tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21463748140052989272024-03-08T03:05:27.850-08:00I'll put on my Friday hatAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05339779032331743094noreply@blogger.comBlogger18125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2146374814005298927.post-34933665344664332942015-02-22T16:49:00.001-08:002015-02-22T17:29:25.874-08:00The Disorganized MindI<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"> am hypomanic, occasionally slipping upwards to anxiety-wracked manic episodes, with what one of the doctors I saw in my recent hospital stay - the first - called a "disorganized mind".</span><br><div><br></div><div>I pounced on the phrase, "Yes! That describes it perfectly!"</div><div><br></div><div>My voice was strong, enthusiastic, and I was oh-so-delighted at this utterly brilliant phrase that sparkled with meaning. Hypomanic glow gives me such appreciation for everything - words, butterscotch pudding, the doctors and nurses.</div><div><br></div><div>But that didn't happen until later.</div><div><br></div><div>First was the mixed state, the thought fragments that slipped and slid through my consciousness, energy sawing through my body that hurt, the inability to completely understand what was happening because I just couldn't quite manage to put together all the pieces.</div><div><br></div><div>I knew what was happening, but I didn't quite know what to do. I have so effectively trained myself to take so little action when I am manic that I was frozen solid - don't speak, don't move, and for God's sake, do not buy anything. </div><div><br></div><div>I could not bear to look anyone in the eyes, that was the strangest part. I suddenly understood the symptom where manic's believe they can read minds - people's emotions and thoughts were betrayed by body language so loudly, even as my ability to accurately interpret it was so impaired that I couldn't bear to look.</div><div><br></div><div>I could write a huge post about the hospital, but this isn't it. I'll leave it at - it was good overall, I got a new med, took lots of notes about depression that might be useful at some other time, and left a three page feedback note for the staff pointing out that advice for depressed people doesn't really scale well with manic episodes. I played along nicely for the most part, set boundaries fairly effectively and came out stabilized - sort of.</div><div><br></div><div>So, third week in on my new med. I'm still too high, too over-reactive, too close to the edge. This med has seemed to help, but I usually have honeymoons with meds, as my body adjusts. It's what is happening a month from now that will tell.</div><div><br></div><div>Too high, set up for a fall upwards - not downwards. I had something happen yesterday that triggered me sharply upwards, with jagged edges, panic-not-delight.</div><div><br></div><div>I wish for resilience, but can't understand how to make it happen.</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05339779032331743094noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2146374814005298927.post-61464652909965076992015-01-06T16:04:00.001-08:002015-01-06T16:04:49.762-08:00Angel, Angel, Burning Bright<span style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 16px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">There was an angel.</span><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 16px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">She wasn't a heavenly angel, because she was kind of me, but maybe me-who-I-wanted-to-be, wished-I-was.</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 16px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">She was tall, in that way that mothers are tall, to their children.</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 16px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 16px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">I have walked, walk, will walk along a cliff, it is my life.</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 16px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Pacing me, along the cliff of my life is a dark cloud, a void, a portal to nothing.</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 16px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">The Neverending Story, The Wind In The Door, they described that dark, so I knew I wasn't the only one who saw it, others saw it.</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 16px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">They saw it, they Named it, they fought it.</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 16px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Artax was lost to it, no matter how loud Atreyu screamed his name.</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 16px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Sporos, stupid little Sporos, someone gave their life for you (me), because you (I) played too close to the edge and almost fell (don't do that).</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 16px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 16px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">That angel was my Meg, my Progo, my Empress (my mother), and she was me.</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 16px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">She brushed the hair from my eyes.</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 16px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">She put her hand on my shoulder.</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 16px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">She was warm, and reminded me that the dark was too cold.</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 16px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">She was cool, and reminded me that the dark was too hot.</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 16px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 16px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Somehow, because of her, I kept turning away.</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 16px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">I'll keep turning away.</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 16px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">But I'll always need her help.</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05339779032331743094noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2146374814005298927.post-23649696831114743342014-10-20T22:46:00.000-07:002014-10-20T22:46:06.673-07:00A conversation to save<div style="text-align: right;">
I invest far too much importance into these strangers</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
as if one of them saying no to me might result in the</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
word "reject" being branded on my forehead for</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
everyone to see</div>
<br />
<i>Why do you feel it? I'm really curious</i><br />
<i>because you have proof right there that</i><br />
<i>people love and want you. I'm not downplaying</i><br />
<i>the fact that you feel it, I just am wondering</i><br />
<i>where that feeling is coming from</i><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
It doesn't transfer from them to me. I can't accept</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
myself, when I believe that I should be rejected,</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
that I'm unsafe for people</div>
<br />
<i>Hugs</i><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
Because my self-loathing and fear of myself is</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
internal, externalized love from other people</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
can't make that go away</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
It's between me and me</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
not them and me</div>
<br />
<i>I understand</i><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
Much, most, of it is about my mother</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
as I suspect is most of yours</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
rejection from the day we were born, babe</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
We've lived under threat to our very survival as</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
tiny little babies, how could we not?</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
We learned that that threat to us WAS us</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
I was unsafe for my mother, I became an unsafe</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
person to everyone.</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
When we were born we separated from them,</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
we had different needs than them, and our</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
stupid little baby heads didn't understand that</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
we were supposed to take care of them</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
When we finally learned that, we were so much</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
older and the damage was already done</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
We'd already failed</div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
and we carry that burden and don't know how to</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
let go of it yet</div>
<i><br /></i>
<i>I was lectured the other day,</i><br />
<i>he told me I need to let it all go</i><br />
<i>and that I alone am responsible</i><br />
<i>for my happiness</i><br />
<i>Right in the middle of lunch</i><br />
<i>I felt like crying</i><br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
That's a very nice sentiment, pop</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
psych person, (rolling my eyes around,</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
shooting out sarcasm rainbows) but that's</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
far more advanced than we're ready for, and</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
to my mind completely ignores the damage</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
done to us. We have a lot we have to do before</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
we can tackle that lovely concept</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
Let me know if I project my issues onto you</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
too much, btw</div>
<br />
<i>You are pretty damn spot on</i><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
But the first thing that you and I have to do,</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
being oldest children, having the types of mothers</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
we did who witting and unwittingly did their specific</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
brand of damage - what we have to do is get</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
to a place where we can even look at the damage</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
done to our little baby selves, where we were NOT</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
taken care of FROM THE BEGINNING</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
Take care of ourselves, wtf?</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
we don't know how that's done!</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
It wasn't done for US, so how could we</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
have learned what that looks like???!!</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
And then, just maybe, after facing that truth,</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
we have to wade through ALL of the abandonment,</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
rage, grief, in an emotional, not just strictly</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
intellectual way</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
and JFC if that's not going to be a BITCH</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
And THEN</div>
<br />
<i>I know</i><br />
<i>My massive breakdowns in therapy are</i><br />
<i>just the start for me heh</i><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
and only then can we even begin to put</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
the pieces together to imagine what we</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
might have wanted, might have needed,</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
breaking down years of suppression and</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
repression and oppression, and going</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
through that grieving process, mourning</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
that loss</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
and THEN, working our way toward figuring</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
out how to let our adult selves take care of us</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
so yeah, lol</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
Make your own damn fucking happiness</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
that just makes me rage</div>
<br />
<i>It's like I want to be sad?</i><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
EXACTLY, I KNOW, RITE?!?!?!</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<br /></div>
<i>It sounds like it will never get there </i><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
Nah, we will</div>
<br />
<i>I've spent the last year blocking myself from</i><br />
<i>feeling anything just so I can be content</i><br />
<i>And maintaining those walls, last year, it's</i><br />
<i>just too fucking hard now</i><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
yep, that's actually why we'll succeed, and</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
probably faster than we expect</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
Because the thing is - you and me - we grow,</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
it's who we are. We're crazy strong.</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
Have you seen that owl picture - the</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
depression one, beating at it with a stick?</div>
<br />
<i>Oh yes</i><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
So we're that kind of strong</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
and smart</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
And whatever it is about us, our temperaments,</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
personalities, souls, whatever you want to call it,</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
we are the kind of people who get there</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
Take a look at your family... content in their</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
ignorance, narcissism, bigotry, and look at you</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
you didn't stay in that</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
you grew</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
you fight for yourself and the survival of your soul</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
and that is why you'll get there and probably</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
faster than you think</div>
<br />
<i>Oh my god</i><br />
<i>Yes</i><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
Man, can you imagine us when we've been</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
able to set down those strength-sucking issues? lol</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
FABULOUS</div>
<br />
<i>Lol</i><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
That's my take on it.</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
Pretty sure I'm right about it.</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
Of course I would.</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
But I'm still right.</div>
<br />
<i>Lol I love you</i><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
Love you too. </div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05339779032331743094noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2146374814005298927.post-65066965472059461722014-09-30T19:50:00.001-07:002014-09-30T20:04:10.486-07:00Lithium, Part One<div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">Flowers for Algernon, by Daniel Keyes</span></div><div><a href="http://dorinta19.bizland.ro/FLOWERS%20FOR%20ALGERNON%20.htm" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font color="#000000">http://dorinta19.bizland.ro/FLOWERS%20FOR%20ALGERNON%20.htm</font></a></div><div><br></div><div> Mar 28 Dr Strauss came to my room tonight to see why I dint come</div><div> in like I was suppose to. I told him I dont like to race with Algernon</div><div> any more. He said I dont have to for a while but I shud come in. He</div><div> had a present for me. I thot it was a little television but it wasnt. He</div><div> said I got to turn it on when I go to sleep. I said your kidding why</div><div> shud I turn it on when Im going to sleep. Who ever herd of a thing</div><div> like that. But he said if I want to get smart I got to do what he says. I</div><div> told him I dint think I was going to get smart and he puts his hand</div><div> on my sholder and said Charlie you dont know it yet but your</div><div> getting smarter all the time. You wont notice for a while. I think he</div><div> was just being nice to make me feel good because I dont look any</div><div> smarter.</div><div><br></div><div><b><i>"You wont notice for a while."</i></b></div><div><br></div><div> June 10 Deterioration progressing. I have become absentminded.</div><div> Algernon died two days ago...</div><div> ...I guess the same thing is or will soon be happening to me. Now</div><div> that it's definite, I don't want it to happen.</div><div> I put Algernon's body in a cheese box and buried him in the</div><div> back yard. I cried.</div><div><br></div><div><b><i>"I guess the same thing is or will soon be happening to me. Now that it's definite, I don't want it to happen."</i></b></div><div><br></div><div> June 21 Why can't I remember? I've got to fight. I lie in bed for</div><div> days and I don't know who or where I am.</div><div><br></div><div> June 30 A week since I dared to write again. It's slipping away like</div><div> sand through my fingers. Most of the books I have are too hard for</div><div> me now. I get angry with them because I know that I read and</div><div> understood them just a few weeks ago.</div><div><br></div><div> July 7 1 don't know where the week went. Todays Sunday I know</div><div> because I can see through my window people going to church. I</div><div> think I stayed in bed all week but I remember Mrs. Flynn bringing</div><div> food to me a few times. I keep saying over and over Ive got to do</div><div> something but then I forget or maybe its just easier not to do what I</div><div> say Im going to do.</div><div><br></div><div> July 28 I did a dumb thing today I forgot I wasnt in Miss Kinnians</div><div> class at the adult center any more like I used to be. I went in and sat</div><div> down in my old seat in the back of the room and she looked at me</div><div> funny... I said hello Miss Kinnian Im redy for my</div><div> lesin today only I lost my reader that we was using. She startid to cry.</div><div> ...everybody looked at me and I saw they</div><div> wasnt the same pepul who used to be in my class.</div><div> Then all of a sudden I remembered some things about the</div><div> operashun and me getting smart...</div><div><br></div><div>That progression - from understanding to incomprehension was Lithium for me. </div><div>And yet Charlie was able to speak his truth, sporadically as it sometimes was, and in that sense I envy him. But he had to live with the knowledge that it was irreversible and impending doom, and that is something I do not envy at all.</div><div><br></div><div>That round circled pill is to deliberately choose that unnoticeable path from understanding to incomprehension for me. Can you wonder that I might shudder at even the smallest amount, and balk?</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05339779032331743094noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2146374814005298927.post-42986533186308415382014-09-30T19:46:00.001-07:002014-10-01T09:32:49.195-07:00Lithium, Part Two<div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">My inner world is one of shapes - sculptures, lines, webs, rounded squares and rectangles, a distinct landscape, colors of association flashing the connections everywhere. Knowledge is brightness, ignorance is dark - metaphorical, but very organized.</span></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">Slowly, unnoticably to me, my inner world slowed and gradually crystallized into a round-edged block of brown glass. It was inexorable, and created edges and boundaries around what had been seemingly limitless space. It was heavy, dull, and it severed and suffocated those lines of connection between thought to thought, thought to action, thought to words to action. Dull lights flashed bravely in the dark, isolated, far away, unreachable, without connection.</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">Blink. Stop.</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">Feel. Stop.</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">Speak. Stop.</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">Touch. Stop.</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">Stop motion without motion.</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">Nancy Andreasen, in Secrets of the Creative Brain (http://www.theatlantic.com/features/archive/2014/06/secrets-of-the-creative-brain/), talks about the "association cortices".</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">"To read, your brain... needs to forward those black letters on to association-cortex regions such as the angular gyrus, so that meaning is attached to them; and then on to language-association regions in the temporal lobes, so that the words are connected not only to one another but also to their associated memories and given richer meanings. These associated memories and meanings constitute a “verbal lexicon,” which can be accessed for reading, speaking, listening, and writing. Each person’s lexicon is a bit different, even if the words themselves are the same, because each person has different associated memories and meanings."</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">The brown crystallization blocked my ability to create those associations, until I could no longer function even as the blood tests reported "below therapeutic levels". My life (beyond breathing and sleeping) depended upon being able to make those connections, but my ability to make them was being crushed.</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">I could no longer even make the connections that Lithium was causing it. </font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">I could not connect the thoughts that I could stop, I needed someone to explain to me that I could, tell me I must.</font></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05339779032331743094noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2146374814005298927.post-68373758479370662562013-12-31T17:23:00.001-08:002013-12-31T19:12:19.877-08:00Humility is oil in the engine of relationshipsWikipedia does a pretty good job of establishing the difference between humility and humiliation.<div><br></div><div>"<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><b>Humility</b> (<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Adjectival_form" title="Adjectival form" class="mw-redirect" style="text-decoration: none; background-image: none;">adjectival form</a>: <b>humble</b>) is variously seen as the act or posture of lowering one self in relation to others, or conversely, having a clear perspective, and therefore respect, for one's place in context.</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">...<br></span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><sup id="cite_ref-Lao_Tzu_1997_3-0" class="reference" style="unicode-bidi: -webkit-isolate;"></sup></span><p style="margin: 0.4em 0px 0.5em;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Humility, in various interpretations, is widely seen as a <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Virtue" title="Virtue" style="text-decoration: none; background-image: none;">virtue</a> in many religious and philosophical traditions, often in contrast to <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Narcissism" title="Narcissism" style="text-decoration: none; background-image: none;">narcissism</a>, <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hubris" title="Hubris" style="text-decoration: none; background-image: none;">hubris</a> and other forms of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pride" title="Pride" style="text-decoration: none; background-image: none;">pride</a>.<sup id="cite_ref-6" class="reference" style="unicode-bidi: -webkit-isolate;"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Humility#cite_note-6" style="text-decoration: none; background-image: none;">[6]</a></sup></span></p><p style="margin: 0.4em 0px 0.5em;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">The act of imposing humility upon another person is called "humiliation"."</span></p><p style="margin: 0.4em 0px 0.5em;"><br></p><p style="margin: 0.4em 0px 0.5em;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">What I really want to point out here is this:</span></p><p style="margin: 0.4em 0px 0.5em;"><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><b>"</b></span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><b>having a clear perspective, and therefore respect, for one's place in context.</b>"</span></p><p style="margin: 0.4em 0px 0.5em;"><br></p><p style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; margin: 0.4em 0px 0.5em;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Pope Francis recently provided a wonderful example of this by responding, "Who am I to judge?" when asked about the status of gay priests. His humility ensured that his office didn't mean that his place in the world somehow changed him from just another sinner in God's eyes.</span></p><p style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; margin: 0.4em 0px 0.5em;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">What it also meant at the same time was his affirmation of others' place in the world. He was saying to them, "Yes, you and I are both here, together and you have a place in this world, and it's the same place as mine." His response was a complete reversal from years of attempts to push people out of the church, to take away their place both in the world and in heaven.</span></p><p style="margin: 0.4em 0px 0.5em;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></p><p style="margin: 0.4em 0px 0.5em;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Humiliation is an external pressure to try to enforce humility, so it is therefore cannot <b>be</b> humility which is internal. And any attempt to externally enforce humility cannot succeed, because there is no respect both towards oneself, or toward another.</span></p><p style="margin: 0.4em 0px 0.5em;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></p><p style="margin: 0.4em 0px 0.5em;"><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">If you have humility, you don't have to be afraid of humiliation, embarrassment. You don't have to be afraid of being found out as a worthless, incapable, bad person, because you have tried to clearly assess your own flaws, weaknesses, foibles, and you remain open to the process of learning more about them. No one <b>can</b> humiliate you when you have humility, because you know your place in the world, and the respect accorded to others extends to oneself.</span></p><p style="margin: 0.4em 0px 0.5em;"><br></p><p style="margin: 0.4em 0px 0.5em;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><i>Without humility, criticism can sound like condemnation and humiliation.</i></span></p><p style="margin: 0.4em 0px 0.5em;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">It's not always as simple and clear cut as saying, "I don't like this". Any kind of even implied criticism can feel like that. And if you are feeling condemned or humiliated, what happens? You start avoiding people and situations. And people start walking on eggshells around you and vice versa.</span></p><p style="margin: 0.4em 0px 0.5em;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">There are whole avenues of conversation and thought and feelings that must become off-limits in order to maintain a relationship with someone that could perceive almost anything as criticism, whether or not it was intended that way.</span></p><p style="margin: 0.4em 0px 0.5em;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></p><p style="margin: 0.4em 0px 0.5em;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><i>Without humility, apologies are perceived as capitulation to external force, rather than sincere attempts to repair and restore a relationship.</i></span></p><p style="margin: 0.4em 0px 0.5em;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">If I believe that being forced to apologize to another person means that I am acknowledging that I am a bad person and they have "beaten" me, imagine what that means when I am in a position to accept an apology? </span></p><p style="margin: 0.4em 0px 0.5em;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">I might feel that because they had to apologize, I am inherently a better person. They are the ones who were bad, and by comparison I am not as bad as them. It doesn't necessarily mean that I think I am a good or great person. But at least I am <b>not as bad as them</b>.</span></p><p style="margin: 0.4em 0px 0.5em;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">Or I might feel that by asking, or even seeming to hint, that I wanted an apology for something I would necessarily be causing them humiliation, so if I saw myself as a "kind-but-proud" person I would surely try to prevent anyone from feeling that they might need to apologize. I would just swallow all bad feelings caused from hurt, because<b> if <i>I</i> had to apologize for something, I would feel humiliated</b>. This logic gets all twisted up until you can't apologize or be apologized to - there are no longer any methods to repair and restore relationships. There can be no relief from pain, and no way to provide it for someone else either.</span></p><ol class="lr_dct_sf_sens" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px 0px 0px 20px; border: 0px;"><li style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; border: 0px; list-style: none;"><div class="lr_dct_sf_sen vk_txt" style="padding-top: 10px;"><div style="margin-left: 20px;"><div><table class="vk_tbl vk_gy" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><tbody><tr><td class="lr_dct_nyms_ttl" style="font-style: italic; vertical-align: top; padding: 0px 3px 0px 0px;"></td><td style="padding: 0px;"><br><br></td></tr></tbody></table></div><div class="xpdxpnd" data-mh="-1" style="overflow: hidden; max-height: 0px;"><table class="vk_tbl vk_gy" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><tbody><tr><td class="lr_dct_nyms_ttl" style="font-style: italic; vertical-align: top; white-space: nowrap; padding: 0px 3px 0px 0px;"></td><td style="padding: 0px;"><font color="#000000"><span style="font-size: 17px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><a href="https://www.google.com/search?client=safari&hl=en&q=define+honor&sa=X&ei=C2LDUoaONcv2oATcz4H4BQ&ved=0CDgQ_SowAA" style="cursor: pointer; text-decoration: none;"></a></span></font></td></tr></tbody></table></div></div></div></li></ol></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05339779032331743094noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2146374814005298927.post-71092124228647058972013-09-14T23:03:00.001-07:002013-09-14T23:05:40.462-07:00The Privilege of Ignorance<div style="font-family: Helvetica; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); ">In the phase of society and culture that we have arrived in there is a lot of examination of privilege.</div><div style="font-family: Helvetica; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); "><br></div><div style="font-family: Helvetica; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); ">So I will dare to ask this question:</div><div style="font-family: Helvetica; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); ">Is it a form of privilege to have been raised in an environment of physical non-violence? And is it okay to ask for a bit of understanding from people who have been protected from that for the damage done to those who grew up getting the shit beat out of them all the time?</div><div style="font-family: Helvetica; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); "><br></div><div style="font-family: Helvetica; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); ">I can't even believe I'm asking this question, but it's been bothering me for months now.</div><div style="font-family: Helvetica; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); "><br></div><div style="font-family: Helvetica; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); ">I understood it when people wouldn't be sensitive to it because it was so goddamn common, when it wasn't called abuse it was discipline. I also understood when it was a matter of something to be hushed up, not acknowledge it as really happening.</div><div style="font-family: Helvetica; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); "><br></div><div style="font-family: Helvetica; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); ">Because even in those situations there was a tacit understanding that yeah, kids were getting the shit kicked out of them on a regular basis. We grew up with violence being done to and around us. Some of us were protected more than others, some had no protection at all.</div><div style="font-family: Helvetica; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); "><br></div><div style="font-family: Helvetica; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); ">And in the 80's and 90's there was a cultural shift and suddenly a ton of kids were growing up in a world where beating your kids wasn't called discipline anymore, and the casual violence that reigned in so many of our homes didn't get passed down in that same way. Although I don't have statistics, I can say that I've observed that, at least, and read about it, and listened to people talk about it.</div><div style="font-family: Helvetica; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); "><br></div><div style="font-family: Helvetica; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); ">So, there is this generation of us, scared and scarred, veterans of violence from our parents, relatives, teachers, and friend's parents, and...</div><div style="font-family: Helvetica; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); "><br></div><div style="font-family: Helvetica; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); ">But there are kids growing up now who have no idea, which brings me to this incredibly strange question of privilege.</div><div style="font-family: Helvetica; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); ">Do we assert ourselves and confront the kind of privilege that ignorance of all the damage that violence has done, become outraged when someone jokes about violence, or start crying when someone makes an unserious threat (or serious, because how the hell do we know)?</div><div style="font-family: Helvetica; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); "><br></div><div style="font-family: Helvetica; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); ">That seems like a dangerous thing to do when you grew up in a world where doing so would ensure that you got the shit kicked out of you again.</div><div style="font-family: Helvetica; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); "><br></div><div style="font-family: Helvetica; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); ">And so we do what we've learned to do when violence enters the picture again. We run and hide in the deepest, darkest place we can find a bit of protection in.</div><div style="font-family: Helvetica; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); "><br></div><div style="font-family: Helvetica; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); ">It's a lonely sad place, but at least there we can be safe.</div><div style="font-family: Helvetica; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); "><br></div><div style="font-family: Helvetica; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); ">This allows a lot of ignorant people to think that those jokes or "unserious" threats are no big deal. And maybe they aren't... to them. But they are a super big deal to anyone who understands what happens when it's very serious, very real.</div><div style="font-family: Helvetica; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); "><br></div><div style="font-family: Helvetica; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); ">Is it necessary to go so far as to call ignorance of the consequences privilege though? Is it necessary to draw lines, to set up a situation where you draw boundaries and force apologies from people who are "just joking" or "not serious"? The thing I come back to when I ask myself that question is - what are the consequences to the people who go through their life wondering when that joke is suddenly going to be not-a-joke anymore? What is happening to the people who flinch when another person makes a sudden move or shifts their weight in a sudden way?</div><div style="font-family: Helvetica; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); "><br></div><div style="font-family: Helvetica; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); ">And when you consider that it's not just the kids, it's the veterans, it's so very many people who have experienced terrible things done to them.</div><div style="font-family: Helvetica; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); "><br></div><div style="font-family: Helvetica; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); ">To stay in ignorance of the consequences of that, to not fucking care enough to try to understand how we might help each other live in less fear is, I think, a privileged dick-move.</div><div style="font-family: Helvetica; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); "><br></div><div style="font-family: Helvetica; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); ">I am super happy that there are people who do get the privilege of growing up and living a life that is safe and happy. They have lessons to teach us, ways of viewing the world to share. But wrapping themselves in an ignorance so that they carelessly will say and do anything they want and that it shouldn't matter to someone else is beyond foolish. It hurts people, which is the golden heart of what the privilege movement is about.</div><div style="font-family: Helvetica; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); "><br></div><div style="font-family: Helvetica; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); ">What you do matters to me - whether it's good or bad, it matters.</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05339779032331743094noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2146374814005298927.post-85749931417499953722013-07-13T12:42:00.001-07:002013-07-13T12:42:20.706-07:00Testing... Testing...<span style="font-family: Helvetica; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); ">Today is my 5th day with my new med. I am deeply frightened of how happy I've become. It was almost an overnight change, which makes everything more frightening, because I've learned from my life that when I'm happy I make mistakes - big ones, small ones, some invisible to anyone else but me. Somehow the mistakes are more bearable if I'm not happy, but when I make them when I'm happy the crash starts, dropping first to the place where I have enough misery to do something terrible and enough energy left to do it, and then into blankness then into utter indifference to everything.</span><div style="font-family: Helvetica; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); ">Happiness is tinged with guilt and fear for me and I don't know yet if I can ever unhook those things. Inside I'm vigilantly watching my hands moving, afraid they will do something they shouldn't. If I laugh, I frantically search everyone's face around me in case I laughed at something I shouldn't and hurt them. I'm trying to not say anything until I've thought through it twice, and if I do say something without thinking through it, I search everyone's faces again.</div><div style="font-family: Helvetica; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); ">No, I'm just now in a constant mode of looking at people, wondering when I will do something wrong, because I will. And there is a wise part me that knows this is going to be okay, and I will be forgiven. But what I don't know at this moment is whether or not this calm peaceful, but still deliciously giggly sometimes, happiness will turn into what it always does. Or will I somehow get through it without the normal destruction?</div><div style="font-family: Helvetica; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); ">One of the most horrible things about the dynamic of the crash that happens when you are manic is that in the middle of the storm you have just had unleashed in your mind is how at the very moment you likely have done something wrong, you become the most vulnerable and in the most need of support, often from the very people you have just hurt. That starts a vicious cycle of guilt like you wouldn't believe.</div><div style="font-family: Helvetica; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); ">So I'm scared... and happy...</div><div style="font-family: Helvetica; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); ">But it's a different kind of scared, and still... happy!</div><div style="font-family: Helvetica; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); ">^_^</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05339779032331743094noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2146374814005298927.post-46608860055055514582013-07-09T13:00:00.001-07:002013-07-09T13:00:57.526-07:00When being wrong is so terrifying......that you can't look yourself in the mirror and admit that you did something wrong, and can't look someone else in the eye and say from the bottom of your heart "I'm sorry" and hear back "I forgive you and I love you."...<div><br></div><div>I think that must be the saddest, loneliest person in the world.</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05339779032331743094noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2146374814005298927.post-34967278056013384502013-06-02T00:46:00.001-07:002013-06-02T03:20:06.067-07:00To A FriendMy friend, when I found out that you went to the hospital yesterday, I was so relieved. <div><div style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); ">Mixed states.</div><div style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); ">Rapid cycling.</div><div style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); ">When you feel terrible enough, shameful enough to think you should probably die and - most dangerously - with the energy and impulsivity to be capable of actually doing it. A firestorm in the brain, neurons crashing and shorting and you can't even remember what peace and calm is, much less how you can navigate back to center.</div><div style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); ">But you will. ^_^</div></div><div><br></div><div>I think that somehow I knew, just from those two Facebook posts, no matter that I'd only met you once in person, even though we spent most of the party in two different rooms.<div><br></div><div>But those two posts were open enough for me to read between the lines, knowing what I know about us.</div><div><br></div><div>We understand extremes all too well. It's the pattern we've read in our lives, in our minds, even while our hearts are just pleading "Please, I just want peace, I just want calm, I just want to be in the center..." Happiness is suspect, knowing what inevitably comes next.</div><div><br></div><div>And those posts were a sign that you were looking for an extreme solution. The problem is that it's <span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); ">only possible to make them</span> work when we ourselves are capable of acting extreme. And our minds don't give us that drive and force of will often enough or long enough to sustain that. So they can only be a sign that we're in dangerous territory, and we are about to become terribly vulnerable at the worst and most critical time, a time where we are desperately looking for something, anything to hold on to, to fix damage that we've caused.</div><div><br></div><div>People can't tell from the outside how close we are walking on the edges of a <span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); ">crumbling cliff, with two abysses below.</span> The hardest lesson for me to learn is that often I can't tell either, and you are getting one of these lessons now too. If only we could warn people, "Watch out, I might be acting impulsively even though it's going to seem rational to me at the time!" and "Please, help... I don't want to hurt us..." If we could at least warn people, then we could ask for grace and forgiveness ahead of time.</div><div><br></div><div>But instead, because we often are so unaware and used to our version of normal, we often aren't able to warn people and then it just seems like a really terrible and embarrassing excuse. The shame crashes down. We know this about ourselves, we know we are dangerous, we've navigated this before both successfully and not. We should know better by now. But we did it again.</div><div><br></div><div>But think about this really carefully right now. How many times have you gotten through this and didn't do any damage? I bet a lot. That's pretty incredible when you think about it.</div><div><br></div><div>So now, forgive yourself. It's not an excuse, it's just our reality. The truth is that the meds can mitigate a lot but not erase completely. Oh how I wish they erased, but they just don't. Adjustments become necessary, especially during times of extreme stress - the kind you've been going through lately.</div><div><br></div><div>Only when we can forgive ourselves can we ease our own pain enough to become vulnerable to empathize and sympathize with the people we've hurt. And only then can we heal each other.</div><div><br></div><div>This is easier said than done, of course, as I've already admitted... ^_^</div><div><br></div><div>One of the scariest things, my particular monster in the closet, is the inevitable feeling of dependence on others. It just emphasizes our particular lack of control and stability. The dependence on meds is easy compared to the dependence on the people around us to watch out for us, pick up some the slack when we lose it, to deal with their own pain alone until we are capable of helping, and forgiving us before we are capable of asking with our whole heart.</div><div><br></div><div>That's a whole lot to ask of people, and boy do we know it. So we try to manage and fix it on our own, to try to ease the burden we know we are putting on them. In our attempts to control the uncontrollable and with the best of intentions, we set ourselves and our loving ones up for failure. Because when we fail, we need them to understand that we do try to fix it even as we've done our damnedest to hide how difficult it was to do so. It's the shock of it that often ends up creating the most havoc for us all, amirite? ^_^</div><div><br></div><div>So I'm saying to you now - you have been trying so very hard and it's okay to be too tired. It's okay to let go of that. I see what you've been doing, and it will be okay. You don't have to be perfect all the time, but especially you don't have to do it right now. </div></div><div><br></div><div>Whether or not you and I ever learn to be vulnerable and transparent is something we can't promise yet, I think. We can hope and strive and throw our whole hearts into the effort, but right now we don't know the way yet. Right now we probably shouldn't promise much beyond keeping ourselves safe and that we'll try our hardest. It's a bit humiliating, but perhaps it's the most honest and from what I've been hearing that's what they want. (And WE'RE the crazy ones?!) There are reasons we're the way we are, and it will take time and more mistakes as we fumble through to finding the reasons and understanding of how to do it other ways.</div><div><br></div><div>That's okay, it really is.</div><div><br></div><div>Your friend along the cliff,</div><div>Jocelyn</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05339779032331743094noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2146374814005298927.post-54307601667917613952013-05-04T09:58:00.001-07:002013-05-04T23:55:17.927-07:00Meanwhile, in another Universe, Danger Mouse tucks the Friendly Lion
into bed.I read A Brave New World last night for the first time. I like to space my dystopias out over the span of as many years as possible, as I'm prone to depression and can often just not bear the misery. But I do like to think, and dystopias are great for making you think alongside all of the "feels". Honestly, after reading it, all I really had to read was the quote at the beginning by Nicolas Berdiaeff about how we should do everything in our power to make sure Utopias are never arrived at.<br />
<br />
Well, duh, I read the Bible too. And The Lord of the Rings.<br />
Wasn't that the message of both of those stories or was that just me?<br />
<br />
I perhaps do injustice to the story's impact by having received the message from other authors who incorporated its message into their own work. They conceived of the grain of gold and pulled it out from the terribly irrelevant "science" and passed it on.<br />
<br />
Having received the message and already integrated it, I was left to only learn the stuff that makes no sense from a social-historical, neurological or even biological standpoint.<br />
<br />
It made a terrible, terrifying sense when he wrote it, when the Industrial Revolution, Communism, Nazism, and "Better Living Through Chemistry" was new, it pulled at the fears of the day. But, unlike 1984 those fears aren't supportable anymore. The fears tugged at in George Orwell's book are still all too easily imagined and made more real as the technology develops.<br />
<br />
I am also a teensy bit weirded out by the "bliss pill" concept. I'm bipolar and take meds for stabilization. Seriously, I <I>actually</I> am taking a pill to make me happy when my neurons are shouting at me "No, everything is wrong!". So how weird to read about a pill that makes the point that, well, everything actually is wrong and you are just using a pill to make you "happy" anyway. Any person using meds to mentally stabilize struggles with the strangeness of this on a daily basis - "Am I still me?"<br />
<br />
Where William Gibson (@GreatDismal, <a href=http://www.amazon.com/Neuromancer-ebook/dp/B000O76ON6/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1367685697&sr=1-1&keywords=neuromancer>Neuromancer</a> and others), Neal Stephenson (<a href=http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=sr_kk_2?rh=i%3Adigital-text%2Ck%3Asnow+crash&keywords=snow+crash&ie=UTF8&qid=1367685834>Snowcrash</a>) and Tad Williams (<a href=http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss_1?url=search-alias%3Ddigital-text&field-keywords=Otherland&rh=n%3A133140011%2Ck%3AOtherland>Otherland</a>)** took many of the most compelling priciples of Brave New World is, I think, the natural progression given the development of the science and tech since then. In their stories, the opiate is "online". The content is generated and compels consumption that is used by power/corporations/elites to maintain order and stability. Their stories are all much more complex and layered, with a lot more in there than that single sentence, but the principle is still there.<br />
<br />
What those stories don't address is the fundamental nature of Utopias being inherently, inescapably Dystopian. While I certainly haven't read even most of the literature even in my favorite genre, I haven't heard of any other story that makes this point so well, other than religious or political texts. Trying to create an orderliness out of disorder is a task given to the gods and politicians and kings. When men (historically, with a few exceptions) have acted to bring it, they are imbued with a mantle of "righteousness" or "great leader". The dystopia is not examined in the text, just in the wars, persecution, prejudice, judgmentalism, condemnation, the "othering" in daily life.<br />
<br />
**True confession I haven't read a lot of these writers' more recent works, although I've the intention to soon. I'm combatting my extremely reduced attention span caused by my Twitter addiction, see "online content".Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05339779032331743094noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2146374814005298927.post-75580116510680814002013-05-04T08:49:00.001-07:002013-05-04T08:53:23.942-07:00You Kiss Me On The EyeWe're driving 45 minutes down I-5 to celebrate the first birthday of the newest nephew. We're singing at the tops of our lungs- Bon Jovi, songs from The Scarlet Pimpernel, The Killers, the Yeah Yeah Yeahs, Pink, and then with a twinkle Roland hits play...<br />
<br />
"Slow down, we've got time left to be lazy<br />
All the kids are bloom from babies into flowers in our eyes<br />
We've got fifty good years left to spend out in the garden<br />
I don't care to beg your pardon, we should live until we die"<br />
<br />
We sing loudly at each other, exactly one week before the 21st anniversary of the March 17th that he asked me to be his girlfriend. It's the year of our 20th wedding anniversary, and we're not waiting for July to start the giggling, the long dreamy look of '...forever with you...', the "Remember when we...", and slipping off to the bedroom.<br />
<br />
"We were barely eighteen when we crossed collective hearts<br />
It was cold, but it got warm when you barely crossed my eye<br />
And you turned, put out your hand, and you asked me to dance<br />
I knew nothing of romance, but it was love at second sight"<br />
<br />
I didn't make it easy for him. So May 1st he walked past the guard to the girls' dorm, yelling "Maintenance!" all the way to my room, set down a tiny little basket of flowers, knocked so hard it echoed in the room like a kettle drum, and he and his friend (the real 'Maintenance' there to cover) ran laughing down the hall. I opened the door to 7 girls gathered around cooing and giggling.<br />
<br />
"I swear when I grow up I won't just buy you a rose<br />
I will buy the flower shop, and you will never be lonely<br />
For even if the sun stops waking up over the fields<br />
I will not leave, I will not leave 'til it's on time<br />
So just take my hand, you know that I will never leave your side"<br />
<br />
"Oh nooooo," moans Betsey, 18, knowing how close she is to...<br />
<br />
"It was the winter of '86, all the fields had frozen over<br />
So we moved to Arizona to save our only son<br />
And now he's turned into a man, though he thinks just like his mother<br />
He believes we're all just lovers, he sees hope in everyone"<br />
<br />
I hear a sniffle the backseat... I didn't look back, she hates how easily she cries...<br />
<br />
"And even though she moved away, we always get calls from our daughter<br />
She has eyes just like her father's, they are blue when skies are gray"<br />
<br />
Broken sobs, so I reached out and held her knee.<br />
<br />
"And just like him she never stops, never takes the day for granted<br />
Works for everything that's handed to her, never once complained"<br />
<br />
"God, you guys!!" Aspy and 17, Tori huffs at all of us.<br />
<br />
"You think that I nearly lost you when the doctors tried to take you away<br />
But like the night you took my hand beside the fire thirty years ago<br />
'Til this day, you swore you'd be here 'til we decide that it's our time<br />
But it's not time, you never quit in all your life<br />
So just take my hand and know that I will never leave your side<br />
You're the love of my life, you know that I will never leave your side"<br />
<br />
Roland and I wipe our own tears, humming and singing a little brokenly.<br />
Two separations throughout our marriage, once for a year. Papers were filed once, but when we didn't show up for the court appearance, we happily paid the $30 each for wasting the courts time and stayed married after fighting things out, some meanness, bitterness, then apologies, forgiveness and grace.<br />
<br />
"You come home from work, and you kiss me on the eye<br />
You curse the dogs, you say that I should never feed them what is ours<br />
So we move out to the garden, look at everything we've grown<br />
And the kids are coming home so I'll set the table; you can make the fire"<br />
<br />
Happy-silly contentment. And still apologies, forgiveness and grace.<br />
He feeds the dog too much cheese, sigh...<br />
<br />
<a href=http://youtu.be/3ZDyjyKL5vY>The Gambler by fun. Live</a><br />
<br />
They will be at Bumbershoot this year!<br />
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05339779032331743094noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2146374814005298927.post-13640687395626899952013-04-27T13:59:00.001-07:002013-04-27T14:12:12.029-07:00I Admit I Bit You, It Was A "Thing" (An I Love You Letter To My Sister)Two friends have recently had to endure pretty shitty things done to them by their sisters, and my heart cries for them because nothing hurts quite like sister-hurts.<br />
<br />
There is also nothing quite like being loved with sister-love, and laughing with them, watching "our shows" with them, and from what I hear from others - pulling pranks with them. I would like to make it clear that my sister and I don't pull pranks as neither of us is clever <I>in that way</i>, but we enormously enjoy watching them being carried out, and if they are clever/funny enough so that we can enjoy them afterwards we don't mind being the target of them.<br />
<br />
I was a ferocious biter when I was a child. My 5-years-younger brother was the recipient of the Biting Incident of '84 "...In Which Dad Was Woken Up While Exhausted, And Didn't Ask Why There Was Screaming Before Smacking Ensued...", but Dani received her fair share. She doesn't recall them, but I do as my mom would give me flick me hard on the cheek when I got caught.<br />
<br />
Man, she was annoying though, always hanging around and making me feel like an evil ugly Cinderella-Stepsister, jealous of how fucking adorably cute she was. Looking back at pictures from our childhood, I can see that it wasn't really like that as much as it seemed to me while living through it, but there's no way for me to fix it now. My readings over the years reassure me that this is a common occurrence in sibling relationships, and I saw it repeated with my daughters.<br />
<br />
Getting back to the love part...<br />
We have't had an hours and-or days long conversation in weeks. I'm not doing so well. She offers to drive over for lunch on Sunday. I begin weeping with happiness. Because even though my partners will be there and I'll also talk to them, there is <b>Nothing</b> like talking to and being with my sister.<br />
<br />
My dearest sister, you went through it too, that crazy family stuff, and since we married brothers, the crazy <i>other</i> family stuff too. And you keep loving me, and accepting my love back. <br />
Do you know that whenever you say you miss me it's like having a rainbow bloom in my heart?<br />
I bit you, and acted like a pretentious teenaged jerk, and condescended to you, and more, and you still love me and miss me when you don't see me for a while, I think each time you tell me you love me<br />
<br />
I am fairly marvelous, this must be said, but <b><i>still</i></b>...<br />
<br />
I love you, and miss you too, when I don't see you. You have this clarity and insight, as well as hilarious cluelessness. You have this goofy adorable infectious sense of humor. You cry and bring me to tears. You are fierce and meek, humble and proud. You are intense and so very smart.<br />
<br />
<I><b>Thank you, dear one...</b></I><br />
<br />
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05339779032331743094noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2146374814005298927.post-63511701386673232602013-04-21T19:10:00.001-07:002013-05-04T10:08:32.275-07:00I'm Special-izedHaving undependable emotions presents unique interpretations of reality.<br />
I've heard of a few different methods, and have a partial inventory of my own.<br />
<br />
Believing you are special.<br />
From everything I've been able to gather, this is a bipolar I specialty. I've not met, read a book of or by, or heard of a bipolar II who is able to successfully utilize this method. I've glimpsed small sparkles of how this is achievable in my very rare (hypo)mania states. I would immediately and utterly ruthlessly squish those sparkles with all of the abundance of evidence to the contrary, but if I lived in mania more often it would be a lot harder, possibly impossible.<br />
<br />
You can't live without me.<br />
Ahhhh, caretaking, my drug of choice, the favorite of bipolar ii's everywhere, from what I've seen, read, heard. What was a toxic mix of dysfunctional family dynamics gave me was also a helpful coping mechanism for a bipolar eldest child. It's a money-mix of distractions from one's own problems, and a heady sense of imaginary control over emotions. Sure it's not our own emotions, but it's control!<br />
<br />
Intellectualize Everything.<br />
I can't feel, therefore I am. It's how I'm still alive.<br />
No joke.<br />
<br />
If I can't see it, it's not there.<br />
Intellectualization also requires compartmentalization, although the reverse isn't true. The ability to compartmentalize is hardly a bipolar specialty. Getting through a workday successfully when we're worried about our sick dog, or through a Friday when we have a party that night both require compartmentalizing emotion. It's a skill where you successfully or unsuccessfully slice huge chunks of reality off and shunt them out into the netherworld either forever or temporarily. If it's temporary, and you can manage to re-integrate that reality intact (or relatively intact, let's be real here) then compartmentalization is a healthy coping mechanism. If chunks go into the netherworlds and never come back in any recognizable form, it's pretty crazy-making for everyone involved. And if we're the ones gas-lighting our own-damn-selves, it also gets really truly absurd.<br />
<br />
It's a war zone out there.<br />
A huge number of bipolar ii's have agoraphobia - ie, a fear of places. I'm riddled with it.<br />
The speculation is that the unexpected can trigger swings and so we learn to fear places where either swings have happened, or might happen. This rings astonishingly true to me. Knowing this, while it gives some reassurance that there's a logic to my crazy, does not therefore make it go away. Going to places I've never been makes me sick with fear. Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05339779032331743094noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2146374814005298927.post-57092930992639954442013-04-10T22:51:00.001-07:002013-04-11T11:37:18.457-07:00To Thine Own Self Be TrueI'm in a very precarious stage in my life right now. <br />
<br />
I'm trying to learn new things.<br />
Perhaps I should re-phrase: I'm trying to learn if I might like different things than I've ever thought I would like.<br />
<br />
Given the number of people in my life who are used to me being a certain way, this has now caused the first amount of distress.<br />
<br />
This shall not be the first post on this topic.<br />
I have developed a certain amount of rigidity in my life, as a coping mechanism for correspondent chaos. I don't feel bad about the rigidity, anymore than I feel bad for my rigidity about breathing -it helps me survive. But in going through this period of growth, I am looking certain fears straight on and challenging them.<br />
<br />
And then doing what I've always done and charging straight at them, sometimes falling off the cliff that was between them and me.<br />
<br />
I used to sigh about Roland doing this, without realizing that I do the exact same thing. I never found it strange that I always understood Exactly what he was doing and found it something to admire. Of course, I don't even realize I'm doing it unless I fall off the cliff, it's so instinctive, it's so how-I-do-things.<br />
<br />
What I'm going to take away from this is that it would be a good idea to try to be self-aware enough to warn people - " Hey, I'm pushing a limit here, that I developed along through my life-fumbling-around in, and I might have some emotional cliff that I won't see coming and suddenly Totally Freak The Fuck Out on you, and It's Not Your Fault."<br />
<br />
That presents certain uncomfortable scenarios in and of itself though.<br />
Being self-aware requires awareness of discomfort with certain unavoidable things - like people who I may or may not know, deadlines, expectations, locations that are unfamiliar, and such.<br />
<br />
Does this mean that the horse that goes in front of the cart is growing into a comfortability with discomfort? I'm not sure that I can afford this nice tidiness. I'm not sure that life and growth can be so easily arranged.<br />
<br />
Words of wisdom from an 8-year old:<br />
“If you cannot control your peanut butter, you cannot expect to control your life.” ~ Judah-ism <br />
<br />
And yet, dear nephew, I make excellent peanut butter sandwiches. Perhaps I should content myself with this and make everyone around me a peanut butter and jelly sandwich with a glass of milk.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05339779032331743094noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2146374814005298927.post-21200385036271085962013-04-07T21:54:00.001-07:002013-04-27T14:22:40.994-07:00It's a little bit funny, this feeling insideEvery time I think about describing how bipolar II works it crazy thing in my brain, I automatically start by humming the lines sung by the Duke in Moulin Rouge.<br />
<br />
Here's a link: <a href="http://youtu.be/ffv8FskEQlY">"It's a little bit funny...this feeling inside" <I>Spectacular, Spectacular</I></a><br />
<br />
Poor man was told the girl actually loves him, and acts like a goofy idiot because of it...<br />
<br />
Unreliable information...<br />
<br />
There's been something that has been simmering around in my brain for a while, ever since I started talking to autists and their experience with something called Sensory Processing Disorder. What happens to them when experiencing sensations seems really similar to how I experience feelings with bipolar.<br />
<br />
There are difficulties of modulation - it's too strong, too loud, exhausting, too weak, too quiet, ephemeral.<br />
<br />
What really got to me was the question of - what happens to a person when they cannot experience the world reliably through sound, vision, touch, balance?<br />
<br />
It's the profoundly unreliable experience that really got to me. I get that with an understanding that prickles along my skin, aches in my bones. <br />
<br />
What happens to me because I can't reliably gauge whether something will make me happy or sad? Or -too happy- or -too sad-? Or have any feeling at all?<br />
<br />
___________________________________<br />
There's been additional insight into SPD actually being a THING, since the oh-so-lovely invention of fMRI's. I really hope they are getting bipolar brains under those electric microscopes. <br />
Sensory Processing Disorder: <a href>http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sensory_processing_disorder</a><br />
Intense World Theory Interview: <a href>http://www.wrongplanet.net/article419.html</a><br />
Intense World Theory Science-y stuff: <a href>http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC2518049/</a><br />
SPD Study Science-y stuff: <a href>http://www.plosone.org/article/info%3Adoi%2F10.1371%2Fjournal.pone.0039906</a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05339779032331743094noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2146374814005298927.post-71559253902823298432013-04-06T17:33:00.001-07:002013-04-27T14:16:51.545-07:00When I discovered my Religion, developed my understanding of Economic
Theory, and That Bright Shining MomentFor a lot of people it was the stories of Ayn Rand. She was the person who told the story that touched their souls, helped them understand their place in the world and the world That Could Be.<br />
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For me it was another story. We were visiting my aunt and uncle. My cousin Matthew rushed me to the kitchen table, "You have to read this story!" <br />
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I raised my eyebrows, I'd never understood his taste in literature even though we both preferred the same genres.<br />
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"It's not long, read it." I took the stapled pages, obviously a high school assignment handout, knowing that in his notebook would be the accompanying "Write three paragraphs about your understanding of this story." Ick... Teachers didn't usually assign stories with elves...<br />
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"With a clamor of bells that set the swallows soaring, the Festival of Summer came to the city Omelas, bright-towered by the sea..."<br />
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So now I say, "Read this, it's not long."<br />
<a href="http://www-rohan.sdsu.edu/faculty/dunnweb/rprnts.omelas.pdf">Ursula Le Guin - The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas</a><br />
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I stood at the kitchen table and read this not-long story. And at the end, hands trembling, pulled out a chair and sat and read it again. And again.<br />
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It was That Bright Shining Moment when I understood that Terrible Beauty, my world crumbled and was rebuilt in those moments. I walked through the fire, I had my moment on the Damascus Road, I beheld an old man, I emerged from the cave.<br />
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I was 16, I think. That's a good age to have some morality smash it's way into a human being's soul. <br />
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Throughout my life I was informed of the general principles of objectivism, given that they were the guiding forces of the terribly destructive "self esteem" social experiment that started on my generation, and then hideously refined with the succeeding one. I understand the comfort of those principles, given the radical social changes in such a short amount of time. There were no existing guidelines and social structures that could teach us how to understand what birth control was going to do to our society. The codified principle of following one's instincts must have been a huge relief.<br />
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I could understand objectivism, but I've always felt that objectivists can't seem to grapple with the child, and each person's responsibility for the child, to oneself, to everyone else. This question cannot be answered or contemplated using objectivist principles without a complete denial of responsibility to anyone.<br />
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We don't live in Omelas. We aren't shown the child as a rite of passage.<br />
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But the child is still here, everywhere. Do you take responsibility, understanding deep within your soul that every action has a cost, that every act of goodness, kindness, gentleness, graciousness can be a way of honoring and thanking the child?<br />
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"Theirs is no vapid, irresponsible happiness. They know that they, like the child, are not free."<br />
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I have wavered back and forth over the years, but right now at my time of life, I'm pretty sure I would not walk away. But I never stop thinking about it.<br />
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"Sometimes also a man or woman much older..." and how not?<br />
The responsibility can be heavy.<br />
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05339779032331743094noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2146374814005298927.post-78780976057895245642013-04-06T14:04:00.001-07:002013-04-06T14:04:52.074-07:00Calling for an ancient Sesame Street clipThere is a song that I will be singing every time I write a post here.<br />
It's apparently a Sesame Street song, but I never watched it. It was sung to me for the first time a few months after I turned 20 by my recently-wed husband, who sang it while acting out the adorable puppet-y scene.<br />
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I want this clip on YouTube, so that you can sing it with me. I might do a video of Roland and I doing the strange melodic cacophony that we do together.<br />
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It'ssss... FRI-day<br />
Friday'sgreeeeeeat<br />
I put on my Friday hat<br />
FRI-day is where it's aaaaaaaaat<br />
<br />
And there have been Saturday, Sunday, Monday, Teusday, Wednesday and Thursday versions.<br />
This is a song we sing to each other to psych ourselves up to face the day, armoring ourselves with a little bit of goofy cheer before we go out into the world. It's our longest standing ritual, but it's a little meme that hasn't spread beyond the two of us. The girls have always been completely, irrationally, hostile to the infectious cheerfulness of this song, or admittedly it might have been the aforementioned cacophony... Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05339779032331743094noreply@blogger.com1