Wearing The Genes

One of the things I think many of us struggle with, but not many of us will accept, is the notion of weak-mindedness. That we, as people with mental health disorders, are quite simply inferior to those of sound mind, and especially those of sound body and mind. Not many of us will admit to this suspicion, myself included. For one thing, it flies in the face of what many of us are taught in therapy, and also such an admission isn't particularly good for self-esteem. But what exactly is weak-mindedness, and must it necessarily be a bad thing?

When I think of weak-mindedness, I think of my dad. My dad was an alcoholic, but the weakness in his case wasn't the alcoholism itself. It was the fact that he never attempted to fight it, surrendering the initiative and all possibility of redemption. My dad knew that he had made the wrong choices in life, and I think he figured that a little weakness and indulgence at the end wasn't going to make too much of a difference. It cost us a dad, but then he'd never really been a proper dad. So in reality it didn't cost us very much at all.

Then there are the "weakness" traits from my mum's side of the family, which have more to do with obsession, greed and lust. Too much that was repressed; too many atomic bombs waiting to go off. Last night I was talking to my brother for the first time in a long time, and I saw a side to him that I hadn't seen before, and that I really hoped wasn't there. It was the side of me that I wish wasn't there, and I honestly hoped that my prolonged exile from the family would have meant they weren't "contaminated" like I was. But what can you do when the genes get involved? Surrender free will completely?

If I'm honest, I quite like my weak-mindedness. I find that the "softness" enhances mental flexibility and dexterity, and that this in turn enhances creativity. But the real world does not concur, and the real world is right. Strong-mindedness isn't an achievement; it's a basic prerequisite to partake of the real world. When I find myself in "real" situations with "real" people, I become daunted and panic for an escape. I try to act humble, but the faux-humility is merely masking the weakness. I get scared, profoundly so. And when I get scared I get weak, and when I'm weak then I get sick. So I stay home. For now.

Facing The Front

Right then, time I faced this blog again. I've probably lost the handful of readers that I had, apologies that I've not been keeping up.

The hospital thing didn't happen. The only hospital within walking distance couldn't help me, and the only hospital that could help me would have meant getting on public transport which at the moment I can't do. I guess I'm relieved that I didn't get taken in, as I'm sure it would have been a bad experience and I probably would have been put on antipsychotics, which I'm determined to avoid as I figure there's no way back from there. And in any case, I've started having psychotherapy at a local mental health charity, which I figure will help me far more. I've been offered the tantalizing promise of being better able to integrate the internal world with the external world, although how this might work in reality I have absolutely no idea. But it's worth a shot because I have never felt as bad as I've been for the past 2 months or so, and I am determined to get out of the hole that I'm in.

One of the reasons I've not been able to face this blog recently is that I've been making endless resolutions about how to create a new and better me, get my head in the right place and keep it there. "Working the borderline" didn't quite fit these resolutions, so I figured that a "new and improved" me might necessitate a new and improved blog. But, alas, "working the borderline" is me. This is my stop; it's where I get off. "Working the borderline" is what I do, and is what I will continue to do. Even if it's not a valid thing to do, or even a thing that is done at all. It's what I want to do in music, and what I know I will do in life. It's what brings me to life, and that is good enough for me. So the blog stays, and I'll stay with it.

Nice to be back.

Witholding The Tears

Had a good talk with an advisor yesterday, who I initially went to see for advice on my housing and financial situation. The anxiety attacks got cripplingly bad, so much so that there were several occasions where I had to stop speaking, as the anxiety had taken over my mind and compelled me to focus on that instead. The woman advisor did a good job of reassuring me though. There were several times when I nearly walked out, but we ended up having a good chat for at least a couple of hours.

Well, I say "chat"...she did most of the talking, and all I could do was murmur acknowledgement every now and then. I'm not well and she could see that I'm not well, so I felt under no pressure to hold anything back or not let on about how bad I really feel. Although I did manage to hold the tears back...we talked mainly about my family and I kept feeling on the verge of crying, as it became apparent to me just how much I miss my family. But crying isn't going to help improve the situation. It might offer a short-term relief, but that is not enough. If I got into the crying mentality then I'd cry all the time, and it wouldn't change a damn thing.

It's good to talk though.

Fearing The Worst

It's the anxiety that's crippling me. The depression I can live with, the fragmented mind I can live with, the solitude I can find ways of living with. But not the anxiety. I'm hardly getting things done these days because the anxiety puts me off doing them. I'm FINALLY going to shave my head tonight after weeks of putting it off. I hate doing it, but guess why I don't go to the hairdressers? Because of the anxiety attacks.

Why am I so anxious? I can't figure out a definitive reason, but I guess it's a number of things combined. My dad had problems with his nerves that ultimately drove him to drink, so maybe there's something hereditary there. Also I've been taking anti-epilepsy medication for 17 years, since I was 14. This medication helps me focus and concentrate, but it also makes me feel very intense so that too may be a contributing factor. There are bad experiences in my past that have probably contributed too, but if I dwell too long on them I'll only get more anxious. And as a child I used to tense myself up rigid to try and deal with bad experiences, and I think that probably has long-term repercussions for the nervous system. I seem to recall this occurring to me as a child, but since I was a child I paid little attention to it.

However, no one factor seems to explain why I'm living in a constant state of shock. I've written at length about the problems I'm having here where I live, but the reason I'm having these problems is because I'm sending out fear signals. I've got more phobias than a smart-ass quiz player, and it's getting ridiculous. I know that the right kinds of behavioral therapy helps to "un-learn" learned anxieties, but I know all this already and it doesn't stop me from being anxious. I am more than capable of un-learning something and shutting it out of my mind, but this has little (if any) consequence on the physical sensation of nervousness.

I also know that the real winners and achievers in life have the ability to confront their worst fears and ultimately defeat them. But how do you do this when the anxiety is overwhelming? Last time I tried doing this I got physically sick and had to go home! And I'm really not sure that a confrontational attitude is appropriate for where I'm at in my life right now. The other tenants in the house can sense that I'm nervous, and it's making them nervous. Getting all confrontational would not appease the situation. It may be myself that I'm confronting, but certain people here are not insightful enough to figure that out.

So I'm back at the question I began with: Why am I so anxious and what can I do about it? If anyone knows any good anxiety resources on the net, please let me know.

Keeping The Cool

The housing situation seems to have eased off recently, so naturally I'm relieved about that. I'm still not 100% convinced about the electrics, but most of the other problems aren't as bad now as they were. Even the new tenants have settled down a bit, although saying that is probably the kiss of death! It's hot and humid here and that tends to bring out the worst in people, so I'm bracing myself for that. Mainly with alcohol!

Actually I need to keep an eye on my drinking. I don't drink excessively, just steadily as I work through the night on computer. But I'm aware of the fact that I'm drinking for my nerves, and I seem all too ready to accept any excuse I can get to have a drink. Usually I drink to deal with tiredness, because my nerves leave me so fatigued these days that I get really scared when tiredness hits. I also become very "retentive" when my nerves are bad, so drinking helps me deal with that. It's not really a problem and I could stop anytime I wanted to, but all the same it's something I need to keep an eye on.

Right now the main thing to deal with is concentration, or lack of. I've installed new software in the past couple of days, but still can't make head nor tail of it because my concentration is so poor. I've started meditating to help me out with this. Not full-on meditation sessions (yet), as at the moment I have neither the time or the inclination to sit still and hum for an hour. No, I mean visual meditations available on youtube and the like. They're really good...they put you in touch with the rhythms of life, which I never really got from "proper" meditation. And I've always been really poor with visuals, so I'm hoping that visual meditation improves that too.

I suspect I wouldn't be having these problems if I wasn't quite so soft in the head! I've spent the past few years developing mental dexterity and flexibility, with the intention of converting that flexibility into a conceptual instrument. But what I didn't fully appreciate was the extent to which that flexibility is generated by "softness", and pre-requires a certain softness in order for it to work. "Hard-headedness", almost be definition, is less flexible in itself, but it could be argued that ultimately it is more flexible if it leaves one better equipped to deal with the daily rigors of life. And if mental "softness" undermines personal responsibility and the ability to keep one's nerve, then it is automatically wrong irrespective of whatever redeeming features it might possess.

Responsibility preaches the virtues of the singular mind. Meditation preaches the virtues of the still mind. I've been preaching the virtues of the moving mind. I'm beginning to accept that maybe I'm wrong. But if only it felt wrong, and if only it felt wrong for me, then I would accept my wrongness once and for all.

Asking The Earth

I'm gonna have to move out soon, as conditions here are getting worse. I currently have 3 leaks, including the boiler which nearly blew up last night as the pressure was too high. The hot water came out so hot that I think I would probably have suffered burns if I put my hand under it. In addition to this, the electrics are still not safe as the landlord didn't bother to call an electrician. It's going from bad to worse, and I now accept that I'll have to be re-housed. Due to my abiding weirdness I wouldn't last 5 minutes on a housing estate, so that isn't really an option. What I'd like to do is borrow enough money to put down a deposit and pay as many weeks rent in advance on a non-benefits place until the benefit money starts coming through (I'd pay the landlord out of my own pocket, and cover my own costs with the benefits). But I can't borrow from the social until September at the earliest, and borrowing from anywhere else would saddle me with debt I couldn't afford.

So it looks as though I'm gonna have to face the only realistic option that I have...to accept that I can't cope on my own, ask for help, and get taken in to residential accommodation for the mentally ill. I would imagine that places are at a premium, so even that wouldn't be straightforward. But the truth is that I can't cope on my own any more. I can't even travel because my head's all over the place, so what chance do I have with moving? And even if I were to find a nice place on my own, why would a landlord take me in if my mental state is all too obvious? At least in a residential place I'd be with "people like me", which is so badly lacking in my life right now. If the only people like me are mentally ill, then perhaps that's who I need to be with. And if the only way I'm going to move is to do it with help, then perhaps that's what I need to do. Because I'm not dying here, that's for sure. My life isn't worth much, but it's worth a damn sight more than my landlord's negligence.

Bizarrely, while all this is going on, I'm going to be writing some erotica for an escort's website. I contacted her with the idea, as I wanted to do something a little bit different to conventional adult blogging, and she seemed enthusiastic enough. So then I sent her a sample of my prose based on a couple of images she sent me, and I didn't hear anything back. Now she clearly states on her website that she replies to emails promptly and daily, and so I assumed that the lack of a prompt reply meant that I wouldn't be getting a reply. I also assumed that this lack of reply was on the grounds of "taste" (ie, she's tasteful and I'm not!), so I sent her a somewhat drunken email defending myself against my own assumptions. (I'll take any opportunity I can get to attack the laws of taste). But as so often is the case, the assumptions were wrong. It wasn't just the assumptions themselves that were wrong, but the urge to make those assumptions was also wrong. When will I learn? Turns out she was just being professional and dealing with me the same way she deals with professionals who contact her on a daily basis. Which comes as something of a relief because I was worried she was comparing me with time-wasters who send her dirty emails. Professionalism isn't a concept I find easy to get my head around, so that's why I make these mistakes sometimes.

I don't know. Erotic writing. Conducting. Mental illness. Homelessness. There's too many strands, aren't there? Too many strands pulling in too many different directions, with too many different states of mind required for each one. It undermines my credibility, and I'm sure you the reader are as aware of this as I the writer am. And of course it undermines my health too. So I've started to meditate, but even that requires another strand and another state of mind, with tenuous links to the others. But I'm getting into nature-based approaches to life, because I figure that if I'm asking the earth then I may as well ask the earth. Seems appropriate, and I'm aware that appropriate is good even though I don't always fully realise it.

Removing The Link

Yesterday I thought I was being sooo clever. And needless to say, I wasn't. I put up a link to a seriously high-quality mental health blog, with on-the-edge writing, sharp politicizing, and a wealth of resources for the reader. But I've had to take the link down again because the author in question has checked out this stinking heap of shit, and it's left me feeling so utterly ashamed of myself and my feeble little efforts.

I feel so sorry for her for having to suffer this and me. She was here for less than 5 seconds, but that's 5 seconds too many. If you had 5 seconds in the life of someone you admired and respected, what would you fill those 5 seconds with? I filled them with shit. This woman has been abused as a kid, and she has to suffer the ineptitude of some ginger-haired spazzy prick who doesn't how to live. IDIOT. (*smashes fist against head*)

How DARE I think I can punch above my weight like that! I've been blogging for 5 minutes and already I think I know it all. Well listen, sonny boy, you know FUCK ALL. These people have READ BOOKS. ARTICLES. JOURNALS. MANIFESTOS. OTHER PEOPLE'S BLOGS. And I think I can get by on a whim and a prayer!

These people have been abused and/or institutionalized, for fuck's sake. Now these are just about the worst possible life experiences that I can think of, but at least they are experiences and as such are worth a hell of a lot more than spazzy ineptitude. Because I don't have a life, I'm paying insufficient respect to the knowledge and experiences accumulated by others in their lives. Now this isn't deliberate, but it's there and I recognise that it's there. And if this woman or one of her quality-blogging, abuse-surviving readers has had to endure reading about my pathetic attempts to deal with a flood in the cellar, then I deserve to die. It is as simple and as straightforward as that. Child abuse = bad. Incompetence = fucking stupid. End of.

It's the same story with more commercially-oriented blogs I do elsewhere. Because I think like such a perennial outsider, I can never quite grasp the kind of "industry insiderism" that these blogs seem to thrive on. And consequently I don't make any money. Clever, huh?

Right, I'm going to crawl into a hole, take lots of books with me, and DO SOME FUCKING RESEARCH . I'll come back when I have something to say that's actually worth saying. And I'm sorry for having to take a link down that would be a great resource to my readers, but I'd just beat myself up everytime I see it there.

Living The Life

Now I have something of a confession to make, and it's a confession that may cost me some readers. My confession is simply that I don't know how to live. Really. Not at all. Now I have a disorder that undermines my perception of reality, which in turn undermines my capacity to live, but that's no excuse and I know it. I figure it may cost me some readers because so many blogs and bloggers are actively promoting the aesthetics and ethics of living well. In other words, somebody who doesn't know how to live is a threat and/or an irrelevance.

To give an example, I was thinking of starting an erotic blog, but I've since discovered that most erotic blogs are basically recipes for life. Food stuff, but about sex instead of food, or sex as food. They may on the surface be about sex, but what they're really promoting is a lifestyle and the vindication of that lifestyle. Lifestyler writes blog, other lifestylers read and comment on blog; lifestyle re-affirmed and vindicated. So that kinda scared me off a bit...because my sex stuff isn't food stuff, it's just sex stuff. It isn't meant to be tasteful, and it isn't meant to register a tick against my name.

So what do I mean when I say that I don't know how to live? Well it's quite simple really...I'm on my own for long periods of time, and I can't figure out what the hell I'm supposed to do. I always end up resorting to what I need...I need to eat, I need to write, I need to think etc. But I need to breathe too, and I need to experience the kind of life-enhancing things that the Great Accumulators experience every day. Of course when I'm with someone it all becomes much clearer, and I remember that I need not to need too. But that's just feeding off the other person, and I know that professional lifestylers have serious issues with that. But professional lifestylers have serious issues with just about everything I represent, so maybe I should just ignore them. They won't go away, but they might become less prominent in my head.

Ach, stop thinking and just live, FFS!!

Raising The Dead

I've taken to writing blog posts as soon as I wake up. Trouble is, I've woken up at 6:30pm! The clocks went forward last night here in the UK, but that's not really the point.

No matter what I do to amend my sleeping habits, I always go back to working nights and sleeping days. Why? I don't exactly know. I feel as though I work more effectively at night, but I suspect that this isn't really the case. And while I'm used to quietness and solitude, that doesn't necessarily make it a good thing. Does it?

I've tried numerous times to sort my sleeping habits out, but somehow it never quite sticks. But it will have to start sticking soon, because I have things to get up for and debts to address.

Taking The Medicine

Ok so they started me on Diazepam. I've taken Diazepam before so I knew what to expect, but I don't intend to stay on it for long. Diazepam used to make me horny so I was secretly quite looking forward to taking it, but this time it just made me sleepy and I suspect that will continue to be the case. I'm already taking sedatives to sleep and they seem to do the job, so there's no need to start on one more. The real reason I'm taking Diazepam is because I'm having terrible trouble with claustrophobia. My mind is jumping around all over the place, desperately seeking a resting state that counts as an escape. And judging from the effects the diazepam has had so far, it probably won't help me out with that. So good old willpower it is then.

I need to resolve it soon, because it's leaving me too scared to get on the bus. It's nothing about the bus itself that's scary (I've been in bus crashes and suffered no adverse effects). No, it's the fact that once those doors shut, you no longer have an escape. It affects me the most in traffic jams, because you're constantly stuck behind cars or lights, and the next bus stop now is no nearer than it was when the doors were first shut. And when the bus is crammed full of people and screaming babies it's an absolute nightmare. But it's a nightmare I was always able to deal with, until recently. Only recently have I started to abort mission and get off the bus before my stop. Or, as was the case yesterday, get on and then get straight back off again! Something happened recently that wasn't so bad in itself, but it brought the phobia back with a vengeance. I thought I'd beaten it but clearly I haven't, and I'm clearly no nearer to resolving it now than I ever was.

Someone asked me yesterday whether it would really be so bad if I went crazy on the bus. Well, yes it would. This is my local bus, mostly used by women, children and the elderly. Their menfolk would soon find out who I was, as my unfortunate shock of ginger hair makes me more recognisable than I would like to be. I would be warned in no uncertain terms to leave the area or face a beating, or maybe get the beating first and then be told to leave. This is a tough working-class area, and tolerance of outsiders is low. And as I made clear in an earlier post, leaving isn't as easy as I would like to believe it is.

Sometimes I wonder whether all this is nature's (and gravity's) way of punishing me for not being "grounded" enough, and for daring to let my imagination take flight. And it seems that for now I am quite literally "grounded", in the sense that I can no longer take a form of transport that requires my feet to leave the earth. But the trouble is that whenever I bear all this in mind, it seems to affect me worse than ever. Of course I should just forget about it all and relax; but when you suspect that your resting state might be causing the problem, that's not exactly an incentive to relax. And when you're jumping around between different states of mind hoping that one of them will stick, you do grow quite weary of endlessly trying to relax. I'm sick of trying to change myself, and I'm sick of trying to escape myself.

So pills it is. For now.

Banging The Drum

Now anyone who has read my profile will have noticed my other blog La Potentialista, in which I was to expand on my theories of potential, and of the harnessing of "potentialistics" as an alternative application to productivity (for those who struggle with productivity, due to disability or trauma or something like that). Now I believe in my ideas and in my abilty to communicate them; but regrettably I have had to delete this blog as it was tormenting me too much. The tone of the blog was very self-help and inspirational, which is all well and good providing you can blind yourself to the truth. And there's the rub: I can't blind myself to the truth, because to do so would be to wallow in ignorance and to expect others to follow my example. I believe in my ideas, but not to the point of evangelism. It just got to the stage where I was checking myself after every sentence, so reluctantly I had to let it go.

Now if only I could let the ideas go...