My Pain Is A Bad Thing

I went to the psychiatrist this morning. On the drive home, I passed a stray dog (at a place where I couldn't pull over), a worried-looking kid being hassled by an authoritative-looking cop, and a mom breast-feeding openly. That last one made me smile, and I waved at her. I hope she didn't think I was one of those creepy people who stare at women's exposed chests when they breastfeed in public. She smiled and waved back, so maybe she just thought I was friendly.

Anyway, where I'm going with this is that life sure is a mixed bag. I reflected on that after passing the mother with her baby. Life is full of both good things and bad things. Sometimes--often--I feel like the world is a truly terrible place; that the awfulness and suffering by far overwhelm the goodness and joy. Maybe that's true, in general, but it's not true of my own specific life. Either way, it doesn't accomplish anything to focus on the tragedy of human existence. Even if the good parts are just the cliche silver lining on a horrible massive cloud, that silver lining is what I need to think about in order to keep existing effectively and enjoyably. I can't let myself get knotted up in miserable anxiety about all the bad things that happen. If I do, I'm adding to the bad things. Because my pain is a bad thing!

That's a very basic sentiment, but it's one I need reminding of: My pain is a bad thing. My joy is a good thing. I should try to live in such a way that I minimize the former and promote the latter. That's what this blog is all about, after all.

It may be that reading The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath isn't good for me. For example, look at this passage that I marked (with my pink gel pen):

I don't believe in God as a kind father in the sky. I don't believe that the meek will inherit the earth: The meek get ignored and trampled. They decompose in the bloody soil of war, of business, of art, and they rot into the warm ground under the spring rains. It is the bold, the loud-mouthed, the cruel, the vital, the revolutionaries, the mighty in arms and will, who march over the soft patient flesh that lies beneath their cleated boots.

In the margin next to this, I wrote, "So true." But hey, at least I have a pink gel pen!

Keyboard Positivity

According to the Dalai Lama XIV, "Happiness is not something ready-made. It comes from your own actions." I try to apply that philosophy to my online interactions.

I used to argue with people on the internet all the time. I'd get in these heated exchanges on Tumblr about social justice issues. Many an impassioned rant was typed! But it was worthless. All my carefully-phrased reasoning never changed anyone's mind, and the whole thing made me feel awful. Every time, I would get super frustrated and angry. My head would throb with adrenaline, and I wouldn't be able to calm down completely for hours. I still think about some of those arguments, about the vicious things that I said to people, which I now so regret.

Stress is what happens when your body gets locked into survival mode without a life-or-death reason. All those pounding hormones, though they might save you in a physical fight, are no good when you're just sitting at home with your laptop, wanting to cry because of misogynists on the internet. Eventually, I realized that I was choosing to engage with that negative energy. It's not like I had some duty to yell at people online--it was a wholly recreational thing. Why pursue a hobby if it makes you miserable, right?

These days, I make a conscious effort to step back and not join those conversations in the first place. It's hard. People keep saying things I disagree with, and I just itch to jump in and correct them. But it's worth the effort to refrain from engaging!

Not Afraid Of Looking Silly

Well... I'm a little afraid. I want people to take me seriously when it's time to be serious. But I'm not so worried that I won't post a cutesy selfie! Anyway, I resent that enthusiasm about "girly" things is seen as antithetical to intellectual depth. That notion is straight-up misogynistic. Femininity is an important part of my identity; I have strong emotions about it. It's not "just" an aesthetic. But even if it were, denigrating aesthetics as "shallow"--or whatever it is that people think--reflects a terribly simplistic view of the world. I'm pretty sure that constitutes irony!

I am a big believer in vanity as self care. I wear bright makeup, take a lot of selfies, and try to otherwise perform the idea that I am super into myself. I hope that if I make enough fuss about how cool I am, I will start to believe it!

It took a while for me to even accept that I have self-esteem issues. For a long time I felt like I had a pretty healthy ego. But after getting some feedback from my mother, I started to examine my behavior, especially in romantic relationships, and I noticed that my actions indicated that I didn't think I was worth much. Recently, in therapy, I've been working on the idea that I am valuable and deserving of love and attention. I am starting to feel comfortable with the idea that I am valuable, but I grapple with the concept of deserving anything. It seems so weird to me--I mean, what makes anyone entitled to anything?

Take A Break

While drinking my first mug of tea this morning, I read a book about Navy SEALs--No Easy Day, by Matt Bissonnette. I was about 100 pages in when reading about military culture and warfare started to distress me. I wasn't full-on triggered, but I am sensitive to violence, and the book definitely disturbed me. I got the jitters. So I said to myself, "It's time to take a break."

I set No Easy Day aside, and went to stand in front of my family's framed copy of my favorite poem: "The Lake Isle of Innisfree", by William Butler Yeats. I read the lines out loud. When I finished, I forced myself to take a deep, slow breath. Exhaling seemed to expel some of my stress; I noted that I felt a little calmer.

It's a good idea to take a break sometimes.

Sad Plus Artsy

I'm a depressive. I have some other bits and pieces of crazy to deal with, but mostly my mental illness manifests itself as good ol' debilitating depression. I take medication for it--specifically Effexor, at the moment--and my pills help a lot. But they don't do everything; I have to consciously put in work in order to keep getting healthier. I try to use the energy boost that I get from my medication to engage in activities that help me feel good about myself and about living.

In addition being mentally ill, I am an artist. It's hard for me to say that without caveats. I would rather call myself "an aspiring artist" or "an artistic type", because I feel like I don't deserve the unapologetic version of the label. But I am an artist. Any person who makes art is an artist, and I make art. It's that simple. It is okay--in fact, it is awesome--for me to acknowledge that my creative efforts are valid.

Anyway, these two aspects of my life are interdependent. My mood affects my ability and desire to make art, and the reverse is true as well. When I'm feeling really depressed, I don't want to do anything creative, and I usually don't have the willpower to force myself. On the other hand, when I'm in a good mood, I tend to be productive. Both situations involve positive feedback loops--or, as we layfolk call 'em, "vicious circles". (Although apparently the good version of a vicious circle is called a "virtuous circle"--thanks, Wikipedia!)

Having noticed this about myself, I want to use the knowledge to work on improving my mental health. I intend to cultivate a "virtuous circle" of creative self care.