The words we use to describe the action are even snigger inducing. Personally, I love to laugh. I love to laugh with someone. I'm even learning to love being laughed at. If you've got an insult to give me, you'd better bring your best because I've heard them all. I've laughed at all of them, eventually.
I was a chubby kid and fat adolescent. Then I slimmed down and blew up and slimmed down and blew up and on and on. I used to think "Nothing succeeds like excess," I've written about this before if I recall. Then that was exactly what I'd do: binge and blow up to the size of a house and then go over the top and get lost in the sauce and finally get called "Skeletor" and have one of those road to Damascus moments.
"Road to Damascus refers to a sudden turning point in one's life.
It is in reference to the conversion to Christianity of the apostle Paul
while literally on the road to Damascus from Jerusalem. Prior to that
moment, he had been called Saul, and was a Pharisee who persecuted
followers of Jesus."
Howling. Convulsions. Fits. Hysterics. Hooting.
What causes a laugh? Humor, usually. Though I've discovered much laughter hidden amidst great sadness. If you think of the silver lining of clouds off in the distance while a great dark storm cloud sits angrily above you that's the imagery I associate when I laugh and cry at the same time. It's a bitter coffee wake up call from somewhere deep in my emotional brain finding the absurd in an unexpected place.
What makes humor? If you try and find a definition online you only stumble around in circles where people show off their ability to copy and paste words from the "humor" entry in the thesaurus. It is supposed to be intuitively understood but then that doesn't explain those of us who laugh about the supposedly darker things in life. Humor is personal. Everyone finds different things to laugh about. We have to laugh or go insane, I've heard. That only explains that we seek out humor when we're at our most vulnerable. It is a safety net some of us use to catch us before we fall fully into the depths of our own madness.
Humor, to me, is how I already described. It is something absurd and unexpected. When I find humor in a dark place, for example any number of the dead baby jokes littering this blog for the last twenty years. I have a different perspective now but I would never dream of removing any of that stuff. Unexpectedly encountering the absurd is what makes me laugh, after all, and I can't think of anything more absurd than a kid who makes blog posts about dead baby jokes growing up to be a man with a tattoo on his wrist to remember a dead baby.
Yet, somewhere in the above exposition is miraculously another dead baby joke. I'm still doing it, even with perspective. The difference now is that I'm also crying. Laughter and tears at the same time.
I've listened to this song about 40 times since yesterday. Maybe more because I'm time-blind or simply because it just resonates. I feel it.
"Time blindness is a general term for the difficulty in perceiving and managing time. It's not a formal medical diagnosis, but it can significantly impact daily life.
Some signs of time blindness include: Being chronically late, Missing deadlines, Procrastinating often, Misjudging how long a task will take, and Feeling like time is passing quickly.
Time blindness is often associated with conditions like ADHD and autism spectrum disorder (ASD). It can affect a person's ability to: show up to work or appointments on time, hand in assignments or projects on deadline, pay bills on time, remember to eat, and stick to routines and schedules."
This week has been a banner week. I been able to successfully write a few entries here and enjoy the therapy of expression online to an audience of who knows. Not only that, I got a tattoo this week that takes up the majority of my right forearm. I'm greeted by the image of a red baby's breath on the back of my hand as I type this. It's an overall more pleasant experience for me, I hope the same is true for you.
I can almost guarantee there's a reference in a previous post where I proudly cry out that I DO NOT CRY!!! Well, I do now. I have been openly weeping periodically all this week and last. I can't tell if you can tell from my recent writing but I have tapped into a well of sensitivity and understanding that I had previously walled myself off from.
As I came of age, crying was not really permitted. Anytime a young me would be moved to tears I would be terrorized by a nearby adult threatening to give me a reason to cry. I remember when I was in grade school taking music lessons on the trumpet. Blowing my own horn is an old habit of mine, it's one I still have but it's also old. On one occasion, wanting to show off my newly honed ability to play taps or some beginner trumpet score, my mother stopped me mid-performance to provide some constructive criticism. "Please just stop, that sounds terrible." She calmly told me and I promptly ran upstairs to cry in my closet. I was about 7 or 8 and when she heard me sobbing she came upstairs and dragged me from the closet to scream "I'll give you something to cry about." As if screaming in the face of a child isn't already enough to cry about.
Pretty much every time my adult eyes have begun to water I can still hear her screeches somewhere in my mind. I can still feel my hair being pulled out or taste the soap or feel the dread as whoever doling out the punishment for unwarranted tears went in search of a larger or sturdier implement of violence.
It was a peculiar site yesterday as I rode around a client's yard aerating and weeping. Weeping and aerating, the homeowner saw me in this state and I think wisely decided to continue walking her dogs. When she arrived back from their walk I had composed myself better and managed to get into what will probably be a $2500 job. Read that and weep.
I hope that this woman thought I was just really passionate about lawn health and not finally healing from well worn mental illness. It doesn't matter to her that my heart is in pieces and my mind is dysfunctional and I can't even begin to imagine how long the job should take even though I've done thousands like it before. That's time blindness. It's related to the fact that prior to a few weeks ago the only reason I'd cried in the last 25 years was because we had a miscarriage last year.
That was the first time I let "my muse" really see me cry. Her name is Denver. Using these phrases like "my love" or "my muse" or whatever nonsense language is diminishing to the woman. Using Denver to describe her is accurate, she is a mile high stack of lovable quirks and mental illness and hope and love, but that is also her real name. I told her I might use it today because I feel this way. I told her I need to name her here in order to continue with honesty here. Using those possessives is not only diminishing to her but also to myself. I didn't fall in love with an idea, I fell in love with a woman.
Our problems arose when I stopped just loving the woman and began to love the idea. We were planning a life together but she was the only one ready to live. Both of us have ADD but I only discovered mine at the end of our life together. This is the underlying problem responsible for all of our problems but the final straw for Denver was when I drunkenly emailed another woman for the tenth or eleventh time. I was taking on more stress than either of us were equipped to handle because I was afraid that if I couldn't provide enough for her and our future family that she'd want to leave me. I would then throw money or aquariums at the problem when she would maturely set aside her own issues to confront mine. Instead of simply listening and understanding, I chose to love her on my terms and not our terms. It's a subtle, yet exceedingly important distinction.
A series of MY bad decisions pushed her away and finally burnt her to ashes. I love this woman more than I can understand but that lack of understanding was ultimately part of the problem. I didn't understand myself. I didn't understand why I couldn't just live our life. She chose to live her life with me. We had even picked out a name for our future. Then I killed it. The insanity that I brought into our home took a skeletal, black hand and plucked our future from Denver's womb.
I may be time blind but that's different from never knowing time. Imagine being in your mother's womb and the only experiences you know are the soothing muffled sounds, the total nourishment needs being met, and then a series of huge tsunamis of stress and negative emotions. These waves of course being the emotional distress I forced onto Denver because of my issues and insecurities. There was a storm outside the womb and that's not a bunker, it's susceptible to the onslaught of my bullshit.
Imagine heaven even if you don't believe in it, the notion is basically the same as a mother's womb. The proximity to an all loving god, every need being met, and basking in the warmth of a mother and father's love. The feelings of security and safety in the mother are some of the necessary elements for proper development. With these feelings absent from our home, I had truly killed our child. I had murdered our future with unnecessary stress. Stress I should have shouldered instead of unburdening it onto Denver.
Time and finality provide meaning and value. They make life worthwhile. They make you treasure today because tomorrow isn't guaranteed. Giving time is the same as giving love. Attention is love and ADD is an attention deficit. The reason Denver and I fell in love was because we both saw in each other someone who needed to receive more love than anyone else could be reasonably expected to handle and someone who had more love to give than could be reasonably expected. I forgot that. I got lost and though I may now be found, it's too late.
In the last episode we discussed some scenes from the past. I believe I'm ready for now.
I'm parenting myself these days. I'm probably not the best parent in the world but I'm trying to be the best parent I've ever had. I'm definitely not the best child in the world but I'm learning to love myself. That's what parents are supposed to do, love their children. We've evolved to basically love them unconditionally, the Greeks had a word for this: Agape.
"Agape is a type of love that is not based on feelings, but
rather on a conscious decision to love others without expecting anything
in return. It's a love that is intended for everyone and is often described as the highest form of Christian love."
"Jesus wept." John 11:35
I've been weeping lately as my child self because my parent self has been able to practice acceptance. I also pay attention to the child, when I feel emotions that don't make any sense I practice a breathing exercise before I kindly ask myself what's making me feel this way. Paying attention, without distractions, is a form of love. It's very difficult but the process is exceedingly rewarding. If I believe in any notion of "normal", I'd say that I'm on the path to normalcy.
That John chapter of the bible is the story of Lazarus. The dead man brought back to life. In a tangible way, that story resonates. I've felt like a zombie shuffling around. Going through the motions of life in mocking mimicry of those around me that seemingly "had their shit together" so much better than myself.
I'm simply seeking out that which we are all entitled: happiness. The only way I'm able to pursue happiness is first by healing. I spent the first half of my life so far embroiled in an emergency state. I was constantly on edge and constantly under attack. I spent the second half of my life so far embroiled in an aimless and dysfunctional wandering.
"All that is gold does not glitter, Not all those who wander are lost; The old that is strong does not wither, Deep roots are not reached by the frost. From the ashes a fire shall be woken, A light from the shadows shall spring; Renewed shall be blade that was broken, The crownless again shall be king." J. R. R. Tolkien
For years I had that quote on my cubicle wall at the job where every day felt like my personal hell. While I'd like that quote to apply to me, I know that I was lost. Deep in the woods with the sun going down and a fog so thick I struggled to see my hands in front of my face. There were guttural, predatory noises on all sides and the fog, for some reason, was laced with some kind of depressant. No wonder I had such a rough time.
Tragedy brought me out of that hell. It was a messy escape but I'd made it out, or so I thought. I only know how to love myself now because I had such a great example to follow. I spent the last three years living and loving and fighting and arguing with the best friend I've ever had. Not only was she my best friend but she was my lover and the light of my life. She still means the world to me, but the unruly child that I have now adopted decided to shit all over our walls and ceilings and some of it got in both of our mouths multiple times. Once or twice might be an accident but if the child continues to shit on your face and in weird, hard to clean places then clearly there is a deeper problem than simple incontinence.
So now I find myself being a parent to this terrible little monster. Except I know that I'm not one of the things that go bump in the night, I'm one of those that stand in the light and face adversity. I've been fighting my entire life. I feel as if I've been in a trench style war where all I've been doing for the last thirty years has been fucking murders. I was the berserker and the samurai and the assassin and the soldier. By ones, twos, threes, or more I silenced voices. I ended anything that stood in my way until I came across a fawn in the middle of the battlefield.
In that moment I was finally born. I looked around and saw the battle and I tried to dig us a hole for safety and security. The only safety and security I'd ever known was at the on the edge of blood soaked cold steel. I scared the poor creature and it ran off as soon as it was strong enough. I'd like to think she's made it off the battlefield, that she'll live a long and happy life but I have no idea.
I do know now the name of the enemy at the end of the war. I can also now finally see their command tent atop a mountain nearby. I need to take the child and myself through hill and under dale and scale a snowy cliff side before I can finally win my war. I have the climbing equipment, supplies, and a map. Once the war is won I think I can seek out the fawn, see that she's safe. See that she's secure and able to develop fully through the natural deer chrysalis stage and fly off to the moon as a beautiful butterfly with gossamer wings.
Thursday, October 10, 2024
As the days wane towards winter I too am lost in the chilling gloom.
I've written before that this blog contains a lot of mental health issues. In my recent self explorations I have come to realize that it is actually an ode to ADD. Most diagnoses of the disorder happen in youth but there are many with the affliction that only realize later in life. I have to assume there are countless others with ADD never diagnosed.
The DSM-IV had three criteria but as the disorder becomes better understood the criteria have changed. Dr. Gabor Mate says that only sensitive children can get ADD. There's a dysfunction in the brain that is basically the unnatural formation of the prefrontal cortex. This is where all of our instant processing takes place and emotional regulation. The brain is supposed to develop slowly how to deal with emotions. It is supposed to give us the ability to compare and contrast past experiences and allow an emotionally regulated response. Essentially, it's the proper and timely development of the brain that makes us civilized and well balanced.
During the first nine months of our existence we have no wants and no desires. We simply exist and all of our needs are met. Then we are born. Due to evolutionary reasons that allowed us to walk upright, we need to finish early development of our higher functions outside the womb. We're not born as fully realized humans. This isn't some insight, it is obvious to anyone who has ever met a baby.
Our first sights and sounds and smells are those of our mother. Like baby birds we hatch into this world with nothing but that initial loss and an eagerness to live. Giraffes are born into this world being expected to keep up with their mother's milk. Humans are born unable to do anything. Not only are we physically incapable (babies are notoriously weak) we are also mentally and emotionally incapable.
The second nine months of our lives is where the prefrontal cortex and higher functioning systems fully form. This happens largely during a process called attunement. This is where the baby seeks out the context and meaning and emotions of the mother so that they can define their own. The emotional center of the developing brain resides behind the right eye and the infant persistently seeks out eye contact with the mother. The baby has no way of knowing anything about deception so when the mother experiences stress or pain or anguish the baby can sense it even when she tries to hide it. Though we may show a seemingly sincere smile to an infant, they can tell that it is insincere because the emotions that typically move those muscles are not.
The problem arises because of the deception. The infant is unable to form their brain properly because the mother is experiencing too much stress. The sensitive babies need the attunement even more than their less sensitive counterparts because of their sensitivity. This increased need coupled with the decreased availability of emotional truth and attachment and LOVE of the mother naturally leads to such unnatural outcomes. The baby's brain adapts to their surroundings. In a new world where they need love and patience and every other bit of care but it isn't available, the baby figures it out.
My half-brother is seven years younger than myself. I remember when he was an infant my mother would "let him cry it out" in his crib while he was crying for love or attention or perhaps even food or a diaper change. My memories of my youth are terrible (which is something pretty common amongst those with ADD) but I remember feeling awful hearing the cries from the other room and being unable to do anything. I would go in and try and comfort him but I would be chastised for disturbing my mother's mothering style. I say chastised but I was usually physically and/or verbally abused in some way, another thing common to those with ADD is the diminishing of our own abuse.
Babies are in a unique position. They need the mother for everything, they need emotional attunement and physical survival. If the baby realizes that they must put their emotions aside in order to be fed, they eventually put their emotions aside and dissociate. This leads to their inability to deal with emotions later in life. I've learned that this isn't an emotional death sentence, it just means that I need to do more work. I need to be more mindful and I need to be more patient with myself than I have ever been in the past.
Remembering this, I know how and why I have ADD. I'm fairly certain my brother does as well. How can I be mad at my mother for this when I received the same treatment from her step-father? My great-grandmother also abused me when I "misbehaved" who most likely treated her daughter the same way who most likely just continued the trend. There were baby books for years that said the best way to deal with a crying infant is to treat them like my mother did my brother. A statistically higher percentage of adults with ADD are alienated from their families.
Adults with ADD complain of lives where they haven't lived up to their potential. People that meet them say they're bright, sensitive, nice, and all manner of seemingly positive traits. Except, they can't keep it together long enough to actually achieve anything. Procrastination is rampant because the reward system in our brains is wonky. Feelings of inadequacy stemming from the inability to "be normal". Which makes sense because my life has never been normal, or natural as I've come to find out. They can be quick to anger and other emotions because they don't have a working regulatory apparatus in their brain.
Coping mechanisms often include drugs and alcohol because their is a baby sized hole in their hearts. They don't experience emotions the same way that others do because they have a differently wired brain. The reward system in the brain can be almost entirely wrong and still come up with a "functioning" adult. ADD is caused in infancy, the situations that give rise to the ADD are usually still present in the family as the child gets older. Not only is this child ill-equipped to deal with hardships at home, they are usually in a home that will have many hardships.
My entire life I've been ill-equipped to deal with being overly sensitive, which is almost certainly why I write like I do. It's also why I drank. I'm guilty of pursuing that which is of interest and only recently have I sought out that which is in my interest.
