I find it hard to admit that anything I do or think of doing is difficult. Turning my life around is like turning a supertanker, rather than turning a knob on a cooker. It is hard to say these things.
In shame, I hide away, and try to conform- with an idea of what is normal, which is not necessarily shared by anyone else. That’s why I had my balls cut off, which pleased me so much at the time, and now I am kicking myself because my ideal was not real, and I should have realised that.
I am highly intelligent, unreconciled to a lifetime of not getting it, or getting it too late. And negative. When things go wrong, I notice, and that affects my actions afterwards. My work of disentangling myself is to bring these things to consciousness, in counselling, and then to type them here.
There are things which cannot be said or acknowledged. There is a normal way of doing things which is just normal, however ineffective: trying to work out a better way is just too much work, or I cannot imagine working out a better way.
We find ways of fitting Normal to ourselves, but if we are too far from it that becomes too difficult.
-I hear you perceiving and holding your friends’ differences and hope you might not be entirely conventional with them.
Can I be without the mask with others? Can I ever say what I think or feel? Sometimes, though I would not feel the need to blog if I could do it with other people.
I say “What is interesting is delightful”. I like things which pique my interest. Let’s have a look at that. So it is not the thing in itself, it is my attitude to it which I like, my curiosity finding a loose corner and prying it open, finding out.
Then, though, I said “What is interesting is delightful” and immediately began questioning and doubting it. I think I am only saying that because it is a thing I think would be admirable or good.
I find it hard to say these things out loud, even to Tina, so I type the next bit: “Life is terrifying”. Then I could say it. As in, “May you live in interesting times”. No I don’t like interesting, I want boring. And yet now I think I find “What is interesting is delightful” admirable and good because it is my best self, my self going out to meet the world and engage, and I can do that, it is real me not mask or pretence, not a gambit in the conventional game of counselling where we both want me to take off my masks and instead I try on different ones.
And life is terrifying, whether I engage with it or not.
Mmm. The knob on a cooker, or the supertanker. Turning should be easy, should be the task of a moment, and when it is not I leap to the conclusion that it is horrendously difficult. It is as it is. Do I want to change? Then, change. Easy, difficult, that does not matter, the judgment of difficulty gets in the way, especially the judgment that I am making no progress gets in the way. That judgment, my inner critic, speaks in fear and seeks to drive me to greater effort, but I can no longer be driven in that way. Changing it to encouraging, to seeing progress, is my war.