chat and that I was tired of her making assumptions and shitting all over me about it.
"Likewise." Really? I have never been unreasonable. If I did something out of anger, it was always justified. I even asked three or four people that always tell me the truth, even if the truth is "you're an asshole." They thought it was justified. But that's beside the point. I don't need to go down that road right now.
"I'm just tired of getting stomped over most of the time." This really upset me. Everything I've done, I've done to help her. Whether to make her into a more well-rounded and grounded person, to tell her the truth even if it's not what she wants to hear, to be honest always, to take into consideration the situation. She appreciates nothing. I wonder if I should even let her move here. On the one hand, for some reason she matters to me - more than most. She's the complete opposite of me and sometimes I want to hit her over the head with a brick, but in her own way she does try to help - sometimes. On the other hand, she's emotional and moody, unrealistic, quick to jump to conclusions, dramatic, holds grudges... I could find a million things to complain about. But for some reason, even looking at all of that, I still care. I still want the best for her. I still want to see her happy.
And I really fucking hate that.
I hate that I should have every reason to walk away by my standards, but for some reason I can't. I think about all the times she's made my life stressful and made me scream into a pillow until I couldn't speak... and all I want is to make up with her.
My point is, I don't like being friends with 99.8% of the female population. They're hormonal, irrational, frustrating, tedious, and I just hate them. But for some reason, she seems to be the only female friend that I just can't let go of. That (for some confusing and frustrating reason) I don't want to let go of.
She will probably read this and we'll probably get into another horrible fight. But in the end, I'll still try to find a way to fix it, even though I will be positive I'm not in the wrong. I will still make myself sick and lose sleep, allow my depression to creep up and medicate with alcohol, become moody and withdrawn until things are back to normal between us. I will still write hundreds of passive aggressive statuses and delete them before even posting them. I will still complain to my guy friends about "women." I will still rant and rave to the empty house... I will still exercise until I vomit, "accidentally" cut or scrape myself on surfaces to feel calm when I get angry over it, still obsess about every single syllable, still type out countless messages that will never be sent - angry, sad, sorry, begging, raging, and nonchalant. And in the end, I will still need her in my life.
Because God knows why. And it's either a sick joke He's playing on me, or she's here for a reason. I'm betting on the latter, and I intend to stick with her until she is sick of me. Which, based on our recent argument, is likely to be soon.
And I'll still be wondering why.
Meanwhile, I had to sit there and comfort her. I had to make her feel better because I was her friend and I cared. On the inside: I have never had an easy day in my life. Abuse. Neglect. Being moved from place to place, school to school, home to home. Crumbling, infested buildings where I didn't even have a bedroom. Where I kept my things in my mum's room and slept in the hallway or on the couch. Being beaten up daily by my sibling and kids from school. More suicide attempts than I'll ever admit, starting as young as when I was eight. Anorexia. Self harm. Drugs. Anything to make it stop. Sneaking out, being reckless, moving from boyfriend to boyfriend in a desperate search for love and worth. Being beaten by some boyfriends. Cutting myself in concealed places so no one would notice: my stomach, my thighs, ribs, chest. Crying myself to sleep every single night for years. Friends telling my secrets to the whole school. Being blackmailed by them. My closest friend lying to my brother by saying I was a lesbian (among many other false claims), which resulted in a huge family fight that almost got me given up for adoption. And here you are. You can't go somewhere you want? The world suddenly isn't worth living in. Your mum can't give you something you wanted? She must not love you. A friend didn't want to put up with you for one measly day because they are having a hard enough day without your mood swings? You go full emo and talk about how the world is cruel and unloving.
I was angry. I tried to reason that to someone with a life such as hers, these must seem like terrible hardships. Perhaps there was more to it than I was told. But with each of these episodes, it became harder and harder to find some sort of explanation in my mind. I tried to be good. I did. I tried to listen and help, to put things into realistic perspective, to give her a dose of tough love or reality for her own good - because one day, she would be out in the world and see how things really are. And because I love her like a sister, I wanted to make the transition into a real and hard life as smooth as possible. I even offered to let her come live with me. To help her pursue her dreams, whatever they may be. I gave what little I had so that she could feel loved.
But no.
Today, I was having one of the hardest in a while. Several small, but important issues merged into one gigantic "fuck you." I was caught in the middle. They all wanted me to take sides, but at the same time they were sure to get pissed with any decision I made - even if it was on their side. They demanded I mediate. I couldn't turn my back. Family is family, blood or no. And she chooses today to get short tempered. I accidentally sent one harmless message to her instead of someone else, and it offended her. "Done. Bye." An agreement to do something and quick parting for someone else turned into "I hate you" to her.
She makes assumptions all the time. About everything. Instead of asking for clarity to make sure that something is intended the way she took it, she immediately pulls out the guns and starts firing. So when that simple message was accidentally sent to her (while I was typing a long message in a notepad, explaining something she was asking about), she asked what the hell my problem was and told me to stop freaking the hell out on her. This was the last straw for me. She already knew I was feeling ill. That alone should have (in my mind) made her a little bit kinder. I lost my temper and snapped back that I meant to send the message in another chat and that I was tired of her making assumptions and shitting all over me about it.
"Likewise." Really? I have never been unreasonable. If I did something out of anger, it was always justified. I even asked three or four people that always tell me the truth, even if the truth is "you're an asshole." They thought it was justified. But that's beside the point. I don't need to go down that road right now.
"I'm just tired of getting stomped over most of the time." This really upset me. Everything I've done, I've done to help her. Whether to make her into a more well-rounded and grounded person, to tell her the truth even if it's not what she wants to hear, to be honest always, to take into consideration the situation. She appreciates nothing. I wonder if I should even let her move here. On the one hand, for some reason she matters to me - more than most. She's the complete opposite of me and sometimes I want to hit her over the head with a brick, but in her own way she does try to help - sometimes. On the other hand, she's emotional and moody, unrealistic, quick to jump to conclusions, dramatic, holds grudges... I could find a million things to complain about. But for some reason, even looking at all of that, I still care. I still want the best for her. I still want to see her happy.
And I really fucking hate that.
I hate that I should have every reason to walk away by my standards, but for some reason I can't. I think about all the times she's made my life stressful and made me scream into a pillow until I couldn't speak... and all I want is to make up with her.
My point is, I don't like being friends with 99.8% of the female population. They're hormonal, irrational, frustrating, tedious, and I just hate them. But for some reason, she seems to be the only female friend that I just can't let go of. That (for some confusing and frustrating reason) I don't want to let go of.
She will probably read this and we'll probably get into another horrible fight. But in the end, I'll still try to find a way to fix it, even though I will be positive I'm not in the wrong. I will still make myself sick and lose sleep, allow my depression to creep up and medicate with alcohol, become moody and withdrawn until things are back to normal between us. I will still write hundreds of passive aggressive statuses and delete them before even posting them. I will still complain to my guy friends about "women." I will still rant and rave to the empty house... I will still exercise until I vomit, "accidentally" cut or scrape myself on surfaces to feel calm when I get angry over it, still obsess about every single syllable, still type out countless messages that will never be sent - angry, sad, sorry, begging, raging, and nonchalant. And in the end, I will still need her in my life.
Because God knows why. And it's either a sick joke He's playing on me, or she's here for a reason. I'm betting on the latter, and I intend to stick with her until she is sick of me. Which, based on our recent argument, is likely to be soon.
And I'll still be wondering why.
Monday, September 29, 2014
Depersonalization Disorder
"Depersonalization-derealization disorder occurs when you persistently or repeatedly have the feeling that you're observing yourself from outside your body or you have a sense that things around you aren't real, or both. Feelings of depersonalization and derealization can be very disturbing and may feel like you're living in a dream.
Many people have a passing experience of depersonalization or derealization at some point. But when these feelings keep occurring or never completely go away, it's considered depersonalization-derealization disorder. This disorder is more common in people who've had traumatic experiences.
Depersonalization-derealization disorder can be severe and may interfere with relationships, work and other daily activities." Mayo Clinic.Confirmed.
I stared at the wall for an hour tonight, doing nothing, thinking nothing, silent. I made myself seek company and found it hard to care about anything that people were saying. Topics that normally would draw me out just washed over me.
Over the weekend, I visited family and friends. Almost nine minutes in - I counted - I was ready to go home. But the weekend was spent away from home, in a guest room. I watched myself sit. I watched myself tap my fingers. I counted how many times I blinked while I added sums in my head clumsily. I observed myself forcing carefully constructed greetings and jokes, the smile never looking quite right to me - always a bit off. Insincere. Underneath, there was a blankness, a chapter in my book that had been misplaced or just left out. I had to improvise and I never properly pulled it off. I was sure once or twice that people were catching on. I guess I just got lucky.
I drifted along minute after minute. When I woke Sunday, I just lay there for a long time. I didn't get out of bed almost all day.
Still I feel like nothing is real. Still I have trouble getting back to myself, getting back to feeling and living.
I realize now that I never regained what I lost in August.
I'm still not me.
Not human.
Tuesday, September 23, 2014
Stillness in the Eye of the Storm
“I guess I should have reacted the way most of the other girls were, but I couldn't get myself to react. I felt very still and very empty, the way the eye of a tornado must feel, moving dully along in the middle of the surrounding hullabaloo.”I've put myself back in the company of others, but I'm alarmed to find that it takes more energy than before, being social. Introverts always expel a certain amount of energy around others, but lately it's taking more and more. I find it more difficult to simulate the appropriate emotion when I don't feel it and cringe when I come in physical contact with others. Even accidentally brushing their arm as I pass leaves me recoiling as if scalded.
― Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar
Everything feels so busy. It feels like time is speeding up and I am slowing down.
Silence is palpable. I have to fill it with downloaded sounds of thunderstorms or rushing water, especially during sleep. Even in the shower, I need to play music loudly. Not a second must be silent. I always valued silence before this. I'm unsure why I now fear it.
I enjoyed simple, repetitive tasks because they gave me time to daydream or think. Now they leave me feeling frustrated and empty.
Nothing feels very real. I feel too still in a world that's rushing by in a blur.
I've concluded that in the month I spent separated from myself and the rest of the world, I've become a bit disconnected with reality. I talked to the psych and it was suggested that I was experiencing depersonalization disorder. He said that this was common for someone in my situation. The causes are cited as:
"...severe stress; major depressive disorder and panic; and hallucinogen ingestion. People who live in highly individualistic cultures may be more vulnerable to depersonalization, due to threat hypersensitivity and an external locus of control." wikipedia.orgI haven't taken any hallucinogens, so I can rule that out. What I'm left with is my clinical depression, the depression of the previous month's events, and stress. I always knew it would take time to get back to the way things were, but after a few hours of discussion with the doc, he suggested that these effects may be more lasting than that. As in permanent. Under extreme conditions, a person can undergo a lasting change in their personality and in the way see/deal with the world and situations around them.
If this is a lasting effect, this is going to be really interesting to learn to cope with and work around.
Saturday, September 6, 2014
Only Death by Pablo Neruda
There are cemeteries that are lonely,
graves full of bones that do not make a sound,
the heart moving through a tunnel,
in it darkness, darkness, darkness,
like a shipwreck we die going into ourselves,
as though we were drowning inside our hearts,
as though we lived falling out of the skin into the soul.
And there are corpses,
feet made of cold and sticky clay,
death is inside the bones,
like a barking where there are no dogs,
coming out from bells somewhere, from graves somewhere,
growing in the damp air like tears of rain.
Sometimes I see alone
coffins under sail,
embarking with the pale dead, with women that have dead hair,
with bakers who are as white as angels,
and pensive young girls married to notary publics,
caskets sailing up the vertical river of the dead,
the river of dark purple,
moving upstream with sails filled out by the sound of death,
filled by the sound of death which is silence.
Death arrives among all that sound
like a shoe with no foot in it, like a suit with no man in it,
comes and knocks, using a ring with no stone in it, with no
finger in it,
comes and shouts with no mouth, with no tongue, with no
throat.
Nevertheless its steps can be heard
and its clothing makes a hushed sound, like a tree.
I’m not sure, I understand only a little, I can hardly see,
but it seems to me that its singing has the color of damp violets,
of violets that are at home in the earth,
because the face of death is green,
and the look death gives is green,
with the penetrating dampness of a violet leaf
and the somber color of embittered winter.
But death also goes through the world dressed as a broom,
lapping the floor, looking for dead bodies,
death is inside the broom,
the broom is the tongue of death looking for corpses,
it is the needle of death looking for thread.
Death is inside the folding cots:
it spends its life sleeping on the slow mattresses,
in the black blankets, and suddenly breathes out:
it blows out a mournful sound that swells the sheets,
and the beds go sailing toward a port
where death is waiting, dressed like an admiral.
Friday, September 5, 2014
Death and Depression Part 5: To Hell and Back - Redemption
It has been eight days. As I have my whole life, I struggle to balance the two halves of my whole. Having seen life through the eyes of my darkest side, I can no longer doubt that my psych profile was right - at least in part. Yes, I am a highly functioning sociopath - but that's not all of me. I affectionately call myself a freak hybrid. One half of me has a complete disregard for human life, a cruel attitude, easily manipulating and mocking others just for fun, smiling while wishing for everyone to burn... But another side of me tempers it, keeping the peace. It shows understanding (even if I don't feel the same), impartiality, a desire for honesty and loyalty, a craving for acceptance and affection, and even the occasional love for others.
Sometimes it does get too dark. I fed the corrupt side of me and it grew stronger; there's no changing that. The two halves of me constantly fight for control. I can see the truth behind both of them. Yes, humans are inherently evil. But like me, they can choose to keep it in check.
It's cliche to quote from Harry Potter, I know. But those books have had a profound effect on me. It's far more than it seems. It is - among many other layers - a struggle between the dark and the light in all of us...
Lately, I find myself flipping back through the pages, searching for the lines that remind me...
“It is our choices... that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities.”
Sometimes it does get too dark. I fed the corrupt side of me and it grew stronger; there's no changing that. The two halves of me constantly fight for control. I can see the truth behind both of them. Yes, humans are inherently evil. But like me, they can choose to keep it in check.
It's cliche to quote from Harry Potter, I know. But those books have had a profound effect on me. It's far more than it seems. It is - among many other layers - a struggle between the dark and the light in all of us...
"... [T]he world isn't split into good people and Death Eaters. We've
all got both light and dark inside us. What matters is the part we
choose to act on. That's who we really are."
(Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix film, 2007)
Lately, I find myself flipping back through the pages, searching for the lines that remind me...
“It is our choices... that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities.”
- J.K. Rowling (Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets)
I have the ability to be cruel. I have the ability to do the unthinkable. But I choose not to.
It's a long way back from Hell, and the road is full of unseen pitfalls that test me. But I will stick to the morals that have gotten me this far. I can only hope that with time, I'll find a way to finally beat this, to be human again. You may say "you're still human," but having lived through those last 30+ days, I can honestly say, "No. I'm not." I may be a human physically, but under the flesh, I still have a long way to go to get back to humanity. It won't be easy, but I have to believe I'll make it.
“Understanding is the first step to acceptance, and only with acceptance can there be recovery.”
- J.K. Rowling (Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire)
- J.K. Rowling (Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire)
“Understanding is the first step to acceptance, and only with acceptance can there be recovery.”
- J.K. Rowling (Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire) - See more at: http://quotesnsmiles.com/quotes/44-magical-j-k-rowling-quotes/#sthash.yIjBJEPn.dpuf
- J.K. Rowling (Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire) - See more at: http://quotesnsmiles.com/quotes/44-magical-j-k-rowling-quotes/#sthash.yIjBJEPn.dpuf
“Understanding is the first step to acceptance, and only with acceptance can there be recovery.”
- J.K. Rowling (Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire) - See more at: http://quotesnsmiles.com/quotes/44-magical-j-k-rowling-quotes/#sthash.yIjBJEPn.dpuf
- J.K. Rowling (Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire) - See more at: http://quotesnsmiles.com/quotes/44-magical-j-k-rowling-quotes/#sthash.yIjBJEPn.dpuf
“Understanding is the first step to acceptance, and only with acceptance can there be recovery.”
- J.K. Rowling (Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire) - See more at: http://quotesnsmiles.com/quotes/44-magical-j-k-rowling-quotes/#sthash.yIjBJEPn.dpuf
- J.K. Rowling (Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire) - See more at: http://quotesnsmiles.com/quotes/44-magical-j-k-rowling-quotes/#sthash.yIjBJEPn.dpuf
Thursday, September 4, 2014
Death and Depression Part 4: A Light
Finally cured of my suffering through insouciance, I was able to fake being normal again. I dusted off my masks and put them on one by one, moving through life with carefully constructed personas. It was easier now, and even those closest to me believed my facade as they always did. No one sensed that underneath, I hated them all in varying degrees. At best, I regarded them with mild amusement; their petty problems, their vapid smiles and boorish opinions. It felt better to just give up on them than it did to care about a single one.
I started interacting with friends again, playing games and having conversations, pretending to care about their thoughts and feelings. I was so good at pretending that sometimes I almost believed it myself. On such occasions, I would withdraw and fine-tune myself. My walls were still broken, my defenses destroyed. It allowed the emotions of others to invade; instead of blocking them out, I had taken the tactic of just swatting them away. It was no longer a stronghold where I would hide away, letting down the drawbridge here and there. It was now an open battlefield where anything that came to me was brutally beaten into oblivion. Let their emotions in, I decided, Let it all in, and let them die here. I mocked them in my mind while consoling them on the surface. I was laughing at them and they never knew.
But in allowing this, I forgot the cardinal rule of life, the one I had heard and etched in every molecule of my being: In the end, we all are who we are, no matter how much we may appear to have changed (Joss Whedon).
Despite my best efforts, I couldn't deny my true nature. I couldn't kill off my humanity completely. I couldn't fight it all off, couldn't mock it all away. Some things - some people - started to slip through the cracks. I was uneasy. I didn't want to go through it all again. But I had no choice. Where before I only felt their judgement and pity, their sorrow and pain, I now felt their affection and admiration. I felt their friendship, their honest concern. It disarmed me. I don't know if you've tried, but it's hard to completely hate people who show such loyalty and love. But believe me, I tried.
After a couple of days that felt like years, the darkness began to break. Behind it, a light poured through. I could be normal again - or as normal as I ever was. I could start over, but this time I would do it better. I would be smarter about it.
But my new self wasn't going to give up without a fight.
I started interacting with friends again, playing games and having conversations, pretending to care about their thoughts and feelings. I was so good at pretending that sometimes I almost believed it myself. On such occasions, I would withdraw and fine-tune myself. My walls were still broken, my defenses destroyed. It allowed the emotions of others to invade; instead of blocking them out, I had taken the tactic of just swatting them away. It was no longer a stronghold where I would hide away, letting down the drawbridge here and there. It was now an open battlefield where anything that came to me was brutally beaten into oblivion. Let their emotions in, I decided, Let it all in, and let them die here. I mocked them in my mind while consoling them on the surface. I was laughing at them and they never knew.
But in allowing this, I forgot the cardinal rule of life, the one I had heard and etched in every molecule of my being: In the end, we all are who we are, no matter how much we may appear to have changed (Joss Whedon).
Despite my best efforts, I couldn't deny my true nature. I couldn't kill off my humanity completely. I couldn't fight it all off, couldn't mock it all away. Some things - some people - started to slip through the cracks. I was uneasy. I didn't want to go through it all again. But I had no choice. Where before I only felt their judgement and pity, their sorrow and pain, I now felt their affection and admiration. I felt their friendship, their honest concern. It disarmed me. I don't know if you've tried, but it's hard to completely hate people who show such loyalty and love. But believe me, I tried.
After a couple of days that felt like years, the darkness began to break. Behind it, a light poured through. I could be normal again - or as normal as I ever was. I could start over, but this time I would do it better. I would be smarter about it.
But my new self wasn't going to give up without a fight.
Death and Depression Part 3: Anti-human Virus
I became infected with a virus that spread through my veins; it made me resent company in any form. Made me hate people even more than my usual jaded, misanthropic philosophy (for lack of a better word than philosophy). I was an HSP by nature, very in tune with my surroundings and the emotions of others. It's like wearing clothing that isn't mine. I started feeling emotions that didn't belong to me. I couldn't block them out anymore, I had long since forgotten how. It had served me well in the past, using these insights to tweak things to my advantage, to influence others' actions, or to just gain the upper hand by knowing when someone was lying. I was a master of manipulation, though I mostly used it for the benefit of others - as long as it didn't effect me. Now? Now it was a constant source of raw emotion: judgement, pity, sorrow...
I became even more cynical than I had been before everything had happened. I had even more hatred for other humans - though I had stopped defining myself as human long ago and I was even less human now. What good did it do anyone to help someone else? They were all going to die, so what did it matter what happened to them before their time was up? And who were they to judge me? That wasn't how it worked! I judged them! I was angry that anyone would judge or pity me. I was not to be pitied.
My coldness became colder. I had removed the remnants of my heart. I turned the pain into darkness and hate, distrust and disgust.
Before... As an INFJ, I had always felt that I should council others. My sociopathic side said that it fell in my moral code and that was what good humans did. So I did. The INFJ in me said that I should protect people, to stand up for them when no one else would. The sociopath in me rolled its eyes - people should learn to stand on their own two feet and not expect everyone to help them - but still it went along with it. The INFJ said that I had the power in me to make a difference in the world, to change it and save it. The sociopath fought tooth and nail on that one. Why should I? People aren't worth it. Humans are inherently evil and selfish creatures. Let them destroy themselves and be done with it. This belief was so overpowering that it led me to join VHEMT, the Voluntary Human Extinction Movement. Though VHEMT had their reason to refuse to reproduce because it would harm the earth, I decided to refuse because humans were pathetic, cruel, evil, beings that I loathed - and nothing would make me happier than to have humanity wiped out by their own stupidity.
After... With four deaths under my belt in three weeks, the sociopath side silenced the INFJ. I reasoned that if I hated everything, I wouldn't have to care about anything. Besides that, what point was there in caring? Everything died, everything faded. It's just the way things are. Waste no tears on humans, I thought. Waste no effort in saving those who - by their very nature - shouldn't be saved. The anti-human virus had done it's job; it spread through my system, poisoning my mind until - by pure reason - I gave up on the world and embraced whatever else was left when you stripped a person of humanity and compassion.
I became even more cynical than I had been before everything had happened. I had even more hatred for other humans - though I had stopped defining myself as human long ago and I was even less human now. What good did it do anyone to help someone else? They were all going to die, so what did it matter what happened to them before their time was up? And who were they to judge me? That wasn't how it worked! I judged them! I was angry that anyone would judge or pity me. I was not to be pitied.
My coldness became colder. I had removed the remnants of my heart. I turned the pain into darkness and hate, distrust and disgust.
Before... As an INFJ, I had always felt that I should council others. My sociopathic side said that it fell in my moral code and that was what good humans did. So I did. The INFJ in me said that I should protect people, to stand up for them when no one else would. The sociopath in me rolled its eyes - people should learn to stand on their own two feet and not expect everyone to help them - but still it went along with it. The INFJ said that I had the power in me to make a difference in the world, to change it and save it. The sociopath fought tooth and nail on that one. Why should I? People aren't worth it. Humans are inherently evil and selfish creatures. Let them destroy themselves and be done with it. This belief was so overpowering that it led me to join VHEMT, the Voluntary Human Extinction Movement. Though VHEMT had their reason to refuse to reproduce because it would harm the earth, I decided to refuse because humans were pathetic, cruel, evil, beings that I loathed - and nothing would make me happier than to have humanity wiped out by their own stupidity.
After... With four deaths under my belt in three weeks, the sociopath side silenced the INFJ. I reasoned that if I hated everything, I wouldn't have to care about anything. Besides that, what point was there in caring? Everything died, everything faded. It's just the way things are. Waste no tears on humans, I thought. Waste no effort in saving those who - by their very nature - shouldn't be saved. The anti-human virus had done it's job; it spread through my system, poisoning my mind until - by pure reason - I gave up on the world and embraced whatever else was left when you stripped a person of humanity and compassion.
The accumulated filth of all their sex and murder will foam up about their waists and all the whores and politicians will look up and shout "Save us!"... and I'll look down and whisper "No."
- Watchmen by Alan Moore
Death and Depression Part 2: Build. Destroy. Repeat.
It was the week after my grand-uncle's funeral when I got a message from a close friend that his cousin (who for privacy reasons, we will call J) passed away in a car crash and that our other friend (K) was in critical condition; they weren't sure he was going to make it.
I just watched myself sink to the floor and sit there for the longest time, as if detached from my body. I stared at me, staring at the wall, and wondered when the pain would stop so I could get up again. I came back to myself after a couple of hours. I made myself go through the motions, but there was something off about my routine.
I washed my face for an hour, I painstakingly made the prefect cup of tea and poured it down the sink without tasting it. I opened the fridge to look for a meal and stared at the contents for over twenty minutes. I wanted the company of people, but I now live in a bit of a remote area, so I turned to Facebook to contact my friends.
But as soon as they messaged me, I wanted to get away. I couldn't stand being alone, but I couldn't stomach company. I grew increasingly agitated with everyone and everything, withdrawing into myself and picking fights just to feel something that could - for a moment - overshadow my agony. I started questioning myself and my life... Did I have a right to be here? Did I have a right to sit here, eat, sleep, and breathe while people I loved were dying? Did I have a right to be upset when others were having to cope with the loss of their fathers, their children? Who was I to sit here and think about my pain?
And then I questioned who I was. If I could feel this pain, was I really an HFS like my psych profile said? If not, what was I? What was wrong with me, if not that?
The agitation grew. The walls I built up to keep me from - well, everything - broke. I lost part of my sanity, I lost part of my identity, and all of my reason. I would sit for hours and rebuild myself, only to have one stray thought that crumbled them me into dust. Within a week, K passed away, rejoining J. I longed to go with them; I was destroyed. I tried to remember that we are energy and by physical laws, energy cannot be created nor destroyed; I was rebuilt. The cycle continued. Tragedy struck again.
An underclassman that I went to high school with, that I had classes with and befriended, died. It was all over Facebook, the newspaper, the whole damn town. My emotions were all over the place, unreasonable and confusing. At times I would feel blissfully numb, then I would feel angry and confused, then the crushing anguish all over again.
I lashed out at anyone and everyone only to apologize and fall to pieces immediately. I didn't think I cared about my classmate so much, and in truth I probably didn't; it was simply latching onto the residual loss and hopelessness, magnifying it tenfold. In my entire life of caring about almost nothing, I suddenly cared about everything.
The days blurred together and I no longer cared to control it. I simply embraced it. I did whatever came naturally and didn't attempt to regret it. I decided that if it happened, it happened. I wasn't going to add to the blackness by feeling sorry for hurting other people.
The cycle ended. I remained destroyed.
I just watched myself sink to the floor and sit there for the longest time, as if detached from my body. I stared at me, staring at the wall, and wondered when the pain would stop so I could get up again. I came back to myself after a couple of hours. I made myself go through the motions, but there was something off about my routine.
I washed my face for an hour, I painstakingly made the prefect cup of tea and poured it down the sink without tasting it. I opened the fridge to look for a meal and stared at the contents for over twenty minutes. I wanted the company of people, but I now live in a bit of a remote area, so I turned to Facebook to contact my friends.
But as soon as they messaged me, I wanted to get away. I couldn't stand being alone, but I couldn't stomach company. I grew increasingly agitated with everyone and everything, withdrawing into myself and picking fights just to feel something that could - for a moment - overshadow my agony. I started questioning myself and my life... Did I have a right to be here? Did I have a right to sit here, eat, sleep, and breathe while people I loved were dying? Did I have a right to be upset when others were having to cope with the loss of their fathers, their children? Who was I to sit here and think about my pain?
And then I questioned who I was. If I could feel this pain, was I really an HFS like my psych profile said? If not, what was I? What was wrong with me, if not that?
The agitation grew. The walls I built up to keep me from - well, everything - broke. I lost part of my sanity, I lost part of my identity, and all of my reason. I would sit for hours and rebuild myself, only to have one stray thought that crumbled them me into dust. Within a week, K passed away, rejoining J. I longed to go with them; I was destroyed. I tried to remember that we are energy and by physical laws, energy cannot be created nor destroyed; I was rebuilt. The cycle continued. Tragedy struck again.
An underclassman that I went to high school with, that I had classes with and befriended, died. It was all over Facebook, the newspaper, the whole damn town. My emotions were all over the place, unreasonable and confusing. At times I would feel blissfully numb, then I would feel angry and confused, then the crushing anguish all over again.
I lashed out at anyone and everyone only to apologize and fall to pieces immediately. I didn't think I cared about my classmate so much, and in truth I probably didn't; it was simply latching onto the residual loss and hopelessness, magnifying it tenfold. In my entire life of caring about almost nothing, I suddenly cared about everything.
The days blurred together and I no longer cared to control it. I simply embraced it. I did whatever came naturally and didn't attempt to regret it. I decided that if it happened, it happened. I wasn't going to add to the blackness by feeling sorry for hurting other people.
The cycle ended. I remained destroyed.
Death and Depression Part 1: Family Feuds and Funerals
It was a bad day. Rather, it was a bad month. Losing family members and friends is always hard, but I usually deal with it better than most. I view death differently. I see it as a transition from one state of being to the next. In that sense, nothing ever really dies. It just changes.
So imagine my surprise when I find myself losing my mind over the death of a family member that I loved dearly - my "grand-uncle". I hadn't seen him in years due to tension throughout our family. Stupid things, really. I see that now. Up until then, I had always been able to remain composed and keep in mind that those I loved weren't really gone. When I heard the news, it felt like all the oxygen was sucked out of the air. I felt hollow. Shocked. I didn't understand why I wasn't dealing with it the way I normally do.
And then there was the funeral. As I saw him lying there in the coffin, his wife sitting by his side looking more frail and lost than I had ever seen her, I couldn't keep control. Her eyes were small and watery. Her thin, pale frame trembled with grief and such a hopelessness that mirrored what I felt inside. She didn't recognize me at first. I'm not sure she ever fully comprehended who I was and that made it all the more painful. I had loved them both dearly, like my own grandparents. And because family members decided to be at odds with each other (namely my mother and my "father's" adopted parents), I had kept myself from them. It was easier, I told myself, better. But it wasn't.
I couldn't find words to say to her; I couldn't make my mouth speak to tell her that I love her, that I was so sorry I wasn't there. I couldn't. I just stood there, holding her hand and crying as her small eyes stared into mine with such pain that I felt my defenses crumbling. I was before her, unprotected from her emotion and mine. I became sick. My brother rescued me by stepping up and voicing his condolences as I gave her hand one last squeeze and moved to the coffin where my cousin - her grandchild - stood watch over her late grandfather.
He was pale, as expected, and too perfect. His lips were thin and drawn wide. His veins didn't show as they had in life. He had no tan, no imperfections in his skin that made him so utterly... him. Though I had spent the morning looking at pictures of him, I didn't recognize him laying there. It wasn't right. There was something so grotesque in how peaceful and perfect he looked. People always say that it looks as if the dead are merely sleeping. To me, it couldn't be further from the truth. I couldn't look at him for very long. I couldn't stand there. I had to get away. It scared me, what I saw. It was too real. It was too frightening.
I found a pew in the chapel toward the back, but not too far from the front to be conspicuous or disrespectful. I sat between my older brother and my fiance, praying that my father wouldn't show up, that his parents wouldn't corner me, demanding to know what I was doing there among their family. But as I watched the looped slideshow of pictures - moments of his life that I had missed, I realized with a stab of regret - I was met with nothing but kindness. Sure, my grandparents kept their distance; my grandmother sat beside her sister as she grieved for her husband as soon as I left the room. But that didn't bother me. Everyone else put aside all the bullshit going on and treated me like I belonged there, even if they didn't speak to me directly. A watery smile. An affectionate nod of the head as I passed. Family hugged me, held my hands, came up to me (as well as my brother and mum) to say how they thought about us every day and how sorry they were. They told us that we were welcome in their homes any time.
This brought some measure of comfort, but a new knife of sharp pain to my heart. It should never have taken the death of a loved one for us to realize how stupid all the fighting was. Life is too short to let the arguments between a couple of people tear a family apart into sides. If my parents argue, it's between them. If my grandparents snub us, that's their own problem. I am no longer going to let people dictate who I see and care about. Family is family. Friends are friends. Thier quarrels have nothing to do with me and I refuse to let another person I care about leave this earth without knowing that I love them.
So imagine my surprise when I find myself losing my mind over the death of a family member that I loved dearly - my "grand-uncle". I hadn't seen him in years due to tension throughout our family. Stupid things, really. I see that now. Up until then, I had always been able to remain composed and keep in mind that those I loved weren't really gone. When I heard the news, it felt like all the oxygen was sucked out of the air. I felt hollow. Shocked. I didn't understand why I wasn't dealing with it the way I normally do.
And then there was the funeral. As I saw him lying there in the coffin, his wife sitting by his side looking more frail and lost than I had ever seen her, I couldn't keep control. Her eyes were small and watery. Her thin, pale frame trembled with grief and such a hopelessness that mirrored what I felt inside. She didn't recognize me at first. I'm not sure she ever fully comprehended who I was and that made it all the more painful. I had loved them both dearly, like my own grandparents. And because family members decided to be at odds with each other (namely my mother and my "father's" adopted parents), I had kept myself from them. It was easier, I told myself, better. But it wasn't.
I couldn't find words to say to her; I couldn't make my mouth speak to tell her that I love her, that I was so sorry I wasn't there. I couldn't. I just stood there, holding her hand and crying as her small eyes stared into mine with such pain that I felt my defenses crumbling. I was before her, unprotected from her emotion and mine. I became sick. My brother rescued me by stepping up and voicing his condolences as I gave her hand one last squeeze and moved to the coffin where my cousin - her grandchild - stood watch over her late grandfather.
He was pale, as expected, and too perfect. His lips were thin and drawn wide. His veins didn't show as they had in life. He had no tan, no imperfections in his skin that made him so utterly... him. Though I had spent the morning looking at pictures of him, I didn't recognize him laying there. It wasn't right. There was something so grotesque in how peaceful and perfect he looked. People always say that it looks as if the dead are merely sleeping. To me, it couldn't be further from the truth. I couldn't look at him for very long. I couldn't stand there. I had to get away. It scared me, what I saw. It was too real. It was too frightening.
I found a pew in the chapel toward the back, but not too far from the front to be conspicuous or disrespectful. I sat between my older brother and my fiance, praying that my father wouldn't show up, that his parents wouldn't corner me, demanding to know what I was doing there among their family. But as I watched the looped slideshow of pictures - moments of his life that I had missed, I realized with a stab of regret - I was met with nothing but kindness. Sure, my grandparents kept their distance; my grandmother sat beside her sister as she grieved for her husband as soon as I left the room. But that didn't bother me. Everyone else put aside all the bullshit going on and treated me like I belonged there, even if they didn't speak to me directly. A watery smile. An affectionate nod of the head as I passed. Family hugged me, held my hands, came up to me (as well as my brother and mum) to say how they thought about us every day and how sorry they were. They told us that we were welcome in their homes any time.
This brought some measure of comfort, but a new knife of sharp pain to my heart. It should never have taken the death of a loved one for us to realize how stupid all the fighting was. Life is too short to let the arguments between a couple of people tear a family apart into sides. If my parents argue, it's between them. If my grandparents snub us, that's their own problem. I am no longer going to let people dictate who I see and care about. Family is family. Friends are friends. Thier quarrels have nothing to do with me and I refuse to let another person I care about leave this earth without knowing that I love them.
Monday, June 16, 2014
Gender Fluid and Asexual
I've been studying myself for a long time and I've just recently made a great breakthrough. With the help of online communities, I've come to realize that I'm what people call a gender-fluid and asexual person. When people hear this, they cringe, embarrassed and awkward. They think of cross-dressing or some sexual deviation from the every day heteronormativity. However, this is not the case. In this post, I will share what both terms really mean (it's a safe-for-work topic, actually), why this is an important discovery in terms of myself, and what discovering more about yourself could mean for you.
Gender-Fluidity is More Normal than You Think
Every girl has a day where she feels more like a tomboy or more feminine than usual. This is the same for those of us who are gender fluid. Being gender fluid does not mean one is a boy and a girl. It simply means that we don't feel like any particular gender. Some days, I go all out - dress, manicure, makeup, styled hair, heels... Other days I wear an over-sized shirt, jeans, and converse. My hair? Tangled. One day, I may feel really feminine and the next feel rather the opposite. But 99% of the time, I don't feel like I have a gender. I don't see it as relevant. I'm simply a neutral, and this makes perfect sense, seeing as I'm also asexual.
Don't misunderstand. I am a girl. I know I'm a girl. I like being a girl and I wouldn't rather be any other way. I'm have a fiance, a very understanding and patient man. (This is not to say that anyone different is wrong. I'm a huge supporter of the LBGT community; I'm simply trying to put my situation into perspective.) It's simply that the labels of "man" and "woman" don't really have any relevance in my personal life. I like dresses, but I also like boxer shorts. I read the occasional sappy romance novel, but enjoy hardcore action films with blood and gore. I will wear lipstick and a suit and tie - it makes no difference to me. I don't feel like a man or a woman. I simply feel like me.
Asexuality and Relationships
Asexuality. It's not a deviation. It's not something kinky to be hidden in the dark recesses of a dungeon. Asexuality is defined as the lack of sexual attraction to anyone or low or absent interest in sexual activity. It doesn't mean that we don't get aroused sometimes, or that we don't have sex at all. It simply means that (depending on the person) 51% to 99% of the time, we don't feel aroused, feel sexually attracted to people of any gender, or see sex as something we want. To an asexual person, what we want - above all - is companionship. A deep connection with another soul, a little romance, trust, and steadfast companionship. Basically, a romantic coupling with a lot less sex than the average relationship. Again, that's not to say that asexuals never have sex and never get aroused. No matter who you are, there is still an inborn desire for coupling. It's true that some may never feel it because they never come across the right situation or person - but they do have the ability to feel it. Every person does.
It's Important to Know Who You Are
Again, it is important to know who you are. Repeat that to yourself and commit it to memory. Whether it's about your sexuality, your flaws and vices, your likes and dislikes, your morals, your boundaries, or how far you can bend until you break (metaphorically), knowing who you are is a vital part of your life. By knowing yourself - all of yourself - and learning to accept it, you can start to become comfortable in your own skin. And when you're comfortable, when you know where you stand, you can more easily accept others for who they are and find your own happiness in life. Be open to the world and new ideas. Branch out, learn new things. You may find that what you thought you wanted isn't what you need.
I always thought that I would grow up, get married, have children, and work at a hospital. It wasn't until I started questioning myself and examining the triggers of my clinical depression that I realized... that's not what I wanted. That wasn't what I needed. In trying new things (hobbies, studies, subcultures, and so on), I began to find my own life - not the life that I had been pushed to accept by others. I'm a million miles from where I started just four years ago, when I graduated high school. I've found out a lot about myself - good and bad. The point is this: if you're unhappy, you don't have to be. If you think you're happy, test that theory. Try new things. Be brave. Don't be afraid to give yourself an honest look. Life's too short.
Gender-Fluidity is More Normal than You Think
Every girl has a day where she feels more like a tomboy or more feminine than usual. This is the same for those of us who are gender fluid. Being gender fluid does not mean one is a boy and a girl. It simply means that we don't feel like any particular gender. Some days, I go all out - dress, manicure, makeup, styled hair, heels... Other days I wear an over-sized shirt, jeans, and converse. My hair? Tangled. One day, I may feel really feminine and the next feel rather the opposite. But 99% of the time, I don't feel like I have a gender. I don't see it as relevant. I'm simply a neutral, and this makes perfect sense, seeing as I'm also asexual.
Don't misunderstand. I am a girl. I know I'm a girl. I like being a girl and I wouldn't rather be any other way. I'm have a fiance, a very understanding and patient man. (This is not to say that anyone different is wrong. I'm a huge supporter of the LBGT community; I'm simply trying to put my situation into perspective.) It's simply that the labels of "man" and "woman" don't really have any relevance in my personal life. I like dresses, but I also like boxer shorts. I read the occasional sappy romance novel, but enjoy hardcore action films with blood and gore. I will wear lipstick and a suit and tie - it makes no difference to me. I don't feel like a man or a woman. I simply feel like me.
Asexuality and Relationships
Asexuality. It's not a deviation. It's not something kinky to be hidden in the dark recesses of a dungeon. Asexuality is defined as the lack of sexual attraction to anyone or low or absent interest in sexual activity. It doesn't mean that we don't get aroused sometimes, or that we don't have sex at all. It simply means that (depending on the person) 51% to 99% of the time, we don't feel aroused, feel sexually attracted to people of any gender, or see sex as something we want. To an asexual person, what we want - above all - is companionship. A deep connection with another soul, a little romance, trust, and steadfast companionship. Basically, a romantic coupling with a lot less sex than the average relationship. Again, that's not to say that asexuals never have sex and never get aroused. No matter who you are, there is still an inborn desire for coupling. It's true that some may never feel it because they never come across the right situation or person - but they do have the ability to feel it. Every person does.
It's Important to Know Who You Are
Again, it is important to know who you are. Repeat that to yourself and commit it to memory. Whether it's about your sexuality, your flaws and vices, your likes and dislikes, your morals, your boundaries, or how far you can bend until you break (metaphorically), knowing who you are is a vital part of your life. By knowing yourself - all of yourself - and learning to accept it, you can start to become comfortable in your own skin. And when you're comfortable, when you know where you stand, you can more easily accept others for who they are and find your own happiness in life. Be open to the world and new ideas. Branch out, learn new things. You may find that what you thought you wanted isn't what you need.
I always thought that I would grow up, get married, have children, and work at a hospital. It wasn't until I started questioning myself and examining the triggers of my clinical depression that I realized... that's not what I wanted. That wasn't what I needed. In trying new things (hobbies, studies, subcultures, and so on), I began to find my own life - not the life that I had been pushed to accept by others. I'm a million miles from where I started just four years ago, when I graduated high school. I've found out a lot about myself - good and bad. The point is this: if you're unhappy, you don't have to be. If you think you're happy, test that theory. Try new things. Be brave. Don't be afraid to give yourself an honest look. Life's too short.
“When asked “What thing about humanity surprises you the most?”, the Dalai Lama answered:
“Man…. Because he sacrifices his health in order to make money. Then he sacrifices money to recuperate his health. And then he is so anxious about the future that he does not enjoy the present; the result being that he does not live in the present or the future; he lives as if he is never going to die, and then dies having never really lived.”
Monday, April 7, 2014
Being Ignored
I've been told by therapists that I'm borderline narcissistic. Those of you who read this blog know that I am young and just starting out in the world. I can't afford regular sessions, so I save up and shell out for individual sessions on rare occasions. On all of these occasions, the discussion always turns to my father.
I didn't get much from him growing up. In fact, the only things I will credit him with are poverty, my short height, and the inherited narcissism. Again, those of you that read know that despite being classified as a highly functioning sociopath (HFS), I'm keeping it well under control and struggling to make some sort of positive impact, as well as attempting to break the negative and emotionless stereotype of sociopaths. So, likewise, I've been keeping a check on my narcissism. This is really hard to do. A lot of the time, I feel like I'm entitled to a bit more respect than I get from some people. I feel like my words and advice carry more weight than the average person because I know more about a person than they know about themselves. As such, I put a lot of thought and insight into what I say. That why it bothers me so much when they refuse to listen or act like what I say doesn't matter.
The issue we're going to discuss today is being ignored.
No one likes it, even if they don't like attention. Me? I don't like drawing attention to myself, so when I go out of my way to speak to someone or let my voice be heard, ignoring me is as bad as spitting in my face. This may sound narcissistic, and it is. But truly think about it for a moment. If you're extroverted and outgoing, imagine how it would feel to suddenly have everyone dismiss your thoughts and ideas, or to stop talking to you as if you don't exist. If you're introverted, or just misanthropic as I am, imagine deciding to stand up and say something, only to have people scoff at you and jeer or act like they can't hear you. Doesn't feel good, does it?
I was thinking about this today as I was being ignored (it gave me a lot of down time), and I realized that it's not how many people hear you, but what you say, how loudly you say it, and how strong you are. It doesn't matter if people are willing to listen. What matters is that you stood up and said it loudly. You took a stand, you stuck by it, and you will keep saying it as long as it takes to be heard.
As for me, myself, personally... I will still be annoyed. And maybe flip them off.
I didn't get much from him growing up. In fact, the only things I will credit him with are poverty, my short height, and the inherited narcissism. Again, those of you that read know that despite being classified as a highly functioning sociopath (HFS), I'm keeping it well under control and struggling to make some sort of positive impact, as well as attempting to break the negative and emotionless stereotype of sociopaths. So, likewise, I've been keeping a check on my narcissism. This is really hard to do. A lot of the time, I feel like I'm entitled to a bit more respect than I get from some people. I feel like my words and advice carry more weight than the average person because I know more about a person than they know about themselves. As such, I put a lot of thought and insight into what I say. That why it bothers me so much when they refuse to listen or act like what I say doesn't matter.
The issue we're going to discuss today is being ignored.
No one likes it, even if they don't like attention. Me? I don't like drawing attention to myself, so when I go out of my way to speak to someone or let my voice be heard, ignoring me is as bad as spitting in my face. This may sound narcissistic, and it is. But truly think about it for a moment. If you're extroverted and outgoing, imagine how it would feel to suddenly have everyone dismiss your thoughts and ideas, or to stop talking to you as if you don't exist. If you're introverted, or just misanthropic as I am, imagine deciding to stand up and say something, only to have people scoff at you and jeer or act like they can't hear you. Doesn't feel good, does it?
I was thinking about this today as I was being ignored (it gave me a lot of down time), and I realized that it's not how many people hear you, but what you say, how loudly you say it, and how strong you are. It doesn't matter if people are willing to listen. What matters is that you stood up and said it loudly. You took a stand, you stuck by it, and you will keep saying it as long as it takes to be heard.
As for me, myself, personally... I will still be annoyed. And maybe flip them off.
Sunday, April 6, 2014
The Temper of an INFJ
I have a temper problem. Shocker, right? Short tempers - or strong, consuming tempers - are common among INFJs. I've heard it described as an extreme rage triggered by a major issue or built up over time on a lot of issues. Most of the time I can be a level headed person, but it took me a long time to keep it in check. (Before you ask, yes sociopaths have tempers. Often, they're portrayed as emotionless robots. As proven in previous posts through various authorities on the subject, this stereotype has no foundation and many psychologists and sociopaths are confused as to its origins.)
Tonight/early this morning was a big tipping point for me. I've been under a lot of pressure and stress - more than usual - and someone insulted me (to someone I consider a friend) in the worst way possible. To me, at least. Then, he started again on an issue he just won't let go despite many pleas to do so - including past ones from the friend whose life he's meddling in. Now, I'll admit I've never liked him. I realize at this time why: I knew guys like him. They were abusive to my friends (acquaintances in high school that I called friends out of expectation) - and a couple of them to me. Physically and emotionally. It set off some red flags with me. So, you can guess what happened next: The classic INFJ rage.
In that moment, I hated him more than I've hated all but one in my entire life - and that's really saying something. I wished him great harm. I imagined him suffering in many ways, especially in those ways he was inflicting upon those very few I care for.
And then I had a moment of clarity: why should he get to make me feel like this? Who is he to make me feel this bad? I control me - all of me. I control my emotions, not this arrogant prick. And that's when I did something that I've rarely done before. I asked for advice. What I received really helped.
I was told to take deep breaths and get out of myself for a while. Call upon my objective side and look at this problem from a neutral perspective. Look at this one problem, and then examine the world at large; see how small and insignificant this moment is. Then I was told to make a choice; go back into myself and decide if I wanted to let this one insignificant moment ruin my night and piss me off, or get a grip on the bigger picture and choose to let it go.
I chose to let it go.
I put on some nostalgic music, poured myself a drink, and reminded myself that I'm striving to be a good person and not allow myself to fall into stereotypes about what I am.
Fuck him. I'm not going to let him matter to me anymore.
My relaxing, nostalgic music:
Tonight/early this morning was a big tipping point for me. I've been under a lot of pressure and stress - more than usual - and someone insulted me (to someone I consider a friend) in the worst way possible. To me, at least. Then, he started again on an issue he just won't let go despite many pleas to do so - including past ones from the friend whose life he's meddling in. Now, I'll admit I've never liked him. I realize at this time why: I knew guys like him. They were abusive to my friends (acquaintances in high school that I called friends out of expectation) - and a couple of them to me. Physically and emotionally. It set off some red flags with me. So, you can guess what happened next: The classic INFJ rage.
In that moment, I hated him more than I've hated all but one in my entire life - and that's really saying something. I wished him great harm. I imagined him suffering in many ways, especially in those ways he was inflicting upon those very few I care for.
And then I had a moment of clarity: why should he get to make me feel like this? Who is he to make me feel this bad? I control me - all of me. I control my emotions, not this arrogant prick. And that's when I did something that I've rarely done before. I asked for advice. What I received really helped.
I was told to take deep breaths and get out of myself for a while. Call upon my objective side and look at this problem from a neutral perspective. Look at this one problem, and then examine the world at large; see how small and insignificant this moment is. Then I was told to make a choice; go back into myself and decide if I wanted to let this one insignificant moment ruin my night and piss me off, or get a grip on the bigger picture and choose to let it go.
I chose to let it go.
I put on some nostalgic music, poured myself a drink, and reminded myself that I'm striving to be a good person and not allow myself to fall into stereotypes about what I am.
Fuck him. I'm not going to let him matter to me anymore.
My relaxing, nostalgic music:
Friday, March 7, 2014
The Anti-Sociopathic Image and Common Questions I Ask: Part 2
In the last post, I opened up about being classified as a sociopath and revealing the fact that not all sociopaths are bad people. Sociopaths are classified as such because the way they think, the emotions they feel, and how they process things. However, the only press they seem to get is bad press because only bad sociopaths are out there getting the attention. Good sociopaths are usually low-key. I'm sure it started for other reasons, but now it's due to the fact that people will start to stereotype them as evil. In fact, today I was researching groups on Facebook and other sites, looking for groups of highly functioning sociopaths (HFS) like me to discuss things with. I found none, as I expected would happen, but what I did find was... Well, see for yourself.
The band formed in '92, the same year I was born. I began listening to them at the age of 7 when an older brother of a friend went to see them perform in Atlanta. Later, I was excited to realize that they were (and still are) based out of the same city we lived in at the time. As I got older and life became more difficult (and that's a grave understatement), I turned to them for inspiration in deciding what was right and what was wrong. They became part of my moral code and to this day, still help me determine my actions.
But is this who I really am? Or is it just who I want to be? Since this whole situation began, I've realized a lot of things I've fooled myself (and others, unknowingly) about. I always adjust myself to be what each person needs. What if I'm doing that to myself, changing the way I act in accordance with who I want to become and how I want to see myself? But that's another matter entirely - one I'm still exploring. So, we'll save that for later.
Right or Wrong? A Personal Look.
All through my life at different stages, I've asked myself how I feel about right and wrong. How would I act in certain situations? Recently, while taking another look at myself and trying to learn about myself in relation to the world, I've realized something: right and wrong doesn't matter.
I know what the social norm is. I know what you think is right and wrong. I know what I think is right and wrong. But it will not affect my decision in the end (in a majority of situations).
For example, the social norm says that stealing is wrong. The religion I was brought up in says stealing is wrong. You are the internet, so I cannot speak for you. In most cases, I would agree that my moral guidelines would say that stealing is wrong. So I wouldn't steal. But what about that starving woman? The one who gave everything for her three children, whose husband drank away all their life savings and left them for dead to be with another woman. What if there are no food banks, she can't wait that long to be approved for government assistance, and she has applied everywhere she can reach but is not hired. She steals to feed her children. If she is caught, she would be arrested. Her kids would probably go through the system and she would be shamed. But why? In this case, I believe survival is the most important thing. Who cares what is right or wrong? It's subjective.
Even in many other situations that don't seem so ambiguous. My decisions are not based on right or wrong. My moral code does have sway, but ultimately, I will do what is right for me. As long as (in compliance with my moral code) it doesn't harm anyone and it helps me, I really don't see too much problem. Of course, every situation is different and many other factors will come into play. But you can see what I'm getting at, can't you? What society (and everything else) says is right or wrong doesn't matter too much in the end. What matters is the intent, the reason behind it, the effect, and the outcome - both desired and actual.
Conclusion...
Life is made up of gray areas and unpredictable variables. Decisions shouldn't be based on a black-and-white, one extreme or another system of right or wrong. What we should be factoring into our decisions is what we intend to do, why, who or what it will affect, what we hope to get out of it, and what we will get out of it. Then we should weigh the pros and cons against our moral guidelines and religion (if we have any) and make a decision from there.
So stop and ask: What am I doing? Why am I doing this? What negative impact(s) will it have? What am I hoping to accomplish? What are the possible outcomes? Do my morals agree with this? What will happen if I don't do this? Now... what will I do?
Sociopaths were mocked and hated, being pegged as no more than vile, emotionless people who exist only to hurt and manipulate everyone. This made me realize that if we're to clear out the misconceptions and introduce the world to another side of sociopaths, there is a lot of work to be done.
How An HFS Can Be Good?
After looking around (quite a bit; there are so many negative things out there), I've found that most agree a good sociopath is that way because of a moral code of their own devising.
I have a moral code of my own. It's a mixture of the religious ethics I was raised on, some Eastern philosophy I adopted (as best I could), and what I was taught by one of my favorite bands, The Crüxshadows."We all use short cuts to make decisions. It would be impossible for us to make a fully informed, reasoned decision every time such a decision was necessary. Empaths use emotional shortcuts, sociopaths don't/can't, so we come up with some other shortcut. A lot of sociopaths use shortcuts like "anything goes," or "I am only in it for me," but I have also met/talked to many sociopaths who have a more "principled" approach to life. I have met sociopaths who are utilitarian, a la Jeremy Bentham, or even Rawlsian. Some of my readers use religious codes to guide their actions. I use the shortcut of economic efficiency, gap-filled by Judeo-Christian ethics, which for me acts like a mental/emotional exercise regime -- monotonous drudgery, but ultimately good for mental/emotional health. The one thing that sociopath "codes" tend to have in common is that they don't fully map with prevailing social norms." Sociopath World
The band formed in '92, the same year I was born. I began listening to them at the age of 7 when an older brother of a friend went to see them perform in Atlanta. Later, I was excited to realize that they were (and still are) based out of the same city we lived in at the time. As I got older and life became more difficult (and that's a grave understatement), I turned to them for inspiration in deciding what was right and what was wrong. They became part of my moral code and to this day, still help me determine my actions.
Do not injustice to anotherAll of their lyrics are just as inspiring, and even the band is down-to-earth, caring, polite, and just genuinely good people. Through them, I have come to model myself into a person that people look up to, just as I look up to them. In combination with some of the religious ethics I was brought up with and some of those previously mentioned Eastern philosophies, I have become a person who is level-headed, realistic, practical, and as noble as I can be (in terms of defending others and standing my ground). It's rather difficult to stand up for others because I'm not really bothered by too much, unless it happens to me.
Defend the weak and innocent
Let truth and honor always guide you
Let courage find the light within
Stand up when no one else is willing
Act not in hatred or in spite
Be to this world as a perfect knight
Even if it means your life
- The Crüxshadows, "Sophia"
But is this who I really am? Or is it just who I want to be? Since this whole situation began, I've realized a lot of things I've fooled myself (and others, unknowingly) about. I always adjust myself to be what each person needs. What if I'm doing that to myself, changing the way I act in accordance with who I want to become and how I want to see myself? But that's another matter entirely - one I'm still exploring. So, we'll save that for later.
Right or Wrong? A Personal Look.
All through my life at different stages, I've asked myself how I feel about right and wrong. How would I act in certain situations? Recently, while taking another look at myself and trying to learn about myself in relation to the world, I've realized something: right and wrong doesn't matter.
I know what the social norm is. I know what you think is right and wrong. I know what I think is right and wrong. But it will not affect my decision in the end (in a majority of situations).
For example, the social norm says that stealing is wrong. The religion I was brought up in says stealing is wrong. You are the internet, so I cannot speak for you. In most cases, I would agree that my moral guidelines would say that stealing is wrong. So I wouldn't steal. But what about that starving woman? The one who gave everything for her three children, whose husband drank away all their life savings and left them for dead to be with another woman. What if there are no food banks, she can't wait that long to be approved for government assistance, and she has applied everywhere she can reach but is not hired. She steals to feed her children. If she is caught, she would be arrested. Her kids would probably go through the system and she would be shamed. But why? In this case, I believe survival is the most important thing. Who cares what is right or wrong? It's subjective.
Even in many other situations that don't seem so ambiguous. My decisions are not based on right or wrong. My moral code does have sway, but ultimately, I will do what is right for me. As long as (in compliance with my moral code) it doesn't harm anyone and it helps me, I really don't see too much problem. Of course, every situation is different and many other factors will come into play. But you can see what I'm getting at, can't you? What society (and everything else) says is right or wrong doesn't matter too much in the end. What matters is the intent, the reason behind it, the effect, and the outcome - both desired and actual.
Conclusion...
Life is made up of gray areas and unpredictable variables. Decisions shouldn't be based on a black-and-white, one extreme or another system of right or wrong. What we should be factoring into our decisions is what we intend to do, why, who or what it will affect, what we hope to get out of it, and what we will get out of it. Then we should weigh the pros and cons against our moral guidelines and religion (if we have any) and make a decision from there.
So stop and ask: What am I doing? Why am I doing this? What negative impact(s) will it have? What am I hoping to accomplish? What are the possible outcomes? Do my morals agree with this? What will happen if I don't do this? Now... what will I do?
Thursday, February 13, 2014
Hello, I'm a highly functioning sociopath: Part 1
I've shelled out for psychologists and the like whenever I could afford it, and had them evaluate me out of curiosity. If you know anything about INFJs, it's common knowledge that they always feel different than most people. Until recently, I've chalked it up to that. However, I participate in a group that exists to examine the human creature, find its flaws, and discuss why they are necessary - or eliminate them. Our most recent lessons called for psychologists to evaluate the members in hopes of finding deeper issues that we can work on in order to make ourselves a little less toxic. Interestingly, I had already been evaluated by this particular psychologist on multiple occasions. He asked if I would like to see my file rather than going through it all again. Naturally, I opted for the shortcut and opened my file. What I saw, I was not prepared for...
"Highly functioning sociopath." This irked me. Not because it claimed I was a sociopath, but because I didn't know about it - and, strangely enough, I didn't want people associating me with a fictional character (Sherlock). I found it interesting that being labeled as an HFS, as it will now be called, didn't actually bother me as much as I assumed it would have.
Naturally, this came up in discussion with the group (it's very open) and they were curious as to how an HFS could be an INFJ rather than an INTJ, and especially how such a person can be an HSP (highly sensitive person). So, they've made an entire study of me (after I begrudgingly accepted). I've learned quite a lot about myself, and even learned that not all sociopaths are cold, unfeeling, evil people. Some are good. Some can feel love, form bonds, and function normally. In this first post, we will look at the different aspects that make up my person.
Note: Whenever I make reference to a "sociopath," assume I am speaking about a highly functioning sociopath (HFS).
INFJ
Why the label? I was labeled an INFJ time and time again not because I'm emotional, but because I'm able to easily read people, I'm very in tune with my environment (HSP), and I have a strong intuition that I always follow. I do have emotions, just not the same as everyone else does. It's not something that's easy to explain, especially when I've fooled myself for so long. I used to believe I was extremely compassionate. Someone could make up a sad story about a rock on the ground, and I would be distressed and try to make the rock feel better. This is not something that was simply done as a child, but throughout a majority of my life. I was overly compassionate. Looking at it now, I didn't really feel it. I was overcompensating for a lack of general empathy. That's not to say sociopaths can't relate to people - it's just difficult in my experience.
Speaking with this psychologist, researching, and reading my file have brought to light that I adapted at a young age. I saw how people reacted to something, I filed it away, and when I didn't feel the same, I pretended I did and overcompensated, making me seem a very sensitive child. As I got older, I was able to reign it in some, but would still seem to respond strongly to the strangest things - like the rock, for instance. It puzzled people, and it puzzled me too. If I had bothered to actually take five seconds and ask myself if I really felt that way, the answer would have been clear: no.
What I've learned. Sociopaths can feel emotion, just differently than most people. It's the same thing as listening to a story. It's the same story everyone else hears, but some may perceive it as a sad, hopeful, boring, or funny. No one will experience emotions the same way, and a sociopath is no different. They just feel differently than the majority population.
HSP
Why the label? What is an HSP? An HSP (Highly Sensitive Person) is not someone who cries a lot, despite how it sounds. An HSP "is a person having the innate trait of high sensory processing sensitivity," and "may process sensory data much more deeply and thoroughly due to a biological difference in their nervous systems." (Wikipedia.org) Furthermore...
That's not to say that all intense stimuli has a negative effect. If I enjoy the stimuli, the intensity doesn't bother me - in fact, it has a positive effect such as elevating my mood, calming or energizing me, and so on. However, if I don't enjoy the stimuli (unpleasant texture, loud music that I hate, intense smells that I don't like), it can make me physically sick and unable to concentrate or otherwise function properly. Sometimes it even disorients me.
What I have learned. HSP is very useful in being a sociopath. As the psychologist has pointed out to me over the course of this study, sociopaths are very perceptive and often change their mannerisms and other aspects of themselves to influence outcomes or make themselves fit in and/or seem more agreeable to others. An HSP is also very observant - not just of their surroundings, but of people and their emotions as well. They can read body language of people; for some who are more developed like me, it's as easy as if we were reading everything about you in that current state off a sheet of paper.
Summary. HSPs are observant, and HFSs are perceptive. When one has both, it is very useful and the two feed off of each other in a sort of symbiotic relationship.
In Conclusion...
Now you can see how it is possible for a person to be in these three seemingly unrelated classifications. After many hours of researching and discussions, I've learned that what I knew about sociopaths was only one side of the picture: there is such a thing as a good sociopath, they can be functioning members of society, and they do feel.
In the next post, I will share some questions that have been on my mind and my personal views on the topic of morality. I hope you've found this useful and enlightening. I will continue to post more as I learn about what I am and how I can use this to lead a successful life among the "normal" people of the world. (Though, normal is a relative term and highly overrated.)
Remember, when it comes to people: always research before you believe it, don't stereotype, and (most of all) accept.
- Genrin
"Highly functioning sociopath." This irked me. Not because it claimed I was a sociopath, but because I didn't know about it - and, strangely enough, I didn't want people associating me with a fictional character (Sherlock). I found it interesting that being labeled as an HFS, as it will now be called, didn't actually bother me as much as I assumed it would have.
"Sociopaths know that they are different, though they may not necessarily be familiar that the label "sociopath" applies to them [...] When I was told by a friend that there was a label for people like me and it was called "sociopath," I actually willingly accepted the diagnosis. I knew I didn't have the same emotions as everyone else, I knew I had a weak sense of empathy, I knew I was different, and it wasn't something that I struggled with ever." Sociopath World
Naturally, this came up in discussion with the group (it's very open) and they were curious as to how an HFS could be an INFJ rather than an INTJ, and especially how such a person can be an HSP (highly sensitive person). So, they've made an entire study of me (after I begrudgingly accepted). I've learned quite a lot about myself, and even learned that not all sociopaths are cold, unfeeling, evil people. Some are good. Some can feel love, form bonds, and function normally. In this first post, we will look at the different aspects that make up my person.
Note: Whenever I make reference to a "sociopath," assume I am speaking about a highly functioning sociopath (HFS).
INFJ
Why the label? I was labeled an INFJ time and time again not because I'm emotional, but because I'm able to easily read people, I'm very in tune with my environment (HSP), and I have a strong intuition that I always follow. I do have emotions, just not the same as everyone else does. It's not something that's easy to explain, especially when I've fooled myself for so long. I used to believe I was extremely compassionate. Someone could make up a sad story about a rock on the ground, and I would be distressed and try to make the rock feel better. This is not something that was simply done as a child, but throughout a majority of my life. I was overly compassionate. Looking at it now, I didn't really feel it. I was overcompensating for a lack of general empathy. That's not to say sociopaths can't relate to people - it's just difficult in my experience.
Speaking with this psychologist, researching, and reading my file have brought to light that I adapted at a young age. I saw how people reacted to something, I filed it away, and when I didn't feel the same, I pretended I did and overcompensated, making me seem a very sensitive child. As I got older, I was able to reign it in some, but would still seem to respond strongly to the strangest things - like the rock, for instance. It puzzled people, and it puzzled me too. If I had bothered to actually take five seconds and ask myself if I really felt that way, the answer would have been clear: no.
What I've learned. Sociopaths can feel emotion, just differently than most people. It's the same thing as listening to a story. It's the same story everyone else hears, but some may perceive it as a sad, hopeful, boring, or funny. No one will experience emotions the same way, and a sociopath is no different. They just feel differently than the majority population.
"I have been surprised by how often I hear or read someone saying that sociopaths don't have emotions or can't form emotional bonds with other people. Most often it's people talking about how sociopaths are soulless monsters or must live lives completely devoid of any real meaningful relationships, but sometimes it's someone saying that he couldn't possibly be a sociopath because he feels emotions and love, etc. This is all fallacy. The three main diagnostic criterions actually have relatively little to say about emotions: Cleckley only mentions "general poverty in major affective reactions" and a poorly integrated sex life, Hare's PCL-R also lists shallow affect, and the DSM-V's ASPD only says that sociopaths tend to experience irritability and don't feel remorse. Nowhere does it say that sociopaths don't love. Nowhere does it say that sociopaths can't form emotional bonds. There is not a single historical example of a sociopath who is a completely emotionless, robot loner, so I don't know from where people are getting this image of the emotionless sociopath.Summary. It's common myth that sociopaths can't feel emotion. It's fact that they feel different emotions, but they feel nonetheless.
[...]
Of course who knows whether sociopaths are feeling the same emotions that everyone else is, but I don't think anyone's emotional palette is completely identical to anyone else. Rather people's emotions are going to depend on their culture, their belief system, their education, the societal expectations placed on them, along with the vast natural and physical differences between people's brain and brain chemistry. This applies particularly to a complex emotion like love." Sociopath World
HSP
Why the label? What is an HSP? An HSP (Highly Sensitive Person) is not someone who cries a lot, despite how it sounds. An HSP "is a person having the innate trait of high sensory processing sensitivity," and "may process sensory data much more deeply and thoroughly due to a biological difference in their nervous systems." (Wikipedia.org) Furthermore...
"This is a specific trait, with key consequences for how we view people, that in the past has often been confused with innate shyness, social anxiety problems, inhibitedness, social phobia and innate fearfulness, and introversion." Wikipedia.orgAs a child, I was always thought shy and antisocial. This was quickly looked at by school counselors and psychologists, and it was determined at the age of six that I was just highly sensitive - and then at age eight that I was merely introverted because I was bored and I had trouble relating to my classmates due to a high IQ. I was placed in a gifted program where I went to a different school twice a week, and no more was said about it. Since the HSP aspect of my being was discovered and nurtured at such a young age, it has become incredibly developed. Like many, I know what needs to be done to make an environment feel different (change the lighting, rearrange furniture, etc.) and intense stimuli effects me physically.
That's not to say that all intense stimuli has a negative effect. If I enjoy the stimuli, the intensity doesn't bother me - in fact, it has a positive effect such as elevating my mood, calming or energizing me, and so on. However, if I don't enjoy the stimuli (unpleasant texture, loud music that I hate, intense smells that I don't like), it can make me physically sick and unable to concentrate or otherwise function properly. Sometimes it even disorients me.
What I have learned. HSP is very useful in being a sociopath. As the psychologist has pointed out to me over the course of this study, sociopaths are very perceptive and often change their mannerisms and other aspects of themselves to influence outcomes or make themselves fit in and/or seem more agreeable to others. An HSP is also very observant - not just of their surroundings, but of people and their emotions as well. They can read body language of people; for some who are more developed like me, it's as easy as if we were reading everything about you in that current state off a sheet of paper.
Summary. HSPs are observant, and HFSs are perceptive. When one has both, it is very useful and the two feed off of each other in a sort of symbiotic relationship.
In Conclusion...
Now you can see how it is possible for a person to be in these three seemingly unrelated classifications. After many hours of researching and discussions, I've learned that what I knew about sociopaths was only one side of the picture: there is such a thing as a good sociopath, they can be functioning members of society, and they do feel.
In the next post, I will share some questions that have been on my mind and my personal views on the topic of morality. I hope you've found this useful and enlightening. I will continue to post more as I learn about what I am and how I can use this to lead a successful life among the "normal" people of the world. (Though, normal is a relative term and highly overrated.)
Remember, when it comes to people: always research before you believe it, don't stereotype, and (most of all) accept.
- Genrin
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