My Declaration of Indpendence

When in the Course of human events, it becomes necessary for one Person to dissolve the psychological bands which have subjugated her to others, and to assume among the powers of the earth, the separate and equal station to which the Laws of Nature and of Nature's God entitle her, a decent respect to the opinions of mankind requires that she should declare the causes which impel her to the separation.

We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness. That to secure these rights, boundaries are instituted around individuals, limiting the accepted behaviors of others, deriving their just powers from the respect of those boundaries of others, That whenever any person’s behavior becomes destructive of these ends, it is the Right of the Recipient to require the alteration or abolishment of it, and to determine acceptable behavior and the consequence of noncompliance, laying its foundation on such principles and organizing her powers in such form, as to her shall seem most likely to effect her Safety and Happiness. Prudence and Politesse, indeed, will dictate that behaviors long established should not be changed for light and transient causes; and accordingly all experience hath shewn, that mankind are more disposed to suffer, while evils are sufferable, than to right themselves by abolishing the forms to which they are accustomed. But when abuses and usurpations, pursuing invariably the same Object evinces a design to reduce her, it is her right, it is her duty, to throw off such behaviors or perpetrators of such behaviors, and to provide new Guards for her future security.

I, therefore, appealing to the Supreme Judge of the world for the rectitude of my intentions, do solemnly publish and declare, That this Woman is, and of Right ought to be, a Free and Independent Person; that she is Absolved from all subjugation of others, that all responsibilities toward the happiness of others, is and ought to be totally dissolved; and that as a Free and Independent Person, she has full Power to decide her own feelings and behaviors, to claim her rights to privacy and freedom from Manipulation, Insult, and Injury, the right to petition for Time Alone and moments in which to Meditate or Collect her Thoughts, conclude Peace, contract Alliances, establish Commerce, and to do all other Acts and Things which Independent People may of right do. And for the support of this Declaration, with a firm reliance on the protection of divine Providence, I pledge to myself my life, Fortune, and on my sacred Honor pledge to respect of the above Rights of all others.

Celebrating "Lasts"

Today I celebrate lasts. This morning was the last morning that I will have to be chauffered to work. This morning was the last morning that I have to un-stink the sponges because hubby refuses to use one sponge at a time.

This was the last time I had to arrange a lunch pick-up time.

Then, it was the last time he dropped me off at work, and did the last "Love you, have a good day, BE GOOD," thing.

Hopefully tonight will hold the last insinuated accusation of sleeping with other people.


I am scared, but I am determined.

I am leaving my husband.

For those who have been reading along and want to know the jump between "Is this abusive" and "Hasta Luego", well, I was basically going to leave anyway, but I got sidetracked by the abuse question. That question got answered by my analysis of his behavior. Then my analyses were confirmed. Then my whole supposition was confirmed by my best friends and my sister, who were relieved I was finally talking about it and seeing it.

Here's a note: Once you see abusive behavior, it becomes easier to recognize, even in your own spouse.

To top that, my eldest asked me if we could leave sooner than the original plan (which was Spring).

So what could I do then? I had to start making my exit strategy.

And so I did.

And so I planned it out.

And so it will happen tomorrow.

And today, I celebrate lasts.

Sometimes We Just Need Mommy

My family loves its snacks.

We love all kinds of snacks, from nachos and cheese to gooey chocolate brownies. Of couse, we're all overweight, too, so we've been trying to cut down on the snacks, especially with the kids, to slim them down a little.

So it wasn't a big shock when my eldest asked me for snacks last night, and it wasn't a big shock that I said "no", since we had ice cream in the house already and I was tired.

What was a big shock was that my answer sent him into a sobbing fit.

Now, again, he's nine, so he's long past the crying-when-he-doesn't-get-what-he-wants stage, and has fully entered the "I'll just find a way to get it anyway" stage, so it was odd that he lay across the bed, moaning and crying and shaking his little fist.

But, whatever. I mean, sometimes we all need a good cry, so I was content to say "Sorry, dude." and watch TV. This may sound cruel, but I know what it's like to have snacks withheld, and it really unhinges you for about ten minutes, and then it's over.

But the crying didn't stop.

Eventually my husband went to visit him. For the next fifteen minute as I half-listened, the cries turned into hiccups and lound keening wails. So I went in to rescue him from Daddy, who was apparently only making things worse.

Now, we have a habit of patronizing the kids a bit when they cry, because we do have one cry-baby in the house (not the eldest, though). So when I scooped the 75-lb snot ball up, I was expecting him to kick and fight a little bit and generally be indignant.

What I was not expecting was him trying to bury his face into my chest and start rocking himself. Or him clinging to me with all of his strength like he was lost at sea and I was the only bouy for miles.

So, what is there to do at that point but to sing to the kid? He is obviously regressing for some reason, and must be really upset to hold on to Mama like a 5-ft. long baby.

So I start singing "Rock of Ages", which, as well as being a great song for funerals, is actually a great song to calm people down who are very upset.

Rock of Ages cleft for me
Let me hide myself in Thee

Well, OK, only the first and last two lines are really comforting in a general way, and the way the last verse starts with: "While I draw this fleeting breath/ when mine eyes shall close in death..." can be disturbing, still the tune is soothing to people who don't associate the song with funerals, and it worked. He stopped crying and just listened.

And we talked a little, but not about anything to explain his outburst. So after a while I just lay on the bed with him in silence, just sort of absorbing his company and letting him absorb mine, and I guess just reminding him he wasn't alone in this big scary world.

And he was calm.

But I still don't know what was bothering him, and why talking with Dad made it worse, because he didn't talk about that at all. And we didn't get to the bottom of why he was angry at Dad for saying "no snacks", but not me, when I was the one who first said it and sent him off to hysterics-land. It was as if he forgot that I started it (sort of).

But somehow I comforted him, and he comforted me, and I didn't realize how lonely I was until he just lay beside me, listening to the air conditioner. Eventually, I had to get up just 'cause I started to feel the need to be alone again, but just that moment of comraderie was amazing. And I think it helped him.

I think it maybe helped him to know there was someone like him in the world, if that makes any sense. A social person who needs other people but who is still a loner.

And I wonder how many people in the world could, like him and like myself, have this moment of wordless sympatico and then let it go because it is finished, without trying to prolong it past its moment or talk it out of existence or whatever. And I wonder if it really helped him or if he cried quietly after I left, as if I had abandoned him or something. And I wonder why he and his father don't get along at all.

He's a complicated little dude.

I don't know if I'm getting across this dual sensation of comfort and perturbation. There was a definite element of uncertainty, but I was absolutely certain that everything was alright when I was with him and when I got up to go.

I think it was simply that despite my certainty that I provided what he needed, since I don't know what the problem was, I don't feel like I have taken any steps to solve it. But it could easily be that the problem was that he felt unaccepted in some way, and me just sitting with him made him feel all better. And maybe me just knowing he needed a Double-huge hug and time with Mommy was enough for him to feel accepted and understood and unalone.

Are we really as simple as sometimes just needing someone to lie next to us and not say anything?

It sure beats getting fat on snacks.

On Adjustment Disorder

"The Guild Navigators, gifted with limited prescience, had made the fatal decision: they'd chosen always the clear, safe course that leads ever downward to stagnation." Paul Muad'Dib, Dune, by Frank Herbert.

I was just diagnosed with an adjustment disorder by my therapist. According to the Mayo Clinic, my life has included a series of episodes of Adjustment disorder, which is strange for someone who thrives on change and new projects. Had I ever looked at the symptoms, I would have seen this episode over and over in my life: Difficulty concentrating, feeling overwhelmed, desperation, anxiety, thoughts of suicide, hopelessness, lack of enjoyment, fighting, reckless driving, ignoring bills, avoiding family and friends, skipping school, poor school or work performance, abuse of alcohol or drugs, engaging in violence or high-risk activities.

Today was, by the way, my last therapy appointment before. She agreed I do have a sex addiction, but her belief (and mine) is that, since I know how to handle addictions, I just handle this one like all the others I've beaten over time. It simply requires Herculean diligence and self control. I can handle that.

The biggest issue is the adjustment disorder and the accompanying depression, which I also have experience beating. She is confident in my ability to heal myself. I am glad, though, to have a diagnosis I've never had before, and for the Eureka! moment of looking at the symptoms and seeing my life laid out, like a tunnel of mirrors, reflecting this same behavior pattern over and over.

Wow. I need to chew on this. In the meantime, enjoy some light music. (Hitchhiker's Guide, for those of you now shaking your speakers looking for the light music).

Oh, and another thing: Today, in a meeting, I beamed at someone, just because I was happy and wanted to share it. I was playful again. And you know what? I had forgotten what it felt like to want to smile at someone, and to feel playful. I was actually surprised by it, and realized I'd like to have more moments like that. A lot more.

Societal Expectation and Social Pressures

I talk a lot about expectation and pressure. For me, most of the binding forces in my life are related to these concepts: expectation and pressure. I rarely describe these phenomena, though. In the attempt to do so, please note that many, many references will be made to the movie "Goodwill Hunting," as this is the best portrayal of a gifted underachiever that has yet been made (to my knowledge).

Society's Expectations of the Gifted

Before I sound arrogant, let me make clear that I am "gifted". The word implies many things, but it does not imply that I am better than anyone else. Just like some people are good at sports, and others at sewing, I'm good at understanding. That's all. I didn't ask for it, and I didn't do anything to deserve it. I do work on it, but I am compelled to do so (we'll save that for a different post). I was "given" this, by fate, chance, or some Higher Power, whatever you believe in. Intelligence is considered a "good" thing. Were I gifted in, say, stealing, we wouldn't call it "gifted", we'd use the word "cursed" (the less emotional may use the words "aptitude" or describe someone as "skilled" or "adept").

So far, we have uncovered our first expectation/pressure: Intelligence is supposed to be a good thing.

It isn't. Many serial killers (if not all--I'd have to look that up) are intelligent. The Mad Scientist and Evil Mastermind show us archetypes of intelligence gone bad. Where would we be without Doyle's Dr. Moriarty or Weiss's Raistlin? But generally we assume that smart people are meant to do good things with their smarts.

In our capitalist society, we have a hard time with gifts. Generally, when we receive a gift, we feel we owe someone a gift in return at some point. After all, that's only fair. So the second expectation/pressure is that gifted people "owe" fate, chance, or the Higher Power, or even society at large, for this gift.

In "Goodwill Hunting", Will says, "I know, I owe it to myself--" and his friend steps in: "You don't owe it to yourself, you owe it to me...because you're sitting on a winning lottery ticket, but you don't have the balls to cash it in."

Expectation/pressure: Intelligence = success, or intelligence is inherently good.

Expectation/pressure: Intelligence is void if it is idle/unrecognized.

But we can throw civilization (which is the effect of social expectation in maintaining social structure) to the wind, and we still have an array of personal expectations that each individual carries:

The Role of Social Pressure

I don't like to wear underwear. Many people don't, but they also don't really talk about it. So, an example of social pressure is that everyone is supposed to wear underwear, regardless of the simple fact that women's bodies are healthier if they don't (lower incidence of yeast infection in non-underwear wearers). I also, however, like to wear skirts, and I am not above wearing skirts without underwear "they way the ocean is not above the sky" (to quote Hitchhiker's Guide). My husband is aware of this, and is not particularly fond of it (because good girls wear underwear).

So now, when I wear a skirt, what else to I wear? You guessed it: underwear. Did he order me to wear underwear? No. But he complained about it so much, and made it so unpleasant for me, that I began to anticipate his reaction and simply change my behavior (not without a good deal of resentment).

The same methodology applies for girl's nights out. My husband gives me such a hard time about it before I go and after I come back, and calls me so often while I'm out, that the whole experience becomes one I'd rather avoid and I simply don't go out except in emergency (and we all know what an emergency-night-out is like: rowdy drinking and pain in the morning).

If you talk with a depressed person, you will hear many of these pressures illuminated: "I can't go out because my husband is mean." "I can't read a book because the kids need me." They don't seem to make sense, but there is a logic behind them. There are unacceptable consequences that are related to the end result. "I can't go out because my husband gives me a hard time. He gives me a hard time because he's mean (he hates me)." One big difference between the depressed and the non-depressed is a matter of realizing one can choose to buck the system, or feeling like one simply can't.

Gifted people also discuss these pressures. Many gifted children pretend not to be gifted so they "fit in" with other students. Many gifted children see the expectations around them, and then do precisely the opposite. In "Goodwill Hunting", Will discusses his father's abuse: "He used to just put a belt, a stick, and a wrench on the kitchen table and say, "Choose." "
His therapist says, "Well, I gotta go with the belt there."
and Will says, "I used to go with the wrench."

"Why?"

"'Cause fuck him, that's why." Which is indicative of his response to all the social pressures on his intelligence. Fuck you for trying to live your life and your expectations through me. This is my life.

Take this stance as opposed to his therapist, Sean, who was also gifted, and instead withdrew from everyone around him. His story is best described in his line, "That's why I don't come to the goddamned reunions, 'cause I can't stand that look in your eye. Ya know, that condescending, embarrassed look. You think I'm a failure. I know who I am, and I'm proud of what I do. I was a conscious choice, I didn't fuck up! And you and your cronies think I'm some sort of pity case."

Most of us obey or crack under social pressures. My question to you is: which are you going to do? It's a question I've been pondering for myself. Do we live up to expectation, do we ignore expectation? Do we run, or do we embrace, or do we actively destroy?

Why can't we just ignore? In a mindful way, can we just say to ourselves, "yes, I see your expectation for me, but I will choose for myself and and the people for whom I am responsible when I choose"?

Perhaps this should be more my goal. Identify the expectations, and then choose for myself and my wards.

What Are We Waiting For?

This morning I untangled a knot. This is not a metaphorical statement, although the metaphors will come fast and furious in a moment. I literally untied a knot from a very long string (on a spindle) that my 6-year-old had created.

I like untying knots. My husband is a fan of cutting knots out, which sometimes is necessary (and in fact, was necessary for the start of this one, when I found myself holding three ends to the string and realized I should confine my attentions to the continuous portion of the string), but I prefer to unloop and loosen, shake and follow over and under. It reminds me that no knot cannot be undone...and when worse comes to worst, like the Gordian Knot, once can just cut it out.

Now hold on to this image for a moment, while I start building from another direction:

I am reading "The Elegance of the Hedgehog". I am only in the beginning chapters of it, but already the author has broached such subjects as giftedness, social expectations, and dissatisfaction with one's life. . . all of the issues I find myself battling now.

It is now T minus two days toward my thirtieth birthday and thus, one hell of a mid-life(ish) crisis. I feel my life is meaningless. I am unsatisfied with my life (I have been for a decade or so), I am angry at myself for submitting to social expectations, for selling my dreams to keep up with Jones's, and for thinking that I would be content to keep a kernal of freakiness until such time as the full freakiness could once again blossom.

The water is, indeed, holding me down, and it is the same as it ever was in these "Days Gone By".

I awoke one day to find myself so ensnared into a life I specifically did not want, that I no longer know how to get out. So now we see the metaphor of the knot. I am tangled. How do I make the string of my life unfuck itself and start shitting me Tiffany Cufflinks (to paraphrase "Full Metal Jacket")?

I spent many years sleeping through long bouts of my life. Not that I was actually sleeping (although I know many who do, and consequently, I do not like to sleep), but perhaps guilty of the same things. I met my responsibilities, mostly, but I ignored my own needs until they became so urgent I could not.

Again, it's not as though I was unconscious, but more that I told myself to wait. If you've ever sat for a long time in a waiting room then you know as well as I do that the word boils down to two groups: those who can wait and those who can't.

I can wait, but it requires a dissociation with the world around me. I literally need to just zone out and be calm and Zen. In fact, sometimes waiting is my calmest time.

But what I found happening was the opposite. I waited, but I became paralyzed to improving my own life in the meantime. It was "later, later".

And then other important, but not urgent, things were put on hold. Date night with the kids? "Later, later". And my anxiety would grow, and the guilt would grow. And the guilt would paralyze me more.

I've always been a procrastinator, but this was too much!

So, even now, this morning, I find myself dissatisfisfied and stuck in "WAIT". What to do?

Wake UP! Take control. Quit selling your future to 5- and 10-year plans that don't materialize! Keep working, even if tomorrow does show a different road; it doesn't make the attempt any less valid. Besides, how can there be more options if one does not create those options. We are, after all, the authors of our own lives, and this author has made it clear (through such works as "Straddling the Picket Fence") that the picket-fence life is not for her.



As much as I can "Carpe Diem" myself, I really need to just pop off my duff and get going.

Poem-Bubble

I held a dream in my hand
you and me
sunlight and dappled shade
smiles
washed dishes
warm mornings and hot nights

A dream like a bubble
floating on the currents of life
swirling on the surface,
our faces reflecting back in colors
the world inside protected
a gossamer shield

Like a child, I held out my hand
wanting to touch paradise
wanting to crawl into the bubble

And, for a moment
the briefest of butterfly kisses
a spark of recognition
a gasp of ecstasy

The dream trembled in my hand
beautiful
swirling
post orgasmic

before it popped

and covered me with nightmare.

Theraped

It has been noted by several people in my life that "therapist" breaks out to "the rapist" with the single addition of a space. Although I do not personally believe therapy is the rape of the unconscious by the conscious, I do believe that there is an element of violation in the whole process.

As I prepare myself to be "theraped" today, I can't help but to think that, in order to be a successful counselor or therapist in my own right one day, I should probably be able to help myself right now.

Of course, what I'm doing right now could be construed as helping myself, as I'm deciding, at this moment, to take some charge and responsibility over my life and my ultimate dissappointment with it.

In any event, I look up therapy techniques on the net, including a wonderful little article about "7 types of therapy to help depression", or so the article claims, which is basically a rundown of the current therapy techniques, without too much actual discussion of how successful each type is for depression.

Am I depressed? I would guess "yes". I have been depressed before, and I recognize the hopelessness in it, and the frustration. For me, depression and anger have always been inextricable...in this way I guess I react more like a man than a woman. I experience pain, both physical and mental, and overwhelming sadness that life cannot be wonderful, or even tolerable, for large stretches of time. The bursts of rage are actually welcome, then, as they are better than the moments when I sit in my chair, after exhaling, waiting to die by virtue of not ever inhaling again, and closing my eyes and thinking "this is what death feels like".

This sounds hopelessly melodramatic, but depression is a melodramatic, and it is hopeless.

More than wanting to die, I want to die to this life, and can understand how people have deep religious conversions in order to die to this life. In the Appendix to Dune, Frank Herbert mentions religion and the need for a religion to address man wanting to be different than he is. . . that self-satisfaction has no place in religion. I can also understand why people mistake wanting to die to the current circumstances and wanting to die...you know...forever. Because there are times when you're really steeped in desperation, and you know, logically, that none of this will ever end (even if your limitations are illogical or self-imposed, or your assumptions are bad), and so the only remaining way "out" is six feet under. But, I think because of my past, I can see the need to re-invent as a better way to cope than to actually slit my wrists. After all, what happens if it's unsuccessful? Then I'm stuck unable to type or write with giant scars. . . No, re-invention and dying to this moment is better.

And one can argue (and I do argue, when I am trying to rally myself), the theory of "Positive Disintegration" for this state...that in order to change, the life that is here must die. To grow, the old shell must crumble. That in order to change, the me that is me at this moment must go. Perhaps this is why we "go" crazy.

So we give ourselves over to our inner crazy, and we see what emerges. It is the therapist, then, who comes in and rakes through and pours over our crazy mess, and tries to yank out that bit of sanity. Thinking over this, perhaps the term "therapist" is more accurate than I thought. :-)

So off I go to expose myself and allow someone to sift through my emotional scat, to determine my path through the game trails of existence.

When instead I could be reading books and watching movies, like the Blind Melon song "No Rain": "All I can do is read a book to stay awake/and it rips my life away but it's a great escape."

Movies have actually been better therapy for me recently.

I saw "Neverwas" yesterday. Man, did I bawl my eyes out and my kids looked at me like I was an alien and asked me why I was crying. But it was because I felt how lonesome and desperate it is to have that fantasy world ripped away, to lose your dreams, to wake up in the real world, not knowing how the Hell you got here, and wish you could close your eyes and let the dreams happen again.

But here we are, referring back to the Cherry Post...this blog is to help me in that journey to re-establish those dreams.

Cherry Post

If "ambivalent" means wanting two separate things (Like "ambidexterous" means using both hands), then "polyvalent" could mean wanting several things.

Like the image in Sylvia Plath's The Bell Jar, perhaps our dreams are like fruit on a tree, but to pick one, we must give up the others. For example, to be a good mother, perhaps we must give up our dream of becoming a physicist. To become an artist, perhaps we must let go of our dream to be an author. It's as if grasping one bubble pops them all. But this sets up the belief that multiple avenues or goals of our lives are mutually exclusive, or at least mostly exclusive.

The problem, of course, is that most of this exclusion, or this choice between futures, is self-imposed. Our greatest limitor is ourself, or what we believe others expect from us.

So this blog is dedicated to pursuing all of that which this Bene Jennerit sister wants to be, without self-limitation or conformance to the (self-imposed) expectations of others. This is a blog to chronicle a journey of one soul toward its dreams.