Today I begin my ADHD medication regimen. I'm at the same time slightly nervous and slightly hopeful, but mostly I have no expectations. This slightly cynical and slightly apathetic attitude has aided in counteracting my naturally frenzied overthinking. I do worry sometimes that it may go too far, but that's the balance I face every day.
Today is Valentine's Day, but I don't really care. I got little cards and candy for my coworkers, but other than that I'm not feeling very festive.
I'm not sure where I'm going in my relationship with my boyfriend. Financially, I'm stuck where I am, and I'm scared to really stick my neck out and try for a better job. I have a humble vision of what I would like to do, and where I'd like to be, but I can't always trust my imagination to be realistic.
All in all, despite my various struggles, I'm pushing forward. The past few days, I've been forcing myself to record ALL of my random ideas for crafts, gifts, etc., instead of letting them pass into oblivion. That's been extremely gratifying in itself, because I am a great deal more likely to follow through on these projects now.
I wish I wasn't so buried in myself.
I am grateful for what I have, though.
I am especially grateful for the one friend I've felt comfortable sharing this blog with directly, who has been resoundingly encouraging.
Thursday, February 14, 2019
Wednesday, February 13, 2019
Harbinger of Guilt and Uncertainty
I was pulled into consciousness by the sound of a mother repeatedly calling for her son. At first it sounded like his name, but as I surfaced to waking I realized it was a completely different name.
And in my fully woken state I felt the familiar disappointment/ambivalence about my reality.
Once again, I dreamt of someone from my past, someone I hurt, someone who hurt me.
As always, I can only hope and I sent up a wish that he dreamt of me, as well, so that his torment may be equal to mine.
This was after a series of nonsensical dreams; of spending a summer/weekend with a British second cousin who lived with her aunt and uncle in a cramped old townhouse and for who I had to use my angry American demeanor to chase away a house-calling guidance counselor who would separate her from her family, of being shown some inaccurate photos of my high school days and feeling nostalgic about things that never happened and then being pulled into a past/future that was dystopian and at the same time perfectly reasonable, sorting through confusion, frustration, understanding, running from a man with a knife who wrongfully insisted that I stole wool out of a jacket he stole from me, hiding in an abandoned high rise to wake up covered in a dusting of snow with other people who were hiding either from people or life; random, crazy, imaginative dreams that altogether clean out the scraps of my eclectic mind, satisfy my longing for adventure, and free me from the shackles of things I can’t seem to change about myself ....after this came the dream in which he starred.
As per the usual, his dreams demand more of a cohesive narrative, whereas the others are free to roam and jump where they will. Once again, I was forced to wish that things were different between us because of a stubborn idealized vision of our possible future that is embedded in the back of my mind like the old chewing gum of an apathetic stranger in the previously clean treads of an unwitting shoe.
I was to attend some somber event at my family’s (and his family’s) church. At first it was a funeral in my dad’s family, and then it was something less severe. I was aware that he might be in attendance and I tried to frame how he would first see me after all these years. I hoped that I was thinner than I was, that my hair was longer and thicker and braided. Despite being acutely aware of everyone around me, when he did inevitably approach me I was startled, for which he apologized.
I turned to face him.
His bony structure had some adequate weight on it. His ginger hair was turning auburn. His face had some lines it didn’t used to. One calm, inquisitive look of me to his three friends was enough for him to dismiss them, assuring them that he would be fine. I thought, it’s like him to be dramatic enough to have both built me up to be this great beast to his friends and to expect a battle. I was happy to have dispelled these things.
Though I had wished to be better looking for our encounter, I felt the oldest and chubbiest I ever have, but as we made meaningful eye contact I realized that he, against his will, still saw me as stunningly beautiful.
I prepared for a fight. I prepared to answer to his years-old accusation with a speech I had amended countless times.
Once again he surprised me by asking, “Do you hate me?”
I was floored. Scrambling, I answered, “I was sure that you hated me.” His response was an incredulous look. I explained, “Afterwards, you were so just angry, and you deleted me on Facebook; you never reached out to me again. I had to assume that you hate me.”
This made him...angry? He offered no rebuttal and walked away.
The rest of the dream was interspersed with scattered hypotheticals propelled by lucid theorizing. Why was I given reign over the latter half of the dream? No matter what control I had over the rest of the story, as always, we did not forgive each other, and the wound remained open.
And in my fully woken state I felt the familiar disappointment/ambivalence about my reality.
Once again, I dreamt of someone from my past, someone I hurt, someone who hurt me.
As always, I can only hope and I sent up a wish that he dreamt of me, as well, so that his torment may be equal to mine.
This was after a series of nonsensical dreams; of spending a summer/weekend with a British second cousin who lived with her aunt and uncle in a cramped old townhouse and for who I had to use my angry American demeanor to chase away a house-calling guidance counselor who would separate her from her family, of being shown some inaccurate photos of my high school days and feeling nostalgic about things that never happened and then being pulled into a past/future that was dystopian and at the same time perfectly reasonable, sorting through confusion, frustration, understanding, running from a man with a knife who wrongfully insisted that I stole wool out of a jacket he stole from me, hiding in an abandoned high rise to wake up covered in a dusting of snow with other people who were hiding either from people or life; random, crazy, imaginative dreams that altogether clean out the scraps of my eclectic mind, satisfy my longing for adventure, and free me from the shackles of things I can’t seem to change about myself ....after this came the dream in which he starred.
As per the usual, his dreams demand more of a cohesive narrative, whereas the others are free to roam and jump where they will. Once again, I was forced to wish that things were different between us because of a stubborn idealized vision of our possible future that is embedded in the back of my mind like the old chewing gum of an apathetic stranger in the previously clean treads of an unwitting shoe.
I was to attend some somber event at my family’s (and his family’s) church. At first it was a funeral in my dad’s family, and then it was something less severe. I was aware that he might be in attendance and I tried to frame how he would first see me after all these years. I hoped that I was thinner than I was, that my hair was longer and thicker and braided. Despite being acutely aware of everyone around me, when he did inevitably approach me I was startled, for which he apologized.
I turned to face him.
His bony structure had some adequate weight on it. His ginger hair was turning auburn. His face had some lines it didn’t used to. One calm, inquisitive look of me to his three friends was enough for him to dismiss them, assuring them that he would be fine. I thought, it’s like him to be dramatic enough to have both built me up to be this great beast to his friends and to expect a battle. I was happy to have dispelled these things.
Though I had wished to be better looking for our encounter, I felt the oldest and chubbiest I ever have, but as we made meaningful eye contact I realized that he, against his will, still saw me as stunningly beautiful.
I prepared for a fight. I prepared to answer to his years-old accusation with a speech I had amended countless times.
Once again he surprised me by asking, “Do you hate me?”
I was floored. Scrambling, I answered, “I was sure that you hated me.” His response was an incredulous look. I explained, “Afterwards, you were so just angry, and you deleted me on Facebook; you never reached out to me again. I had to assume that you hate me.”
This made him...angry? He offered no rebuttal and walked away.
The rest of the dream was interspersed with scattered hypotheticals propelled by lucid theorizing. Why was I given reign over the latter half of the dream? No matter what control I had over the rest of the story, as always, we did not forgive each other, and the wound remained open.
Tuesday, February 5, 2019
The Siren's Call of My Impulses
I have struggled all my life with impulse control. I have always been quite impulsive, and it's been a great triumph to have gotten where I am in this fight.
I still lose some battles.
I eat things impulsively.
I buy things impulsively.
These are my two greatest battles in my war for impulse control.
I have recently experienced a major loss in this war. There are many variables in this, but I believe the most prominent may be my age. As I approached the age of thirty, I faced my fear and shame of not having/being most of things I had planned to by now. After my hurtful disappointment of a birthday, I was able to let go and accept things for what they are (while still maintaining minimal motivation for improvement).
However.
I got a little carried away with spending at Christmas. I let it happen because choosing, buying/making, wrapping, and giving presents makes me ridiculously happy at Christmas, and it was the first Christmas in a few years that I wasn't stressed out and horribly depressed because of work. After Christmas, I treated myself, and it kept going for a bit. One day I had an internal intervention and put my foot down because my spending got out of control and I was back to living paycheck to paycheck.
I have also been letting myself indulge in some moderately unhealthy eating, choosing to let some things go rather than feel shame and disappointment. This was in the name of emotional self-care, but my physical self-care is now suffering.
It feels good to indulge. Denying that just creates more problems. Like muscles, though, resistance to impulses atrophies without exercise. Right now, it feels better to indulge than to resist. I'm back on track to being good, though, and soon it will feel better to resist than to indulge. I look forward to that. With time I know that I get wiser and stronger, and though I do have some regressions and setbacks, they get less dramatic as time goes on.
God created me as I am, and there is purpose to my design. Having faith in Him and in that strengthens my resolve to refine my inner ore.
Thanks for reading.
I still lose some battles.
I eat things impulsively.
I buy things impulsively.
These are my two greatest battles in my war for impulse control.
I have recently experienced a major loss in this war. There are many variables in this, but I believe the most prominent may be my age. As I approached the age of thirty, I faced my fear and shame of not having/being most of things I had planned to by now. After my hurtful disappointment of a birthday, I was able to let go and accept things for what they are (while still maintaining minimal motivation for improvement).
However.
I got a little carried away with spending at Christmas. I let it happen because choosing, buying/making, wrapping, and giving presents makes me ridiculously happy at Christmas, and it was the first Christmas in a few years that I wasn't stressed out and horribly depressed because of work. After Christmas, I treated myself, and it kept going for a bit. One day I had an internal intervention and put my foot down because my spending got out of control and I was back to living paycheck to paycheck.
I have also been letting myself indulge in some moderately unhealthy eating, choosing to let some things go rather than feel shame and disappointment. This was in the name of emotional self-care, but my physical self-care is now suffering.
It feels good to indulge. Denying that just creates more problems. Like muscles, though, resistance to impulses atrophies without exercise. Right now, it feels better to indulge than to resist. I'm back on track to being good, though, and soon it will feel better to resist than to indulge. I look forward to that. With time I know that I get wiser and stronger, and though I do have some regressions and setbacks, they get less dramatic as time goes on.
God created me as I am, and there is purpose to my design. Having faith in Him and in that strengthens my resolve to refine my inner ore.
Thanks for reading.
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