Jan. 27th, 2017

Activism

Jan. 27th, 2017 06:04 am
omnia_mutantur: (Default)
 And....lost the entry I was typing due to a cat's help.

I want to march, but not until I can stand for long periods of time without pain.
I want to be calling people, but keep just getting to the point of trying to figure out who to call and freezing.
I want to be a concerned and active citizen, but all the conversations happening around me are things I agree with, but are happening in such violent agreement that voices get raised and then I shut down.

I'll figure this out, I have to.  I just haven't yet.

In other but somehow similar news, my therapist and I are trying to talk about why I feel like a failure, why whenever I try to dig down and find out my wants, I just start to sob and inform her that I just want to be not-me.  Sometimes I imagine this other, successful person to be in exactly the life I'm in now, with the wonderful partners and pets and house, just being less me while doing so.  Sometimes it's just the desire to be absent. 

(this is not suicidal ideation, folks.  I know what suicidal ideation is, and this is not it.  I am well cared for by a psychiatrist, a therapist and a host of medications.)

And so we talk about success, and what it means and I don't know, I just know I'm not doing it.  And she talks about success being about being a good person, and I talk about feeling like everyone starts with the same amount of sadness, and everyone else just does better with it.  She tells me not everyone's an alcoholic, and I counter with "maybe I'm not, maybe I just want the attention".

I will defend with every bone in my body and every word in my brain that self-care is a radical act, when the concept is applied to others, but I can't give myself the same permission, I am convinced if the internal berating voice ever stopped, I'd just crawl into bed and do online jigsaw puzzles forever.  In therapy, I keep coming back to the same example, because it feels easiest and most illustrative,  about how I internally scream at myself about blood draws, tell myself that my fear doesn't matter to anyone, that it was a long time ago, that it will all be fine I just need to sit still and not be such a baby. And it works, outwardly I appear calm, the nurse usually manages on the first or second try and it's over, and so I am proven right, that my fear is irrelevant and useless.  And I would never do that to a friend, I would never in a million years do that to a child.  But here I am, doing it over and over again.

But now, the horde of cats is demanding to be fed and I remember that at least this will always prompt me out of bed.

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