The Girl in Black

Se necesita una poca de gracia.

Wednesday, July 27, 2005

Everything you know is wrong...

I seem to have trouble focusing and staying on task.

Even on days like today, where I feel pretty good in the morning, and say to myself "Okay, today I'm gonna accomplish stuff. No dicking around." After a few hours, my motivation really turns to shit.

I kinda noticed it before. I'm really good at thinking up artistic projects for myself, only to lose interest in them in varying degrees of time. I'll get interested in lots of things, and then they fall by the wayside. I didn't think it was a problem, per se, I just thought I was incredibly slack.

The things I'm interested in, I feel driven in accomplishing. If I have a set time schedule, I can focus to no end, forgoing sleep and food and anything else. Or, at least, I used to be able to do so, when I was younger and able to push my body harder.

Now that I'm a little older, it's getting harder to stay the course. And because of this, I think I'm able to see that this may actually be a problem for me.

What got me thinking about this is the little bit of research I did yesterday on cyclothymia, a sort-of form of bipolar disorder (or manic depression, to those not in the know). My therapist had suggested I research it, to see if it made sense to my life. Not everything seemed to ring true, but it raised some questions for me.

A lot of the more fleshed out descriptions (such and such person feels this way, does this, etc.) sounded like descriptions of completely "normal" people to me. And that either means that I am not "normal," or there is a lot of making up of problems that aren't there.

And I do think that a lot of times people come up with problems that simply aren't problems.

But that's an attitude that I get from my mother, I think. Which is another frustration. She just doesn't seem to want to see when anything's wrong with me unless it's rubbed directly in her face. (You should see the look on her face whenever she encounters the fact that I cut myself. Yeah. I do that sometimes.)

And the really funny thing is, to me, that's "normal." I could never admit that my depressions were ever some sort of problem that could be treated by professionals, I just thought it was me giving in to being a crybaby. I just thought I was slack. And I used to think that I only cut myself because I learned it from other "normal" people around me, that I was a wannabe (as if one could only hope to be authentic in the practice).

Okay, say it with me everybody:

"Gee, Rose. That's pretty fucked up."

Well, maybe for some people out there. "Normal" perhaps? I don't know. One of the other reasons I have been so reluctant to seek help is the very real knowledge that what I deal with is only the tip of a large and complicated iceberg, that there are others with problems far worse.

And yet, there's a vast and open sky of people who don't get it. Who expect productivity and results. Who expect me to fit into their world, when maybe the expectation should be that there's a world that fits into me.

And I haven't even begun to comment on how I worry about my bouts of supposed "euphoria" and how exactly they tie in to my spirituality.

Sometimes life most definitely sucks.


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