I can mostly only type with one arm; my right has developed a strange strainedness. You know how, when you use a mouse for a very extended length of time, your arm muscles feel strained? Repetitive strain injury, I think it’s called. It isn’t quite a cramp. It is a very discomforting chronic ache. It creeps down from my neck, through my shoulder and to my wrist. Currently there are not many positions that don’t cause pain.
It’s so bad that I was quite close to leaving work early and just lying down for the rest of the day, only I don’t think I can really afford any more sick time right now. Also, now that I’m stuck here anyway, I’m finding that it’s not too terrible. I’m reading Treating Self-Destructive Behaviours in Trauma Survivors. I doubt I would have read such a useful book if it weren’t the only thing I could really do. I just hope I have the discipline to actually finish it. So far the most useful thing I have taken away from it is: Don’t use safety contracts. A contract just encourages deceit.
Someone who has experienced abuse and trauma probably already has extensive training in seeking approval from authority figures. Self harming is going to be one of their only (effective) coping strategies. You can’t simply ask them not to do it and expect that just because this unhelpful behaviour has been extinguished (even if it has) then everything is going to be alright. It isn’t. People use these strategies only because nothing else works. How is it helping this client to just ask him or her not to use them anymore?
So just don’t. Don’t make them commit to promises they can’t possibly keep. That is only ever going to result in them lying to you, and then feeling even more shame about engaging in behaviours they can’t help engaging in.
I was just interrupted by my boss raving about funding we might be getting that he is quite excited about.
Following conversations with him I often come away thinking it must be nice to be so excitable. Such passion and such meaning derived from these passions. That, right there, is what I want so much.
Of course, I do have passions… don’t I? Perhaps I just don’t follow them through. It is actual engagement with your passions that make them grow, surely. I think my problem is not that I am not passionate, just that I do not engage with anything.
Laziness. It always comes back to laziness. Surely being the person that I want to be is reason enough to do things, despite not necessarily feeling like doing them. Pushing myself. Just sucking it up, just getting on with it!
Seriously, there is nothing worse for depression than doing nothing. There is nothing worse for a sense of meaninglessness than doing nothing. If you’re not engaging with anything (of any meaning) then of course nothing is going to HAVE any meaning.
At the end of the day, what is more important: Being indulgently lazy, or feeling a sense of meaning, of accomplishment, of passion? Like, seriously. If I was watching my life from the outside I would be shouting at my self-character in such outrage. WHAT DO YOU EXPECT UGH YOU KNOW BETTER THAN THIS WHY ARE YOU SO FUCKING LAZY GET IT TOGETHER!
It gets worse from there.
I can’t believe anyone even likes you. You can’t expect anyone to continue to like you once they realise what a hopeless case you are. You need to get on this before everyone leaves you. If you don’t, you can’t say you didn’t know. It will be your own stupid fault entirely. You’ll deserve it. You do deserve it. You deserve to be alone and miserable. You’re pathetic. Hideous through and through. There is just no redeeming that. No hope. Why even bother? Everything you do will be barely concealed shit anyway. Only just good enough. Just scraping through. At some point none of it is going to fool anyone anymore. You think you haven’t already done all the best you ever could? It’s all going to be downhill from here.
So yeah. I mean, really, who can blame you for not even trying any more? Trying is just another reminder of how you’ll never ever be good enough ever. So go on. Just go back to bed. Just go.
Well I had to stop there as my boss was telling me to go home. So now I’m home. I’ve eaten pesto cheese toast and tried to nap and now am watching Julie and Julia.
I wasn’t expecting that voice to be so loud that it actually came out. It is only a tiny part of me, as it is of everyone. I’m not as shocked as I imagine anyone I know would be, reading this. Though we all have it, we don’t own this part of us… not out loud. We indulge it in secret. When anyone voices any of it they are shouted down by those they love, who are only trying to help… they don’t want us to feel this way, and so unintentionally invalidate us. Unintentionally make us feel alone and pathetic for having these thoughts.
Seriously. We all have them. Neither of us is alone in that.