Notes to Self

November 19, 2012

You’ll be the judge of my judement

I had a “breakthrough” in Therapy last week. I am still reveling in the realization.

I am a rather ‘black and white’ or ‘all or none’ kind of person. Either I am really busy or I am spending my day in front of the TV. Either I am being “healthy” or I am overeating. Either I was flawless or I completely failed. Get the idea?

Extremes. From one end directly to the other – no stopping in between.

And when I am forced to be somewhere in the middle I get angry, frustrated, worried, annoyed and, I guess scared.

This came up when discussing the amount of TV my toddler watches. I can’t handle it. The pressure of trying to figure out how much is too much or when is it ok and when isn’t it. I said I’d rather just throw the thing out the window than deal with this frustration!

Then we realized it was a matter of me not trusting my own judgement.

Avoid having to make a judgement call and life is fine.

 

There comes a time in our lives when we can no longer hold anyone else accountable for how we behave and think. That’s not to say, however, that they aren’t still the root cause.

In prior posts I have discussed this as well as the fact that lately I have been remembering things I long ago hoped I had forgotten. Like when my mother and I went to the eye doctor to see about getting me contacts (I was somewhere around 17 years old) and she told the doctor she didn’t think I would clean them well enough so she was opposed to me getting them. I will never forget how taken aback the doctor was. Here I was, almost college bound and my mother was doubting my ability to take care of (disposable) contacts! I can’t remember exactly what he said but I remember how it made me feel; triumphant. It wasn’t because I “won” getting contacts, but rather that I was defended and this ridiculous charge against me had been dismissed without hesitation from someone who hardly knew me. As I write this I realize that my feeling of joy at the doctor’s response was just as pathological as my feeling of despair at my mother’s initial claim. It all boils down to this:
What I think doesn’t matter. I am always wrong and everyone else is always right. I have poor judgement and I will always make the wrong decision.

 

My parents always doubted me. Always criticized and judged everything I did – from the way I brushed my teeth to the man I married.

I am left not trusting myself and not believing that I can and will make good decisions. And over the years it has become second nature.

 

For example, when I make a wrong turn or get on the highway in the wrong direction – I FLIP OUT!

Anger boils to the surface in seconds. I scream HOW could I have done that! WHY don’t I know better! WHAT is wrong with me???

 

Self-beratment. That’s how I roll.

Fool me once shame on you, fool me twice shame on me, but no worries, I’ll keep fooling myself for you so you don’t have to do the work anymore.

My internal dialog is insane. This morning I was looking for some food in the freezer and when I finally realized where it was I said to myself “It’s in that container you idiot!”

 

My parents still doubt my judgement. Everything I do with my daughter is criticized and questioned.

Although sometimes I make decisions and that’s that, most times I fret and worry and talk about it over and over and wonder and worry and get angry and annoyed then I cry and talk about it with other people and finally a decision is made but that’s not the end of it…I have to fret over the decision and how it will affect everyone else and was it the right one and blah, blah, blah, blah, blah. Then I worry that my husband loves me less because I am so crazy. So I start to seek validation from him.

How do I learn to trust myself?

 

On the path to recovery I am noticing every stone of self-criticism and self-doubt.

But the more I uncover the more angry and sad I become.

I scream HOW could I have let them do this to me! WHY didn’t I know better! WHAT is wrong with me???

 

What’s that saying – just being aware of it is half the battle?

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November 14, 2012

It’s like Laundry all over again (or is that Déjà vu?)

Some may say that the common cold is the most humorous (or ironic?) plight of the human race; something so simple yet so debilitating (takes me nearly 4 weeks to get over a cold!).

I, however, think it is laundry. Each time you do it you swear you just did it!

Wash, dry, iron, fold, hang, wear; wash, dry, iron, fold, hang, wear…!

Note how it is called Laundry until it’s clean…then it’s referred to as clothes (I have to do the laundry as opposed to put the clothes in the dryer)!

Before we bought a house (we lived in an apartment complex), we would load up the laundry every two weeks and go to the laundromat. Many hours later we returned home with our clothes to hang or put in drawers. It was an all day event. We established routines and traditions – earlier morning laundry meant Taylor ham, egg and cheese sandwiches from the deli. Later in the day laundry meant pizzeria food on the way home. Sometimes we would hop into a store in the strip mall for some miscellaneous item we needed. Sometimes we read or played travel games. I often remarked at how much I was looking forward to never ever coming back to a laundromat. I swore I wouldn’t spend an entire day doing the laundry!

I think our fundamental internal struggles are a lot like laundry, each with its own cyclical pattern. We design routines around them. We create habits to deal with them.

Anger, sadness, fear, regret; anger, sadness, fear, regret…

Every few years I seem to have to drudge up the major, traumatic events in my life that helped shape my psychoses. I’ve found a new therapist, decided to try once again to deal with them once and for all or something triggered the cycle.

Sometimes the start of Fall is the trigger. The smell, the colors and the chill. A lot happened in the Fall months.

I wash, dry, iron, fold and try to put away the emotions. Somehow I think the more I entertain the cycle the more residue there is left behind.

However, somewhere underneath these memories, I still exist.

How focused I have become on the memories and residues. How far removed I have become from the complete picture.

It’s like when you have a body image disorder and you look in the mirror – all you see are the fat thighs or the wide hips. You never see your entire self; just the parts you’ve decided are the worst.

I am not the sum of my worst moments.

I am not a remnant of my potential.

I am not held together by residue from mistakes made.

But after spending 5 hours washing and drying laundry and folding and packing up the clothes, one is left wondering how else could that time have been spent?

What if I didn’t spend my energy on anger, sadness, fear and regret? What if Fall just meant another day with different weather?

It has been nearly 24 years of dealing with particular internal struggles and I am left stating at the washing machine wondering when I can stop.

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