Chinese Finger Trap

Man, I am NOT looking forward to this.

Over the past few weeks, I've had enough running through my mind to fill out about 2 or 3 blog posts, but, of course, I really dread writing as of late. It's... weird. I've always been a miserable person, but I've never been so afraid to dive into my own mind and explore my true thoughts and feelings before. If anything, it used to be cathartic. Now, facing reality almost drives me into a state of panic and overwhelming feelings. Overwhelming feelings that drive me to think and do stupid things.

At this point, it's only an odd sense of duty, a tradition, a labour of love, that keeps me writing at least a post a month.

I promised my therapist two sessions ago that I'd try to seek out some social event, some type of community, some sort of group, to participate in, because part time jobs are apparently pushing me so far out of my comfort zone that I've sailed right past the learning zone straight into panic and paralysis zones. I've always wanted to pick up Iaido, but over the course of trying to find part time jobs, no showing for part time jobs, trying to find less stressful communities and being unable to act... I think I found the root cause for me being so socially withdrawn. In spite of all the crap I went through as a teen, I actually think I can handle myself okay in a social situation now. Nothing spectacular, just okay. It's just that I seem to be terribly ashamed of myself physically.

I've always been fat. To use a less subjective term, I've been overweight for as long as I can remember. My eating habits and preferences are one thing, but I think my mental health as been compounding the issue to extreme levels, especially over the last two or so years. Eating brings me a slight recluse of joy and comfort, and it stops me from thinking too much. It's also relatively cheap and convenient to other forms of stress relief. I also think it's been a trend in my life where, the more miserable I was, the fatter I became. And, well... I'm the fattest I've ever been my entire life, even prior to enlisting in slavery. In spite of having been through slavery.

It's to a point now where there are only about 2 sets of tops and bottoms that still fit me, which are the same 2 I'll always wear to see my therapist. And, see, it's not just that I'm worried about how I'll come across to others; it's also the self consciousness that's really killing me when I'm outside. It's all the little, self conscious things I think and do that make being out and about so much more tiresome than it already is. I think I stand with a weird arc on my back to make my man boobs stand out less. My mind races when a clothing item stretches or reveals a part of me. And all the sweating I do... I don't even know if it's cold or hot sweat anymore, given how nervous and hyper vigilant I am, along with how inhumane the weather here has been this entire year, which only adds onto the self image panic. Do I smell? Do I look revolting? Is this normal? etc..

It's not just the self image thing my body troubles me for, either. I mentioned my back hurts after a while outside. Is it really my posture, or have I gotten so fat that it's straining my back? I don't know. My eczema issues are easily the worst it's been my entire life, with me getting outbreaks on my waist, the bottom of my fat stomach, and even my back from sitting on a chair using a computer at home. I'm so weak right now that spending two minutes in the sun makes me dizzy and gives me a headache. And, almost like a chicken and egg cycle, that really hurts my self confidence as well. "Can I even be a taxi driver like this?", "am I just doomed to a life of being in an air conditioned office?", etc..

God I feel awful already just writing all that. I really hate myself, and writing just forces me to focus on all the self loathing and issues I don't know how to fix.

My therapist seemingly pulled this analogy out her ass when talking to me last session; it was the most at a loss I've seen her yet, though it's nothing suuuuper obvious, because she's a hardened vet in the battlefield of psychology and being under pressure... okay I know where I pulled that analogy out of. ANYWAY, she asked me, "have you heard of something called the Chinese Finger Trap?" I hadn't, so she explains that a Chinese Finger Trap is where you stick both index fingers into both ends of the trap, which I'm assuming looks something like a gigantic drinking straw. To get both fingers out, instead of pulling both fingers away from each other, which tightens the trap, you instead relax and push both fingers inwards to loosen the trap, thereby allowing you to remove your fingers. She theorises that I've been trying so hard to escape, or "solve" my own problems that it's having the trap tightening effect and causing me ill effects. And thus, to my puzzlement, my homework for this fortnight was to... try to relax.

I really don't get it, even though I asked her what she wanted me to do in the two weeks that we won't see each other. She didn't even dodge the question, either, but answered me straight, but holy shit am I forgetful. She even tells me (I think...) to find ways to relax and play, such as reading books, taking walks, etc.. It's funny, because anyone, myself included, would think that I've been resting ever since my last full time job over a year ago, yet I never feel rested, maybe because of the voice in my head constantly beating myself up, maybe because of all the voices outside my head pressuring me to get a job, or maybe I've just been spinning my wheels at a standstill the entire time trying to escape something from somewhere I don't know.

It's a hell of a weird notion, because it goes against everything we've been taught our entire lives, doesn't it? We're always told to study hard in school for a better future for ourselves, to train and fight hard in slavery to protect ourselves, and at work, to work hard to deliver the best service and get paid the most. Suddenly having someone I look up to immensely tell me to try to relax is as logically twisted to me as a scientist asking me to fall upwards. Then again, I don't suppose it's anyone else's responsibility but our own to know when to take breaks, how to take breaks, and for how long. Yet it's also precisely because no one tells us to relax that I don't seem to know how to do it... does any of that make sense? I'm sorry, my head's a mess, as usual.

Over the past week or so, I've been thinking about what she meant, and how I'm to achieve it. And it's having quite the opposite of the intended effect because I feel it's making me angry and feel stupid that I don't know how to relax, because I'm trying too hard to relax. Perhaps why it's so difficult for me to find rest is because... I'm so afraid of letting things be. It's like being told to leave my house be when it's on fire. How? Every instinct, every fibre of my body is conditioned and hard wired to panic and try any and everything to put out the fire, because this is the only house I've got, and I'm stuck in it. This is the only life and body I've got, and it might as well be on fire with how wrong everything is both inside and out. I have to fix it. I have to try. I have to put in the effort. I have to put in the time. This is my life, mine and mine alone. No one else can fix this for me. I know this much. And if I'm not damn near killing myself, I'm not trying hard enough.

But, of course, clearly, whatever it is I'm doing hasn't been working, so it's time for a change.

Ever since cutting off JK and Cypy from my life (yeap, I had to find a way to squeeze that in!), I think my life has been about learning to let go of certain things, be it principles, friends, and standards I hold others and myself to. Um... now that I said that, I'm not sure how it ties into what I want to say... but sometimes, it's an essential life skill to know when to and when not to care, you know? It's a weird thing, but I try to not care how I look when I go to the community pool to get some form of exercise. Yeah I'm fat and unsightly. All the more reason I need the pool to exercise, right? Yes, I'm sweaty as all hell. That's because I walked for about 45 minutes to reach the damn pool instead of taking the train. Yes, I can hardly swim. Yes, I'm power walking across the pool. Pfft. As long as I feel the burn and the strain, right? If battling from depression and anxiety has taught me anything, it's that no one's life as easy as they might appear, and, applying that logic to my crippling self critiquing habit, I've learned to just treat being at the pool to be a moral victory, screw everything else. It's hard enough to win the war in my head to get my ass out of my house door. And, in treating "just being there" as a moral victory and achievement, I don't even need to damn near kill myself at the pool to feel like I've accomplished something, to prove to myself and others that I'm... worthy of sharing the pool? It's a weird sensation I can't quite describe, but it's like I can't even take myself seriously until I've pushed myself that hard, to leave no cards on the table and no room for doubt, to know that I've tried everything I can. It sounds wonderful on paper; admirable, even. But I just don't find it to be sustainable or even healthy at this point of my life.

So, um... I guess you can say that, in learning how to relax, I somehow learned to get more done. DON'T ASK ME HOW THAT WORKS I DON'T KNOW.