Shame

I’ve been agonizing over a decision. Well really I’ve lived in this dark could of shame and rejection for the last 4 days. A person I’ve known for approximately 24 years has ignored my varied, though sufficient requests for communication for the last two years. While in any other circumstance this would call for me making an attempt to discover my wrong doing in the relationship and thus, make a repair. I don’t think this would help though; because as I discussed with a mutual friend last year, “she just has to do things her way” in relationships and with others. Truthfully, I’ve always known that this person was like this, narcissistic, self-absorbed, and typically only engaging in social activities that fill her needs bucket. This is all evident via her face book page. Frequent photos of her in tight dresses, parading around what appears to be nightclubs with much younger female counterparts, hair always prepped and implants proudly pronounced. Moreover, the few photos she posts of her seven year-old daughter seem to be one of her minions in the making, just as self-absorbed and attention seeking. This is not to say that she is not without her own appearances of kindness, generosity or even spiritual practice, all of these things are though, just like the rest of her, tightly wrapped in the non-specificness akin to a Midwest “join our church” poster, or generic giving you might read in a chicken soup book. All of these things though are simply a cover for what is ultimately selfishness and survival created early in her rearing, much like her prodigy. Her actions lack clarity and seem suck, at age 21 or maybe 23, if I’m being generous. What’s my problem then? Why is letting go of this non-existent face book chum so difficult and agonizing? If I un-friend her, she will know and so will lots of other people we have in common. This leads me to my next gut wrenching issue, what if everyone thinks I am an immature baby? What do I say if someone asks? If I’m being honest, it does hurt, it punches me in the sore spot that is my shame bruise, but I’m NOT telling anyone else that. Or should I? The wise adult says, you should be honest with others, if it comes up, about what has happened. This would allow me to take a big fucking giant step towards this elusive vulnerability I’m seeking. Then I say, “face book is fucking stupid anyway,” my 17 year-old daughter even knows this. And why, dear god why, would I let ONE PERSON determine my worthiness anyway? The outcome is this, I logged into face book. I didn’t really; I’m always logged in just to check on my self-worth at any time. It pains me that I have to even search this person’s name and I un-freinded her. Wow, what a strange relief. I have one less face book friend today, and It’s okay.

Social Craping

Today – October 6, 2010 - at 3:25 PM I deactivated my Facebook account. When I navigated to the deactivate account page I was asked my “reason why” I was choosing to deactivate my Facebook account. I scanned the check boxes of generic and completely irrelevant reasons Facebook provided and opted to go with “other” and briefly but specifically described my “why”:
“A very large portion of the people on Facebook are worthless jackasses! I suppose I would reconsider using Facebook if I could be assured that I would, under no circumstances, be subjected to the self-centered blathering and useless ramblings of people I would likely not speak to if they were sitting next to me on a crashing airplane.”

October 12, 2010 8:22 PM - It’s been nearly one week since I took a brave, but mildly impetuous step in deactivating my Facebook account. Two days after I relinquished all superficial communication with my “friends” the battery cord to my laptop sizzled out. One could interpret the abrupt interruption of electronic power supply to my internet operating machine as God intervening – should I have a sudden flood of regret in my disconnection choice. Perhaps God did opt to send me a confirmation of my choice or maybe I am a careless owner of laptop power cords (to date I’ve gone through 6.) Whatever the case, I have been “off the interwebs juice” for nearly seven days, save the few instances when I sparingly used work-related bookmarks to complete work-related tasks.

So then this evening as I swept the kitchen floor of its thin pug hair blanket, I began to mentally chew over my absence - and potential reintegration to digital communication. Strangely I felt an initial twinge of uncertainty and awkwardness as I imagined scrolling through the daily updates from others - colon, half parenthesis or semi-colon, backslash seems peculiarly trivial.

Most importantly and honestly I don’t care what others are eating for dinner or how much some hate their ex-spouse. I wouldn’t have discussed these topics with these people in person (if I even really spoke to half of these people in person within the last three years) and I don’t have any idea how these subjects of conversation would maneuver their way into a “real life” dialogue.

Only time will tell if I – once again – become desensitized to the “blathering” of the 111 people Facebook labels as my “friends.”

Don't Be Silly

When I survey the landscape of my life, the arduous and the effortless decisions that I willingly accepted in order to progress – I am only left with one solitary factor that either provided solace or provocation – companionship through the journey.

Feeling as a part of a struggling collective of one or many seems to ease the emotional burden and fears that often accompany new growth and direction.
Isolation and loneliness only lend themselves to become the playthings of self-doubt, fear and discouragement.

And as much as I long to listen and be heard in my journey I dare not weep and groan about my feelings of misfortune to those at a networking luncheon.

How odd.

“I will go in this way and find my own way out”

“I will go in this way and find my own way out”

Lonely, isolated, misunderstood - I suppose we all often experience these wretched emotions from time to time. Adolescence (the awkward and emotionally volatile period) is expected to be both electrifying and despairing; adulthood – or the “thirties” – has no such expectations.

I would be remiss to live through days, weeks, months without acknowledging the lingering, waxing and waning multi-layered experiences of loneliness. In spite of the increasing quality of those whom I call friend or a partner there is still a profound, synchronized connection I yearn for that often seems absent.

“I’m coming slow but speeding”

Acceptance is the complete and total appreciation for someone or something. I have found absolute acceptance of others - including myself - elusive. The complementary qualities that lure two individuals to develop a bond are in fact, the very characteristics that create contention, distance and misunderstandings within relationships. I surmise it is then the inability or unwillingness of the opposing individuals to understand the needs of one another that creates the disconnection.

If we are to genuinely connect we must first, embrace our individualized traits and second, accept the balancing partner for their absolute reverse abilities in order to develop and maintain harmony. Synchronicity involves two separate and distinct entities working together, seamlessly in union without discord.

I feel suffocated by the discord.

A Teacher

"What is it, this love? The love which flows through us and beyond us?"

"Whitaker the man and the teacher will continue to flow into the story of our knowledge about human beings. His life, his thought, and his rapport with human suffering will continue to be appreciated by new generations of family therapists. As they grow tired of the endless models, new approaches, and supertechniques, in the end, they will yearn to find human beings and their qualities in the real world and not in the microscope. Whitaker's legacy will be revalued even by those who kept their distance during his lifetime, labeling him as "bizarre" and "irrational." Carl was a pioneer in family therapy, a giant, who did not allow himself to be seduced into creating a myth around his personality. He died without any official disciples, but he trained a multitude of therapists around the world, sometimes unbeknownst to them, with the power of integrity and coherence. He taught us more about life than about techniques. He taught us about the search for ourselves and our own spiritual essence, through the experience of suffering and solitude. "

-Excerpt from JMFT-1996 - Andolfi Maurizio after the death of Carl Whitaker

Carpe Diem

The struggle with creativity and inspiration is that often these fleeting moments occur when you are unable to take the imaginative power to its tangible outcome. Conversely, it seems that the daily events that consume so much time carrying out less creative endeavors are also the very events that birth the inspiration and creativity.

There is much to be said about being “in the moment” and using introspection as the springboard for infinite possibilities of creating and subsequently inspiring others. These “moments of clarity” often arrive without notice, forethought or even preparation. Moreover, within these moments lies the meta-analysis of ourselves, others, intentions, understandings, meanings and emotion - priceless glimpse into profound wisdom of the human condition.

I deeply value and cherish the times when my intellect and perceptual psyche are in harmony. I value my unexpected inspirational moments because, as with most of life’s treasures, if these instances are wasted, procrastinated or even brushed aside the probability of when this may occur again is unknown.

Carpe diem quam minimum credula postero – "seize the day and place no trust in tomorrow"

Foreboding and Benevolence

Image via Wikipedia

Awareness has hastened upon my spirit. Familiarity breeds contempt, I was once advised. Wise words meant for specific circumstances.

I know well my own internal, emotional compass and it is when this compass points south – despite my own impediment to move the dial otherwise – I should always take heed and take action. As sure as I may know what I should do in moments of emotional unrest alas, I have again chosen to turn a blind eye to wisdom.

There lies a large chasm between those who are wise, empathetic, deeply intuitive individuals and those who live lives riddled with self-centered behavior, one-dimensional cognitions, and judgmental commentaries.

Enjoy and revel in the plights, flaws and misunderstandings of all others. Perched upon minarets, a throne only made for one, pointing, scoffing, and chortling with sinister delight.

The hateful aspersions; incessantly echoed with bellowing satisfaction, or when in fear of retribution the explication is a soft innuendo slithered from the lips of one through the clefts of the ears to another.

This, to me, is the lowest and most unexamined life one could ever live.

Sadly reprehensible.

I vow to heed my internal warnings and never allow bitterness or contempt to overcome who I am created to be in this world.

Two Flew Over the Cuckoo

Two Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest

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Indolent Living

Image via Wikipedia

So often, people are content to sit and watch silently the demise of others. This indolent living is apparent in everyday life, whether you are perusing the aisles of your local grocery store or waiting in line at the movie theater, you can notice the expressionless gaze of humanity.

It seems as of late the concern and empathy for others is waning. Look for yourself, smile at strangers while shopping or waiting in the doctor’s office. When you take this brief moment to pass along a generous non-verbal expression, consider the reaction you receive – if any at all.

I think everyone is eating lemons before they leave the house.

Hope is Lost

Eternal hope can be incredibly damming. Always hoping for others to achieve some sort of potential, develop personal insight or even give a crap can, if provided the right circumstances, create excruciating heartache in the “hoper.”

Time after time, the disappointment and gut wrenching emotional torture creates a level of resentment so deep that the once accepted empty apologies are nothing but white noise to the ears. Time will not heal the wounds. All that is left is the calloused and yellowing scars of the lies and destruction.

Haiku Moment

Stormy spring clouds rain

Rejoice the song birds do sing!

In lush sodden greens

 

A Trite Renewal

I must say that my faith in humanity has waxed and waned over the last few weeks.  I feel as though I have unknowingly become a passenger on a horrific, and at times, peaceful rollercoaster ride.

Ride with me, will you? 

The steep accent is exciting, yet fearful as we slowly climb the tracks – look around and for if only a brief moment notice the beauty that is the earth below you.  The others are mingling what now seems so far beneath your feet.   There is an anticipatory – almost eerie silence – as we wait to discover the thrill that will meet us over the hill.  As we reach the summit of the tracks time stands still…..then….with a quick gasp of life breath………click.   We plummet downward, screaming, knuckles white gripping the metal bracing.  Physically we feel the powerful force of gravity push our bodies back against the seats.  Exhilarated, fearful, we attempt to measure the twists, turns, loops around and around.  Yes, this is exciting!  The adrenalin forces through our veins creating a dizzying energy.  The excitement is intoxicating.  Soon this ride will be over, or will it?

This emotional traverse, however cliché it may seem is a continued struggle I skirmish each week although, it often seems the ride never ends.  I commented to a colleague that our days often seem like Groundhog Day (the movie) a repetition of the previous day with little variation.  This colleague gently advised me that in the movie the character experiencing these repetitive days “eventually learned from his mistakes and became a better person.”  OUCH!!  Well I suppose it was my blunder to reveal my selfish troubles to a mental health professional.  Nevertheless, I continued to observe the mêlée of my expectations with sobering veracity of life.

When do things change, people change?  Do these people think I do not see through their thinly veiled attempts at triangulation, manipulation and outright lies?  There may have been a time in my life that I could have “related” to these destructive behaviors, but now I frequently feel weary and out of ideas.  

Simple, yet very accurate statement of the current American population

My giraffe friend and I had a philosophical conversation this afternoon.  I snapped this photo for a memento of the moment. 

 I was informed that this last statement is from the department of redundant redundancy..

The One-Minute Writer: Today's Writing Prompt: Lie

I found an interesting writing blog, aptly labeled The One-Minute Writer.

This blogger concept is use 60 seconds to scribe a brief narration relating to the daily topic provided by the blog’s author. 

My addition is included after the link.

 The One-Minute Writer: Today's Writing Prompt: Lie

A lie I told to someone or to myself……

I lie to myself daily - sometimes by the hour or minute.  I lie to myself about the bizarre, distressing, sorrowful and fearful things I hear each day in my line of work.  I tell myself “I’ve done all I can” or “it’s out of my hands.”  And within this piercing abundance of lies is the soft whispering of my soul that tells me it will be okay tomorrow.

Facebook and the Brain

This evening I made the transition into the social phenomena known as Facebook. Interestingly enough once I discovered “friends” (some of which I have not spoken to for some time) I became absorbed in this electronic process.

Forcing myself to shift gears and redirect my attention I clicked on over to one of my weekly reader blogs, Neuroskeptic. Coincidentally the latest post was about the perils of Facebook, albeit skeptical (as the blogger’s name suggests) but also honest in the opinion that were made about Baroness Susan Greenfield.
The post in its entirety can be located here.

Interesting and valid points made on both sides.

Let us all shovel crap

I read an article in a neo-feminist women’s magazine a few weeks ago in my local hair salon while artificially altering my hair color. The article was titled “Analyze This.. Therapy Pro and Con” Intrigued, but with a smidgen of skepticism I began to explore the editorial. The author (a woman in her early thirties) began by recounting her “pro” experiences with a PhD therapist who, based on the recounting of the sessions, appeared to be more of a reflective, “Rogerianesque” type of clinician. The writer discussed her therapist’s suggestions of sibling jealousy between the financially successful writer and her domestically successful sister. Her narrative itself was mildly interesting with, as expected a poignant ending to the story - discovering that her therapist was, in fact correct in his/her assumptions of the writer’s systemic/family dynamics. If the article had stopped there perhaps that would be been a decent ending to an ordinary but informative story…..but there was more. The four page crap fest continued with a side bar of “Shrink Deal Breakers, find out if you need to dump yours.” This idiotic “list” included such items as “find another therapist if yours blogs, wears a toupee” and my favorite, “has a catchphrase.” I will be the first to admit that not every person that walks into a therapist’s office will develop an instant rapport and become sold on mental health, but to end therapy based on such trivial issues like catchphrases? And how would some neurotic, feminist “journalist” who writes for a women’s magazine be an expert on what makes a good therapist? These were just a few of my concerns about the shallow, arrogant and much uninformed commentary.

I then moved over to another personal story in hopes that I could calm my internal seething. The last portion of the article was written by a 20-something, woman who had participated in psychotherapy for a number of years while residing in a big metropolitan city. This woman’s story was the “therapy con” portion of the article and actually was far more intriguing than the “pro” portion. The woman discussed her life issues, struggles and weekly therapy sessions that seemed to be a requirement of her social circle. After an undisclosed number of years living out her life and making decisions based on a psychoanalyst’s “insights” the woman moved to an animal farm near the outskirts of this city and began a “simple life” of scooping horse dung while contemplating life’s “real issues.” She discussed her innate ability to develop her own brand of insight, problem solving and inner peace all while working with horses and their excretions. I was inspired and amazed at this woman’s ability to take her self-consumed world and look outside of herself to transform her cognitive processes through helping others. This concept is at the heart of what life change and ultimately therapy, is about. In addition to her inspiring story this woman made a statement that was so clear, concise and irreverent I had to read the passage several times to ensure I had grasped the truth in the statement. She wrote, “Some people use therapy to justify their own stagnation.” ABSOLUTELY!!! I could not agree more. In fact, perhaps some people who enter therapy need to be told that this statement may really be the crux of their “issues.” A responsible and ethical therapist will and should let their client’s know when their weekly sessions have become a breeding ground for an idle life. A neurotic, hyper-focus on life issues - irrelevant and perhaps destructive to our cognition is not helpful and probably causes one to truly live their life unexamined.

If shoveling horse manure can allow one to shift their focus from “my mother never loved me enough” to “my mother did the best she could with what she had and it is up to me to stop blaming everyone else for my self-inflicted suffering” then let us all shovel crap – both literally and figuratively.

Brain Poking

I just read the most fascinating, heartbreaking and disturbing article. The commentary detailed the historical context of the prefrontal lobotomy or as originally coined the leucotomy. I have been aware, and to some extent self-educated about the rise and fall of the lobotomy cult however, I have never quite read personal accounts like this one. I suppose the reading or hearing about the scientific perspective (severing or uncoupling of the brain's emotional centers) of this procedure is less painful (no pun intended) than reading the emotional narratives of those affected by this “surgery.”

Not only was it the personal stories, but also the parallel-dichotomy that existed between those affected by the “procedure” and the physicians and researches that elevated the “cure all.” From the historical standpoint the initiative for the lobotomy came as a result of the 19th century uncertainty of how to treat or help the mentally ill population.

Okay, so let’s reason for a moment that in the early 1890’s the “insane” and those with incurable “madness” were in fact overcrowding the asylums. And well, let me even go so far as to say that the mad people also were demonstrating socially erratic behavior. To add more emphasis, let us also consider that perhaps the behavior was so bizarre that families and local villagers would scurry into their drafty homes with fear and panic, and lock the doors only to cautiously peer through the windows in order to observe the devil possessed populace. The fear and terror was probably so entrenched that the villagers considered aloud if they too could possibly “catch” the illness, after all the black plague nearly wiped out an entire country. So it is with this dramatic, yet perhaps all too real scenario that we are able to evoke the images of not only those struggling with an illness, but also the naivety and trepidation of those residing in this era.

The experimentation, and superficial desire to help advance science resulted in the invention and subsequent persuasion of the medical community to believe that aimlessly poking around in your brain could be a great idea. The evolution of the lobotomy resulted from a German physiologist experimentations that led to an asylum director in Switzerland which then links to a Portuguese neuropsychiatrist. This Portuguese fella then borrowed from the work of various researchers to (this is where this gets so good) get shot in the spinal column by a non-lobotomized patient (karma really does suck) and then he went on to win the Nobel Prize for his “medical innovations in neurosurgery.” But the story doesn’t and there. It was a clinical neurologist (a one Walter Freeman) that popularized the procedure in the United States.

I understand that hindsight is always far more clear then objective evaluations while “in the moment,” but from what I can construe the historical literature is very clear in that every single one of these scientists were vehemently met with opposition to this procedure. The literature illustrates that there were those within the medical community as well every day folk that believed this was wrong and far more dangerous than ol’ snake oil salesman Freeman led them to believe.

In spite of the protest Dr. Freeman embarked on a United States tour de crazy that allowed him to astonish the American populist with the following breathtaking feats.

The procedure would begin with the patient being clothed in a white ceremonial gown.

Electro shock would gently lull the patient to sleep while the “doctor” would insert his innovative ice pick (specially created to quickly and efficiently sever the thalamo-cortical fibers) into the patients eyeball orbit.

Once “in” Freeman would sway his ice pick in a “to and fro” or back and forth motion to ensure all tissue was severed.

Then, rinse and repeat on the opposing eyeball orbit/PFC area.

This entire life changing procedure was done within as little as 10 minutes.

The most astonishing events occurred when Freeman used his “skillz” to astound witnesses by performing two-handed lobotomies, or by demonstrating the operation in a production line manner.

Freeman once lobotomized 25 women in a single day.

All of Freeman’s selfless work and implementation of a miracle cure was frequently featured in local newspapers, television and major magazines.

And all the while Freeman left women, children and men without the necessary brain functions to be a “whole person.”

I can’t judge this man’s intentions. But what I can say is he was not so much unlike his patients or any person past, present or future – searching for acceptance, accolades, love, respect, understanding and peace. You see, Freeman’s story however horrific and cold it may seem, is the chronicled life of a man perhaps desiring to help others only to be swept away in the excitement of a miracle cure and the pride of his achievements.

The most heartbreaking or poetically interesting part of this story was Dr. Freeman. With the availability of anti-psychotic medication Freeman’s procedure became obsolete. So as the phone calls became fewer and fewer and the fanfare disappeared. Freeman sold his home and traveled the United States in a camper making contact with previous patients to prove (or alleviate guilt) that his procedures had succeeded.

Be leery of brain poking!

Fatigue and Mania

As I meddled through many o’ blogs I developed some random, yet stirring thoughts.

This night insomnia and I battle it out again, but I always prevail even if only with 4 hours of sleep.


People are weird. Simple, I know but also profound within its simplicity (let it sink in a while)

I will now accept that I am really quite nosy

Captain crunch is delicious at 1:30 in the morning.

Most people are so cliché

The lack of punctuation can often imply more

Girls can be Jedi’s

Unprovoked kindness is exquisite

Wit and humor is sexy (add a dash of sarcasm and confidence and ..well…….swoon)

Imperfect Perfection

We all spend a great deal of our life (at least the portion of our life where we are cognitively aware of our individual existence) worrying, ruminating and even performing based on our perception of what others may or may not think of us. Somewhere around our third decade of life we begin gain the insight that everyone (ourselves included) had always been doing nothing more than “performing” to satisfy our own neurotic desires.

What does this mean?

Is perception really reality?

And if so, what does it take to alter our “reality” in order to evoke a prudent change?

Is it love, acceptance, the ability to empathize with humanity?

Whatever the answer, these existential queries led me to the subsequent introspection, or vice-versa. .

I heard a very touching monologue in a movie I recently watched. The premise of said movie was based on the true account of a screenwriter. The main character, a man in his early thirties was experiencing what we call depersonalization disorder, or a form of dissociation. Depersonalization is exactly what it sounds like; the feeling as though an individual is disconnected from themselves emotionally, like watching themselves in a movie. The primary concern is that the individual is still very much cognitive of their situation. Much akin to the axiom that ‘if one thinks they are “crazy” they are most likely not “crazy.” The crass, and at times clever account of this man’s life was mildly entertaining but it was the admirable and deeply romantic love story that moved me.

The love that was portrayed in this film was a charming demonstration of what unconditional love should represent. More specifically, this monologue (as emoted by the female lead) is an amiable description of unconditional, wholehearted, passionate, very real love.

“I want to know that if I lost all my limbs, we'd still be together forever. When you say my name it would always sound safe. When we go out I would put on perfume and you would put on cologne and we would sit next to each other and just smell each other. I would know that you could always make me smile when I was tired and I would never be scared to tell you anything. And if I liked one of your favorite shirts you would let me wear it every day just so I could smell you when you’re not with me. I want a love just like my grandmother and grandfather; you see my grandmother has arthritis and can’t bend over to paint her toenails so my grandfather does it for her and never complains, even though he has arthritis too."

Beautiful!!