So, I was on Twitter this morning, and I suddenly had this FEAR that I had missed my blogging anniversary. I knew I had started in mid-February last year, and I thought it was around the 12th.
Well, it was. AROUND the 12th. Fortunately, it was the 15th. [Here is my opening post... ]
So today, then, is the last day of the first year of my blog. The first of perhaps MANY years, I can hope...
But WOW! What an amazing first year! What an incredible, incredible first year!
I don't even know where to begin in my recap...
But one of the reasons for this blog was because I'm real cheap, and this was free therapy. So thanks, guys! ;)
No, but seriously, at the time I started this blog, I was deep in grief over two lost relationships, and I was feeling incredibly lonely in a small town where I was trying to dig roots, in a job that ultimately I felt both overwhelmed and bored with. I had lost my best friend, and was feeling a deep need to find someone to tell all the random thoughts and silly things (and perhaps profound?) that were screaming through my head.
So, I thought the whole world was a suitable audience to share everything with...
But I had no readers except my good friend Robin Sparkles (thank you, Robin!) and apparently I wasn't the type who liked to talk just to hear my own voice. Apparently, I'm so selfish and self-centered I actually want OTHERS to hear me too....
And I had decided to give it a whirl because I enjoyed hearing The Bloggess' voice and thought I can do that! So after twenty-five blog posts, and hoping that meant I was going to stick with this, I called her out. At the time, on her blog, there was an incident that she has asked us to no longer name with an actor whose first memorable role was as the second Joey in One Life To Live, and I encouraged her to share a picture with me as she might have wanted one who shall not be named to send a picture to her of him.
So, to get her attention, I did an evil thing. Something that from high above in my lofty cloud I thought was much too far beneath me. Something I never thought I would do.
That's right. I joined Twitter.
WOW!
And The Bloggess - bless her heart - was my VERY FIRST FOLLOWER!!!
At some point along the way, I found Kit. And I believe I found her through Jenny. And I found her posts - particularly her posts about sex - to be really funny and amusing. I liked her voice too. And I'd like to say she was my second follower.. but I'm not sure... Either way, with #wineparty, she opened up a whole new world to me.
A world of 30-40-something Mommy bloggers. (Primarily)
You guys are great. Considering I am most definitely NOT a Mommy...
And I have a Sci-Fi name that should turn you off. And it took some of you awhile to realize I wasn't a guy hitting on and flirting with women, but, um, a dyke. But you enjoyed it and flirted back.
And one particular chickie - who played a little hard to get at first - flirted back and foolishly fell in love with me. ;)
WOW!
And slowly, but surely, I've built up a following. I have a steady readership of about 20 readers... ;) and I have had over twelve thousand hits. I have a strong Balkan following.
The CANADIANS have been quite impressive fans. They are so polite. They'll apologize when YOU fart. I love the Canadians... And so... today is as good a day as any to make the official announcement that, well, I'm moving to Canada.
'Cuz, as I've already mentioned, there's this particular chickie.. and well.. she's a CANADIAN chick.. go figure... We're not entirely sure she likes me and that she isn't just being polite to me, "Oh sure..." but we're gonna run with it anyway. ;)
(Actually, no, we're QUITE sure she likes me, very much... and if I left that sentence alone, particularly after her sweet Valentine's eve series of love notes, I'd be in trouble... and that's no way to start a life together... )
Goodbye small town. Goodbye single. Goodbye soccer coach. Goodbye America. Goodbye job. Goodbye church...
Woah.. what's going to be left of me when I go?
All the essential parts of me will still be here.
I have enjoyed very much living in a small town, but I didn't particularly choose this place. They have been good to me. Very good to me! I have really enjoyed coaching soccer, but I have no inherent skills or even love for the sport. I enjoyed the girls - they were great! Can't say I enjoyed being single, but I can say that I got out of it what I needed, and I have most definitely let go of my past relationships and am ready for this new one I'm already in (so it's, um, a good thing, eh?) America? Well... you're hard to ignore. And I'll be living in a border town (okay, border megaopolis), so I have a feeling I won't miss you too much. Job? Pfft... well... it has always been a gap-filler. And it and the church, and the soccer have all sort of helped me get a firmer understanding of what I enjoy doing, and in a larger city, I will have a better opportunity to find something that fits those things.
What a year! I mean, really, what a year! One thing which has NOT changed, though, over this past year. And that is being and knowing that I am very, very blessed.
Who knows what themes will emerge with this blog in the next year? Change will probably be one of them. I'm going to try and stuff my life into five duffel bags and stuff them and my bike into my car and start over. I've always always always wanted to have such little stuff in my life that I could stuff it all in a car and go. I have a couple of weeks to pare things down to see if I can do it. If I manage it, that's another WOW! I am looking forward to trying.
Alright - a few other topics are creeping into my head to write about, but it is clear to me that they are separate posts.
But I wanted to say WOW! and THANK YOU! for an INCREDIBLE year. INCREDIBLE!
Who knew when I started this that this is where it would lead? But I am so grateful it has!
I am blessed.
Showing posts with label therapy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label therapy. Show all posts
Thursday, February 14, 2013
Wednesday, August 22, 2012
A rose named Borg...
Original Title (so you can understand the original theme I was writing from):
Rocks, Hard Places, Awkwardness and a Game Called Jenga
I've just had another individual from Twitter politely note, "I just realized I don't know your real name". When I politely ignored that particular comment, she less passively (after politely waiting for one or two more exchanges) directly asked, "So... not gonna tell me your real name?"
There is only one person I've met on Twitter who knows my real name. My full real name. One other person knows my first name. That's it. (So, yes, you two, you should feel REALLY special, but you can do so quietly)
And that is not an easy decision. And by next week, that circle may increase.
The first one who I gave it to had shared some quite intimate details about herself by e-mail earlier in the day, and that evening we were chatting by g-chat, and twenty minutes into the conversation she stated, finally, near the end of the conversation: "You have to tell me your name. I can't call you the borg blog!"
Um, yes you can? And her argument, as go all the arguments I get, is "who am I going to tell?"
If she were to disclose herself (which I am asking her not to), she'd tell you that all she got for a long time was just my first name. In fact, the last name slipped really only because I sent her an e-mail from the wrong account. (Dratted iPhone and human error).
This is not easy for me. I do not like living in closets. I do not like hiding who I am. I have no desire to be the tiny "wizard" hiding behind some great contraption of fire and smoke appearing to be bigger than who I am. I HATE closets (except the big walk-in kinds where I can keep my clothes that I've never actually had the joy of having...).
I have written several blog entries already about anonymity. I don't know if I've tagged them all, but you'll see several of them if you click on the label over there on the right. This is something I've struggled with. And still struggle with.
At some level, in my last anonymity post, I acknowledged that I could not keep my two worlds separate forever. But that each time one side touches the other side, it's like taking out a piece in a game of Jenga. The first pieces are easy, and bring no significant threat to the structure. Really, only the dog wagging its tail will knock it down. As a side note, playing Jenga with a yellow lab puppy, by the way, is very hard to do! But there does come a time where you've taken out so many pieces it makes the structure very precarious, and even the slight vibrations from the plane taking off nearby or the train rumbling by (I've lived both near airports and train tracks) will knock it down while you aren't even looking.
Part of the reason for this blog, I've admitted openly, is as a way for me to heal from the loss of some important people in my life. People I've loved dearly. People I still love dearly. While really I am writing in here only about me, I'm not. And I live in a small enough town that you would know who (crap, what was the name I gave him, oh, yeah) Tom was, and you'd know who tulip girl was, and you'd know who a lot of people were if you knew who I was. And while Robin Sparkles doesn't live here in town, and is an old friend from college, it wouldn't necessarily take long to identify her. (It is true, though, that I don't feel a compelling need to protect Tom, but I also don't need someone telling him I'm writing about him and have him track down this blog, either! *smile!*)
And the reality is that one of my points from the beginning, and I still maintain today, is that we all could be you. Or someone you know just down the street. Who we are - name wise - is unimportant to understanding and enjoying (I hope) our story. And maybe you can take insight you learn from reading here to apply to that person down the street whom I remind you of. That reading about my struggles and my successes and reading my thoughts and ramblings might just help bring us all together as one loving society and community (Okay, there's that big ass guy full of smoke and mirrors, but....). That knowing who I am as an individual shouldn't affect your ability to relate to what I'm writing.
But last week, it got even more complicated and troublesome keeping these worlds separate. Because last week my tweeps did something that a lot of people in my real life have never done. Heard my call for "help" and came and supported me EVEN if they thought I was nuts to think I needed help, and/or thought I was being really irrational and over-reacting. EVEN when they didn't agree with me, they still supported me. Simply because I asked for it. And until they did it, I didn't realize how absent that had been, for the most part, in my life.
It was a real WOW moment. A real you-guys-are-really-special and where-have-you-been-all-my-life kind of moment!! And yet, I won't / can't / don't even tell them my name?
And this is the moment where I change the title of this post. I gave you the original title above so you can see the framework I started with, and understand where I am or was going. But somewhere along the line most of you have decided that I smell just as sweet, even if my name is Borg, instead of ________. And that's pretty darn special. And I'm pretty darn lucky!!
Have patience with me, then, my friends. Because so many of you have become my friends. This is not personal to you - it is my fears, my concerns, and my need and desire to protect others whom I care about, too. I know that you can respect me on this. I've seen how you support me, despite my name. And I appreciate you all.
-----
If you're new to this somewhat one-sided conversation I keep having about this, I suggest you can read the following posts to catch up on some of my thoughts (if you've read everything I've written, you can skip this and go to the bottom of the entry, post your comment and collect your prize):
I addressed the topic on my very first day of writing this blog in a post called Assimilation.
There I wrote:
Three months later, I addressed the topic directly again in my post Clark Kent .. This is when I began to realize I might want Lois Lane to know that I was both Clark Kent and Superman so she'd know she was in love with me (well, maybe not quite that...). And what would I do at that point? Mostly I was looking for the Anonymous Anonymous support group. I was sure that Flash, Wonder Woman, Superman, Batman and all the other caped (and not so caped) crusaders might be dealing with some of the same issues I was just starting to deal with.. (and this was before I ever even knew anything about Blogher and then began to wonder how could I ever go?)
The blog post titled simply Anonymity really does state some of the reasons above (protecting others, and also a little left over self-protection) and I think it was when I typed that post that I began to decide this recurring theme / topic needed to have a label of its own. I also described briefly a very unpleasant encounter I had with one twit (because frankly she was a twit) who got really upset and really rude when I gave her a generic answer in response to a direct question about where I lived. Frankly, given her response - and she was one of the first people to ask me anything so particular (which I realize is not that particular at all) - it reinforced my rationale to remain somewhat anonymous. This person, frankly, even now long after I've blocked her, still scares me. I'm glad she only has a narrow geographic region in which to ponder where she might find me.
I also talked briefly about the sensitivity I had about my identity / location after leaving an abusive relationship. There are, unfortunately, people who I have been close to in my life who don't have any idea where I am. For some of them, I wish I could change that. For some, eventually over time, I will. But for many, unfortunately, I just had to disappear. Facebook has managed to keep me in touch with many I might otherwise have lost touch with, but my in real life close friends (only one of which is on here from that period) will tell you it was still months - if not a year - before I revealed specifically where I was in even that closed environment of hand-picked friends. While MOSTLY I am over that, I admit my steadfast responses are cultivated / learned from that experience. As I wrote in Anonymity, murder-suicide was most certainly an option on the table at the end that many - including myself - were afraid could happen. I think enough time has passed that it is very minusculely likely to happen, but when you experience that possibility and that kind of fear, trust me, you learn to be a little protective.
(Wow, that took me back to such a lovely dark place - are any of you still here? ;) )
I wrote Anonymity Revisited after I told an in real life friend - not a local friend, of course! - about the blog since it and Twitter is becoming such a big part of my life - at least big parts that I am excited and enthused about. The world didn't fall apart when I told her. Although it did give her a bit more information about something she'd known a little bit about. And she didn't (to the best of my knowledge) rush off and plaster it all over Facebook. And she hasn't disowned me as a friend. Again, an early Jenga piece.
And then a month ago, I finally came up with the Jenga analogy after I felt safe enough to share this blog with a memory-impaired local friend (she will agree with me, if she ever does find the blog again, that "memory-impaired" is a fair term to use to describe her lately). It was somewhat safe because she's likely already forgotten about the blog, or if she remembers it, has no memory of how to find it or what it was called. It was also somewhat safe because the things that I write on here about local people would not be news to her, would not reveal any new "secrets" and she has already demonstrated, as such, that I can trust her not to hurt the people I love with the information that she knows.
--------- (did you skip above? Start reading again here....)
I have fallen in love with the Jenga analogy. It fits this perfectly. Because that one friend asking, "Who am I going to tell? What harm will it do?" is correct that telling just her alone will not cause my life or this separation to come crumbling down. It won't. But telling a lot of people, even one piece at a time, will make it harder to keep this construct up.
Basically, I've come to the conclusion that the wall will naturally come down as soon as I become as popular as Jenny The Bloggess - one of my "heroes". But until then, and until I have a book deal and a way to support myself through the publishing of this blog and my ramblings, I hope you won't mind if I try to preserve this delicate balance for as long as I can. Because I admit, if and when that happens, if and when the Jenga pieces all start crumbling down, I'm going to have to think long and hard about possibly pulling some of my more 'exposing' posts, even though, of course, they've all been out there. And I don't want to censor or edit myself.
As I said, I don't like hiding. All while writing this really, really long post about why I'm hiding.
Yeah, look over there, one of the labels, too, is "inconsistency" - what can't see it? It's right there wedged between "I'm human" and "insanity" (at least at the moment I type this! I'm sure over time I'll find some other 'i' label to add...)
For those of you who made it all the way to the end of this post - wow! Thank you. And congratulate yourselves - or give me an opportunity to congratulate you for reading this really long somewhat winding post - by posting a comment here, too. I promise to comment back and thank you, and add you to my list of REALLY loyal supporters! ;)
And in the meantime, I hope you accept this rose is named Borg... I swear I smell as sweet (I *did* take a shower this morning!) as whatever my "real life" name does.
Rocks, Hard Places, Awkwardness and a Game Called Jenga
I've just had another individual from Twitter politely note, "I just realized I don't know your real name". When I politely ignored that particular comment, she less passively (after politely waiting for one or two more exchanges) directly asked, "So... not gonna tell me your real name?"
There is only one person I've met on Twitter who knows my real name. My full real name. One other person knows my first name. That's it. (So, yes, you two, you should feel REALLY special, but you can do so quietly)
And that is not an easy decision. And by next week, that circle may increase.
The first one who I gave it to had shared some quite intimate details about herself by e-mail earlier in the day, and that evening we were chatting by g-chat, and twenty minutes into the conversation she stated, finally, near the end of the conversation: "You have to tell me your name. I can't call you the borg blog!"
Um, yes you can? And her argument, as go all the arguments I get, is "who am I going to tell?"
If she were to disclose herself (which I am asking her not to), she'd tell you that all she got for a long time was just my first name. In fact, the last name slipped really only because I sent her an e-mail from the wrong account. (Dratted iPhone and human error).
This is not easy for me. I do not like living in closets. I do not like hiding who I am. I have no desire to be the tiny "wizard" hiding behind some great contraption of fire and smoke appearing to be bigger than who I am. I HATE closets (except the big walk-in kinds where I can keep my clothes that I've never actually had the joy of having...).
I have written several blog entries already about anonymity. I don't know if I've tagged them all, but you'll see several of them if you click on the label over there on the right. This is something I've struggled with. And still struggle with.
At some level, in my last anonymity post, I acknowledged that I could not keep my two worlds separate forever. But that each time one side touches the other side, it's like taking out a piece in a game of Jenga. The first pieces are easy, and bring no significant threat to the structure. Really, only the dog wagging its tail will knock it down. As a side note, playing Jenga with a yellow lab puppy, by the way, is very hard to do! But there does come a time where you've taken out so many pieces it makes the structure very precarious, and even the slight vibrations from the plane taking off nearby or the train rumbling by (I've lived both near airports and train tracks) will knock it down while you aren't even looking.
Part of the reason for this blog, I've admitted openly, is as a way for me to heal from the loss of some important people in my life. People I've loved dearly. People I still love dearly. While really I am writing in here only about me, I'm not. And I live in a small enough town that you would know who (crap, what was the name I gave him, oh, yeah) Tom was, and you'd know who tulip girl was, and you'd know who a lot of people were if you knew who I was. And while Robin Sparkles doesn't live here in town, and is an old friend from college, it wouldn't necessarily take long to identify her. (It is true, though, that I don't feel a compelling need to protect Tom, but I also don't need someone telling him I'm writing about him and have him track down this blog, either! *smile!*)
And the reality is that one of my points from the beginning, and I still maintain today, is that we all could be you. Or someone you know just down the street. Who we are - name wise - is unimportant to understanding and enjoying (I hope) our story. And maybe you can take insight you learn from reading here to apply to that person down the street whom I remind you of. That reading about my struggles and my successes and reading my thoughts and ramblings might just help bring us all together as one loving society and community (Okay, there's that big ass guy full of smoke and mirrors, but....). That knowing who I am as an individual shouldn't affect your ability to relate to what I'm writing.
But last week, it got even more complicated and troublesome keeping these worlds separate. Because last week my tweeps did something that a lot of people in my real life have never done. Heard my call for "help" and came and supported me EVEN if they thought I was nuts to think I needed help, and/or thought I was being really irrational and over-reacting. EVEN when they didn't agree with me, they still supported me. Simply because I asked for it. And until they did it, I didn't realize how absent that had been, for the most part, in my life.
It was a real WOW moment. A real you-guys-are-really-special and where-have-you-been-all-my-life kind of moment!! And yet, I won't / can't / don't even tell them my name?
And this is the moment where I change the title of this post. I gave you the original title above so you can see the framework I started with, and understand where I am or was going. But somewhere along the line most of you have decided that I smell just as sweet, even if my name is Borg, instead of ________. And that's pretty darn special. And I'm pretty darn lucky!!
Have patience with me, then, my friends. Because so many of you have become my friends. This is not personal to you - it is my fears, my concerns, and my need and desire to protect others whom I care about, too. I know that you can respect me on this. I've seen how you support me, despite my name. And I appreciate you all.
-----
If you're new to this somewhat one-sided conversation I keep having about this, I suggest you can read the following posts to catch up on some of my thoughts (if you've read everything I've written, you can skip this and go to the bottom of the entry, post your comment and collect your prize):
I addressed the topic on my very first day of writing this blog in a post called Assimilation.
There I wrote:
Our experiences while seeming unique to ourselves are also universal.
...
When one becomes assimilated into the Collective, they become one with another, and all of their memories are now part of the collective. There is no unique "I" in Borg. There is just Borg.
So while you think you may know me, you probably don't. Or rather you may know me, because my experiences are similar to yours or those you do know. But you do not know my identity.
Three months later, I addressed the topic directly again in my post Clark Kent .. This is when I began to realize I might want Lois Lane to know that I was both Clark Kent and Superman so she'd know she was in love with me (well, maybe not quite that...). And what would I do at that point? Mostly I was looking for the Anonymous Anonymous support group. I was sure that Flash, Wonder Woman, Superman, Batman and all the other caped (and not so caped) crusaders might be dealing with some of the same issues I was just starting to deal with.. (and this was before I ever even knew anything about Blogher and then began to wonder how could I ever go?)
The blog post titled simply Anonymity really does state some of the reasons above (protecting others, and also a little left over self-protection) and I think it was when I typed that post that I began to decide this recurring theme / topic needed to have a label of its own. I also described briefly a very unpleasant encounter I had with one twit (because frankly she was a twit) who got really upset and really rude when I gave her a generic answer in response to a direct question about where I lived. Frankly, given her response - and she was one of the first people to ask me anything so particular (which I realize is not that particular at all) - it reinforced my rationale to remain somewhat anonymous. This person, frankly, even now long after I've blocked her, still scares me. I'm glad she only has a narrow geographic region in which to ponder where she might find me.
I also talked briefly about the sensitivity I had about my identity / location after leaving an abusive relationship. There are, unfortunately, people who I have been close to in my life who don't have any idea where I am. For some of them, I wish I could change that. For some, eventually over time, I will. But for many, unfortunately, I just had to disappear. Facebook has managed to keep me in touch with many I might otherwise have lost touch with, but my in real life close friends (only one of which is on here from that period) will tell you it was still months - if not a year - before I revealed specifically where I was in even that closed environment of hand-picked friends. While MOSTLY I am over that, I admit my steadfast responses are cultivated / learned from that experience. As I wrote in Anonymity, murder-suicide was most certainly an option on the table at the end that many - including myself - were afraid could happen. I think enough time has passed that it is very minusculely likely to happen, but when you experience that possibility and that kind of fear, trust me, you learn to be a little protective.
(Wow, that took me back to such a lovely dark place - are any of you still here? ;) )
I wrote Anonymity Revisited after I told an in real life friend - not a local friend, of course! - about the blog since it and Twitter is becoming such a big part of my life - at least big parts that I am excited and enthused about. The world didn't fall apart when I told her. Although it did give her a bit more information about something she'd known a little bit about. And she didn't (to the best of my knowledge) rush off and plaster it all over Facebook. And she hasn't disowned me as a friend. Again, an early Jenga piece.
And then a month ago, I finally came up with the Jenga analogy after I felt safe enough to share this blog with a memory-impaired local friend (she will agree with me, if she ever does find the blog again, that "memory-impaired" is a fair term to use to describe her lately). It was somewhat safe because she's likely already forgotten about the blog, or if she remembers it, has no memory of how to find it or what it was called. It was also somewhat safe because the things that I write on here about local people would not be news to her, would not reveal any new "secrets" and she has already demonstrated, as such, that I can trust her not to hurt the people I love with the information that she knows.
--------- (did you skip above? Start reading again here....)
I have fallen in love with the Jenga analogy. It fits this perfectly. Because that one friend asking, "Who am I going to tell? What harm will it do?" is correct that telling just her alone will not cause my life or this separation to come crumbling down. It won't. But telling a lot of people, even one piece at a time, will make it harder to keep this construct up.
Basically, I've come to the conclusion that the wall will naturally come down as soon as I become as popular as Jenny The Bloggess - one of my "heroes". But until then, and until I have a book deal and a way to support myself through the publishing of this blog and my ramblings, I hope you won't mind if I try to preserve this delicate balance for as long as I can. Because I admit, if and when that happens, if and when the Jenga pieces all start crumbling down, I'm going to have to think long and hard about possibly pulling some of my more 'exposing' posts, even though, of course, they've all been out there. And I don't want to censor or edit myself.
As I said, I don't like hiding. All while writing this really, really long post about why I'm hiding.
Yeah, look over there, one of the labels, too, is "inconsistency" - what can't see it? It's right there wedged between "I'm human" and "insanity" (at least at the moment I type this! I'm sure over time I'll find some other 'i' label to add...)
For those of you who made it all the way to the end of this post - wow! Thank you. And congratulate yourselves - or give me an opportunity to congratulate you for reading this really long somewhat winding post - by posting a comment here, too. I promise to comment back and thank you, and add you to my list of REALLY loyal supporters! ;)
And in the meantime, I hope you accept this rose is named Borg... I swear I smell as sweet (I *did* take a shower this morning!) as whatever my "real life" name does.
Tuesday, July 17, 2012
Therapy - Part I - ADD & Reputation
Apparently everyone had a bad week last week that I survey. (Raise your hand? Yeah, exactly) So I won't pretend that I am unique (although I am, because how many of your other friends can pull off this cube-shape so well? That's what I thought)
It was a quiet week, as you saw, on the Borg Blog.
I did actually write one post and even published it, but got a little nervous about it and took it down.
See, because I live in a small town. (In case you weren't paying attention, or this is your first time on here (welcome!))
And in that post I wrote frustratingly about how my ADD affects my ability to perform professionally, and my fears of what that might do to my professional opportunities. And while I like to think I'm anonymous, and probably am, in this day and age you never know who's watching or who's figured things out, and I decided NOT to push my luck. I just needed one person to be walking by or looking over my shoulder as I tweeted as The Borg Blog to blow my Clark Kent identity.
I started the week with something I wrote about, though. Concerns about how my behavior might affect someone else and how to deal with his nonetheless annoying behavior, and trying to understand why it hit so many buttons for me, and how to diffuse that trigger.
I realized two things in that thinking. One of the central themes in his behavior that annoys me has to do with boundaries. Usually the stuff that riles me up the most is when he is crossing real or imagined boundaries of what is and isn't appropriate for him to be doing or saying. The second central theme is his admitted attempts to stir up drama - drop a bomb and then walk away and see what happens. Well what happens, dear Tom, is I come back and whoop your ass (figuratively) for trying to create the drama in the first place, and you get irritated and annoyed because that wasn't what you were looking for. Sorry. Responsibility for your actions, Dude. But also that these attempts are usually directed at particular people. He is attacking their reputation with half-truths and misinformation, sometimes downright intentional lies.
And that hit a huge button for me, once I made the connection. I've talked a little bit about the end of my long-term relationship with my wife. And how mental illness contributed to its eventual demise. At the end, though, my wife was on a campaign to destroy me and my reputation. Calling all of my friends and my family - anyone she could find who might listen - to tell them half-truths and outright lies about me. Now because some of them were half-truths, those who weren't close enough found themselves in a hard position to know what to believe. Well... this part is true, so maybe this other part is, too. Those who I was closer with, or who just "knew" me, were able to sort through those stories, and those who really loved me, knew better than to even give her an audience (I always found it interesting who she chose as targets, and who she knew better than to even try and spread her stories to...).
And I gotta tell you, those are the hardest battles to win. Because at the end of the day, either the person knows you and knows your character, or they don't. Either they believe the lies or mis-information they've heard or they don't. There really isn't anything you can do after the fact to fix it. And any attempt to do so, to explain what is going on with your spouse, makes you sound just as crazy as her. So the best defense was none, and to hope that my actions spoke loudly enough. In the end, my only option was to walk away entirely, and I did.
So, I find that for some odd reason, having left my whole life behind, that I'm a little sensitive, apparently, when someone goes around trying to trash someone else's reputation. Who knew?
And that was just the first couple of days of the week.
On Wednesday morning, I woke up in a deep depression. I really wanted to just stay in bed all day. And if I could have done so without losing my primary job (I work several jobs), I would have. But I didn't. I got up, and I drove to work, and then I sat in the parking lot before 9 AM crying. I was wise enough to call out for help to a couple of friends - to not let myself be "alone" and spiral further. And eventually I pulled myself together and went inside. The day improved, and on Thursday I woke up in a much better mood. I also worked from home. But Friday came around and I had to go back into work again.
I attacked Friday much better than I did Wednesday. In fact, I got quite a bit done that needed to be done, and I was pleased with myself. But I also decided it was time to call a therapist whom I hadn't seen in over a year for a "tune-up" because if things continue along, professionally, as they have, I might not have secure employment, and from there everything spirals.
I blame a good deal of it on my ADD. And I find myself increasingly frustrated by the short-comings this inability to focus on something - particularly after the newness has worn off - generates. I have been fortunate in life that I am somewhat intelligent, and can manage to impress people enough that they don't notice, immediately, when I start to slack off, but eventually, like the Wizard behind the curtain, when it continues, it is noticed.
And it's a small town. This isn't a reputation I want.
So I decided it was time to go back to therapy to work on a few things, again, still. I can't really afford it. My "discretionary" money is really quite non-existant. But the conclusion I reached on Friday was that if I lose this job, I really can't afford not to go.
It was a quiet week, as you saw, on the Borg Blog.
I did actually write one post and even published it, but got a little nervous about it and took it down.
See, because I live in a small town. (In case you weren't paying attention, or this is your first time on here (welcome!))
And in that post I wrote frustratingly about how my ADD affects my ability to perform professionally, and my fears of what that might do to my professional opportunities. And while I like to think I'm anonymous, and probably am, in this day and age you never know who's watching or who's figured things out, and I decided NOT to push my luck. I just needed one person to be walking by or looking over my shoulder as I tweeted as The Borg Blog to blow my Clark Kent identity.
I started the week with something I wrote about, though. Concerns about how my behavior might affect someone else and how to deal with his nonetheless annoying behavior, and trying to understand why it hit so many buttons for me, and how to diffuse that trigger.
I realized two things in that thinking. One of the central themes in his behavior that annoys me has to do with boundaries. Usually the stuff that riles me up the most is when he is crossing real or imagined boundaries of what is and isn't appropriate for him to be doing or saying. The second central theme is his admitted attempts to stir up drama - drop a bomb and then walk away and see what happens. Well what happens, dear Tom, is I come back and whoop your ass (figuratively) for trying to create the drama in the first place, and you get irritated and annoyed because that wasn't what you were looking for. Sorry. Responsibility for your actions, Dude. But also that these attempts are usually directed at particular people. He is attacking their reputation with half-truths and misinformation, sometimes downright intentional lies.
And that hit a huge button for me, once I made the connection. I've talked a little bit about the end of my long-term relationship with my wife. And how mental illness contributed to its eventual demise. At the end, though, my wife was on a campaign to destroy me and my reputation. Calling all of my friends and my family - anyone she could find who might listen - to tell them half-truths and outright lies about me. Now because some of them were half-truths, those who weren't close enough found themselves in a hard position to know what to believe. Well... this part is true, so maybe this other part is, too. Those who I was closer with, or who just "knew" me, were able to sort through those stories, and those who really loved me, knew better than to even give her an audience (I always found it interesting who she chose as targets, and who she knew better than to even try and spread her stories to...).
And I gotta tell you, those are the hardest battles to win. Because at the end of the day, either the person knows you and knows your character, or they don't. Either they believe the lies or mis-information they've heard or they don't. There really isn't anything you can do after the fact to fix it. And any attempt to do so, to explain what is going on with your spouse, makes you sound just as crazy as her. So the best defense was none, and to hope that my actions spoke loudly enough. In the end, my only option was to walk away entirely, and I did.
So, I find that for some odd reason, having left my whole life behind, that I'm a little sensitive, apparently, when someone goes around trying to trash someone else's reputation. Who knew?
And that was just the first couple of days of the week.
On Wednesday morning, I woke up in a deep depression. I really wanted to just stay in bed all day. And if I could have done so without losing my primary job (I work several jobs), I would have. But I didn't. I got up, and I drove to work, and then I sat in the parking lot before 9 AM crying. I was wise enough to call out for help to a couple of friends - to not let myself be "alone" and spiral further. And eventually I pulled myself together and went inside. The day improved, and on Thursday I woke up in a much better mood. I also worked from home. But Friday came around and I had to go back into work again.
I attacked Friday much better than I did Wednesday. In fact, I got quite a bit done that needed to be done, and I was pleased with myself. But I also decided it was time to call a therapist whom I hadn't seen in over a year for a "tune-up" because if things continue along, professionally, as they have, I might not have secure employment, and from there everything spirals.
I blame a good deal of it on my ADD. And I find myself increasingly frustrated by the short-comings this inability to focus on something - particularly after the newness has worn off - generates. I have been fortunate in life that I am somewhat intelligent, and can manage to impress people enough that they don't notice, immediately, when I start to slack off, but eventually, like the Wizard behind the curtain, when it continues, it is noticed.
And it's a small town. This isn't a reputation I want.
So I decided it was time to go back to therapy to work on a few things, again, still. I can't really afford it. My "discretionary" money is really quite non-existant. But the conclusion I reached on Friday was that if I lose this job, I really can't afford not to go.
Saturday, February 18, 2012
Love yourself
This one I am starting before I hit the shower because I know it will be zinging through me in a few moments when I hit the water. I will wait to post to add whatever brilliance I have from there to here.
In my life I have used what I will call "situational" therapy. Therapy to help me during, well, situations. Often transitions. Often around relationships, whether with lovers or with family. Sometimes it helps to have a second person help you navigate and negotiate through those straits. In keeping with a nautical theme, it never hurts to have a second set of eyes helping keep watch as you move forward for things like, well icebergs (Can you BELIEVE that they are bringing The Titanic BACK to theaters? I saw that in a trailer yesterday!!! In 3-D! You'd think in 3-D they'd be able to see the iceberg... but I digress)
So I have heard the words from these folks and from other good well meaning intentioned friends that I need to love myself.
I admit I've often been puzzled by this direction. Not that I don't think it is important to love yourself - I do - but how do you KNOW if you love yourself? Or don't love yourself? I wonder now, what self-loathing these people were observing, because frankly, I never saw it.
I do think I love myself. I am quite comfortable with myself and have a pretty reasonable self-esteem. I think their concern may arise from the fact that when I am in relationships, I tend to become involved in others' interests that I may not necessarily pursue on my own. I can see, from the outside, where that could be concerning for those who love me, but I can say with all certainty that I am not losing myself in them in the way that they fear. I am enjoying the company of people I love. And if something is important to them, particularly if I haven't done it myself, I'm willing to to give it a whirl and see if it's fun. I will admit, most often the reason it is fun, is because of their company. And, yes, some of those activities fall off my to-do list when I am no longer hanging with a particular person.
But ironically, this post isn't about me. Or rather this post isn't inspired by me.
My head feels, at the moment, like it is going to explode.
I came out in high school. And looking backwards from there, it made sense. I had crushes on several female teachers, I liked to look down some of their shirts (natural curiosity that doesn't mean I'm gay, but certainly makes more sense in context of it), had ardent feelings for my female best friends, etc. And most people, apparently, knew before I did, and asked me when I finally did come out what took so long, or said "Duh!"
But I do remember that early time period wondering, "could I be... " "Am I..." I couldn't even write the word "lesbian" then. But I knew what I was referring to, so I didn't need to. I went on a journey of exploration. Remembered my interest and curiosity in other lesbians I had met or had seen on television. Read "Our Bodies, Ourselves" and recognized an an affinity with the writing about the women who loved women. But I was scared to kiss one, and even more scared of what else might happen - I had not yet been sexual, although I had done some heavy petting. I had no idea what to do with a woman. And frankly the thought of doing some things that I really, really, really enjoy now were quite disgusting to me to think about. But then again, who is turned on by french kissing before you actually try it? I digress.
I'm lucky. My family was reasonably supportive. And all of this, frankly, should have been part of another post, but today's pending head explosion has required me to get all this introductory stuff out of the way.
A friend of mine is coming out late in life. Ironically she's one of several. I always seem to attract people who are about to come out as friends. I wonder why? ;)
And she has the normal questioning: Am I really this way? Why am I this way? Did I drink the Kool-Aid? What will others think? Who do I tell? Do I tell anyone? Can they tell just by looking at me? What does it mean? Am I okay? Will my friends still like me? Will people still love me?
My answers to those questions, frankly, are:
But I am beginning to sense that the underlying question that she may be asking or she should be asking is "Do I still love myself?"
Because she has acknowledged that she doesn't think there's anything wrong with LGBQTalphabet in others. She's not queer-phobic or think that it's wrong in others. And actually, this isn't her first time at the rodeo.
To me, being gay is just a part of who I am. A part that has always been there. A part as natural to me as having five fingers. I don't define myself by having five fingers, but if you took them away, I wouldn't quite be myself. (Maybe this is a bad analogy, but it is similar to the one I made to her, so let's roll with it). She is worried that maybe she was this way because others told her she was, and not because she had arrived here on her own. And yet, she agreed upon further questioning, that there was no one throwing her out or pushing her or pulling her out of the closet door this time. That coming out was not something that was fashionably correct that she was trying to emulate. But, she wondered, do I really have a mark on me or do I just believe I do because others have told me I do?
So I made the analogy of a birthmark. Analogies are tricky things. If you don't think them out first, they could back-fire on you. And maybe I didn't. But I explained to her that being this way (and exactly what "this way" means is still unclear - there's a lot of grey area in sexuality despite what others might say or think) for her and her experience is like having a birthmark on her back. It's been there all along, but she couldn't see it. Others told her it was there when she was younger, but she never saw it, herself. She trusted others that it was there.
Now she's wondering if it is really there. And I told her I had fancy mirrors and could take a picture of it so she could see.
And this morning she asked, "what if it's a melanoma?"
What if her queer feelings were actually a cancer?! Really???
I'd like to say I'm speechless, but you can see from above, I'm clearly not.
I am kind of angry, I'll admit. But mostly I am very, very sad.
Because suddenly I was struck with this lightening bolt: "Oh, this is what it looks like when you don't love yourself"
The good news for me is I know that is not me - I am clear that I do, very much indeed, love myself.
And as much as I'd like to rejoice in that knowledge, my heart is heavy for my friend. Very heavy.
Now I ask questions in life. And so I have, on more than one occasion, asked in response to someone who told me I needed to love myself how I do that. And none of them exactly had the answer to that, although one did give me a guide to masturbation. (No, I kid, but really, you knew the joke had to come in somewhere....)
I am shaking my head because I really wish, now, I had the answer.
And I think the answer might be that you love yourself the same way you love others. You put their needs first. You make what is important to them important to you. You try to make their burden easier. You accept them with all of their flaws. You recognize that they are not perfect. That they will make mistakes. That they will have inconsistencies. They are beautiful in your eyes just the way they are because you love them. You want what is best for them. You want them to find happiness and peace. You don't want them to hurt. You enjoy their company. Their smile makes you smile. You want to support them no matter what they want to do. I don't know - this isn't easy. Often hormones help you "love" someone else while you build a solid foundation of emotional love underneath the chemical one.
There is a lot of what Paul wrote that I don't agree with, but this seems as good a guideline as any:
"Love is patient; love is kind; love is not envious or boastful or arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way, it is not irritable or resentful, it does not rejoice in wrong doing, but rejoices in the truth"
How to apply that to loving yourself?
Love is patient. Be patient with yourself.
Love is kind. Be kind to yourself.
It is not irritable or resentful. Accept yourself as you are, without resentment.
And find some way to rejoice in the truth - no matter how scary it is.
And know that others love you and you deserve to be loved. Most especially by you.
In my life I have used what I will call "situational" therapy. Therapy to help me during, well, situations. Often transitions. Often around relationships, whether with lovers or with family. Sometimes it helps to have a second person help you navigate and negotiate through those straits. In keeping with a nautical theme, it never hurts to have a second set of eyes helping keep watch as you move forward for things like, well icebergs (Can you BELIEVE that they are bringing The Titanic BACK to theaters? I saw that in a trailer yesterday!!! In 3-D! You'd think in 3-D they'd be able to see the iceberg... but I digress)
So I have heard the words from these folks and from other good well meaning intentioned friends that I need to love myself.
I admit I've often been puzzled by this direction. Not that I don't think it is important to love yourself - I do - but how do you KNOW if you love yourself? Or don't love yourself? I wonder now, what self-loathing these people were observing, because frankly, I never saw it.
I do think I love myself. I am quite comfortable with myself and have a pretty reasonable self-esteem. I think their concern may arise from the fact that when I am in relationships, I tend to become involved in others' interests that I may not necessarily pursue on my own. I can see, from the outside, where that could be concerning for those who love me, but I can say with all certainty that I am not losing myself in them in the way that they fear. I am enjoying the company of people I love. And if something is important to them, particularly if I haven't done it myself, I'm willing to to give it a whirl and see if it's fun. I will admit, most often the reason it is fun, is because of their company. And, yes, some of those activities fall off my to-do list when I am no longer hanging with a particular person.
But ironically, this post isn't about me. Or rather this post isn't inspired by me.
My head feels, at the moment, like it is going to explode.
I came out in high school. And looking backwards from there, it made sense. I had crushes on several female teachers, I liked to look down some of their shirts (natural curiosity that doesn't mean I'm gay, but certainly makes more sense in context of it), had ardent feelings for my female best friends, etc. And most people, apparently, knew before I did, and asked me when I finally did come out what took so long, or said "Duh!"
But I do remember that early time period wondering, "could I be... " "Am I..." I couldn't even write the word "lesbian" then. But I knew what I was referring to, so I didn't need to. I went on a journey of exploration. Remembered my interest and curiosity in other lesbians I had met or had seen on television. Read "Our Bodies, Ourselves" and recognized an an affinity with the writing about the women who loved women. But I was scared to kiss one, and even more scared of what else might happen - I had not yet been sexual, although I had done some heavy petting. I had no idea what to do with a woman. And frankly the thought of doing some things that I really, really, really enjoy now were quite disgusting to me to think about. But then again, who is turned on by french kissing before you actually try it? I digress.
I'm lucky. My family was reasonably supportive. And all of this, frankly, should have been part of another post, but today's pending head explosion has required me to get all this introductory stuff out of the way.
A friend of mine is coming out late in life. Ironically she's one of several. I always seem to attract people who are about to come out as friends. I wonder why? ;)
And she has the normal questioning: Am I really this way? Why am I this way? Did I drink the Kool-Aid? What will others think? Who do I tell? Do I tell anyone? Can they tell just by looking at me? What does it mean? Am I okay? Will my friends still like me? Will people still love me?
My answers to those questions, frankly, are:
- Yes,
- Does it really matter?
- Maybe, but it wasn't Kool-Aid that made you this way.
- Who cares?
- Anyone you want or no-one you don't want.
- It's up to you.
- Some might, most won't; those of us who are may have a better chance of recognizing you.
- It means, at a minimum, you're not straight.
- Yes, you're okay.
- Yes, your true friends will still like you.
- Yes, people will still love you.
But I am beginning to sense that the underlying question that she may be asking or she should be asking is "Do I still love myself?"
Because she has acknowledged that she doesn't think there's anything wrong with LGBQTalphabet in others. She's not queer-phobic or think that it's wrong in others. And actually, this isn't her first time at the rodeo.
To me, being gay is just a part of who I am. A part that has always been there. A part as natural to me as having five fingers. I don't define myself by having five fingers, but if you took them away, I wouldn't quite be myself. (Maybe this is a bad analogy, but it is similar to the one I made to her, so let's roll with it). She is worried that maybe she was this way because others told her she was, and not because she had arrived here on her own. And yet, she agreed upon further questioning, that there was no one throwing her out or pushing her or pulling her out of the closet door this time. That coming out was not something that was fashionably correct that she was trying to emulate. But, she wondered, do I really have a mark on me or do I just believe I do because others have told me I do?
So I made the analogy of a birthmark. Analogies are tricky things. If you don't think them out first, they could back-fire on you. And maybe I didn't. But I explained to her that being this way (and exactly what "this way" means is still unclear - there's a lot of grey area in sexuality despite what others might say or think) for her and her experience is like having a birthmark on her back. It's been there all along, but she couldn't see it. Others told her it was there when she was younger, but she never saw it, herself. She trusted others that it was there.
Now she's wondering if it is really there. And I told her I had fancy mirrors and could take a picture of it so she could see.
And this morning she asked, "what if it's a melanoma?"
What if her queer feelings were actually a cancer?! Really???
I'd like to say I'm speechless, but you can see from above, I'm clearly not.
I am kind of angry, I'll admit. But mostly I am very, very sad.
Because suddenly I was struck with this lightening bolt: "Oh, this is what it looks like when you don't love yourself"
The good news for me is I know that is not me - I am clear that I do, very much indeed, love myself.
And as much as I'd like to rejoice in that knowledge, my heart is heavy for my friend. Very heavy.
Now I ask questions in life. And so I have, on more than one occasion, asked in response to someone who told me I needed to love myself how I do that. And none of them exactly had the answer to that, although one did give me a guide to masturbation. (No, I kid, but really, you knew the joke had to come in somewhere....)
I am shaking my head because I really wish, now, I had the answer.
And I think the answer might be that you love yourself the same way you love others. You put their needs first. You make what is important to them important to you. You try to make their burden easier. You accept them with all of their flaws. You recognize that they are not perfect. That they will make mistakes. That they will have inconsistencies. They are beautiful in your eyes just the way they are because you love them. You want what is best for them. You want them to find happiness and peace. You don't want them to hurt. You enjoy their company. Their smile makes you smile. You want to support them no matter what they want to do. I don't know - this isn't easy. Often hormones help you "love" someone else while you build a solid foundation of emotional love underneath the chemical one.
There is a lot of what Paul wrote that I don't agree with, but this seems as good a guideline as any:
"Love is patient; love is kind; love is not envious or boastful or arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way, it is not irritable or resentful, it does not rejoice in wrong doing, but rejoices in the truth"
How to apply that to loving yourself?
Love is patient. Be patient with yourself.
Love is kind. Be kind to yourself.
It is not irritable or resentful. Accept yourself as you are, without resentment.
And find some way to rejoice in the truth - no matter how scary it is.
And know that others love you and you deserve to be loved. Most especially by you.
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