Dealing with Failure

One of my biggest pitfalls is learning to accept, deal with, and move past failure. We're talking anything as simple as forgetting to fill out a box on a piece of OW (Ontario Works) paperwork to not having a meal turn out just the way I wanted it to. Some people will read that and simply call me anal. Yes there are people out there who are that uptight and control freaky just because that's the way they are. 

And then there are people like me who have spent a good deal of their life being emotionally punished for the slightest failure. Did I mention that I grew up in a house that utilized corporeal punishment? My dad had the 'anything worth doing is worth doing right the first time' attitude. Failing was often not an option.

I have thankfully gotten to the point where I at least recognize that I am beating myself up for a perceived failure. I can shrug off a lingering depression that is fueling itself from those feelings. However, it often takes longer than it aught to get over the initial hump of ‘oh my god! What have I done! I've spoiled everything!’

I have very high expectations for myself. I am always striving for perfection. Good enough is never good enough. I drive myself crazy trying to always do better. I cannot see the things I have done as 'accomplishments'. I cannot see the things I have survived as evidence of my strength. It makes me crazy  that it takes so much effort just to get out of bed, just to put one foot in front of the other, that it costs me so much to move in the direction that I want to go in.

You cannot win at life. There is a Game Over screen, but there is no Victory screen.

When will I realize that? When will I stop kicking my ass because I haven't done enough? I am about to be 27 and I am sitting here railing, "What have I accomplished? " I have two baby sisters, one with two kids, and husband and a house, and the other with the same, less the kids. 

I wrote a children's story when I was 17. Published it when I was 19. But it was a self publication, and other than sell enough to break even, what the hell have I done with it? Nothing! It's sitting in my basement, collecting dust. I had all of these grand plans for selling them and writing more, and making a good deal of profit from it so that I could just work whatever minimum job I wanted to that made me happy. Now look at me. 

I hate that the only real progress I have made in the past five years has been psychological - not that that's anything to sneeze at, but come on! I was working my way up through the ranks of my last job, a job that I loved, was good at, and found fulfilling  And then I was forced to quit because of my health. I cannot even get a part time job because I can never tell when I'm going to be completely unavailable, nor for how long. It's simply not fair to any prospective employers. 

Apparently a big reason that I have such a hard time dealing with failure is that I cannot accept my limitations. I have no problem attributing this to pride. I seem to have mastered the art of setting it aside in such instances as accepting OW, accepting a ride in a wheel chair when it becomes needful, or taking my cane with me almost everywhere that I go. And yet...

I strive be be completely self sufficient. Meanwhile, life keeps throwing me curve balls that make that completely impossible. I am dependent on the pills, the caffeine, OW, the people around me... I wish that these things could be wants instead of needs. I have so few wants, and way too many needs. I attempt to strive for one thing, and up crop all of these needs. It certainly adds an emphasis to Special Needs.

I have to keep asking myself if I'm doing the right thing. It's sort of like the insanity test. If I can ask if I'm crazy, then everything is fine. 

So...Am I crazy?

Weapons of Self Destruction

Here is a perfect example of how we make tools into weapons.

I was having an online conversation with a friend about maybe going to the Royal Ontario Museum, the Science Center, or even to the Toronto Zoo. These were fun and exciting things that I had never experienced before. During this conversation, I managed to upset my roommate whom I was hanging out with at the time. I then decided that I didn't want to do the fun and exciting things.

I have come far enough in my understanding of myself to realize that I was brainwashing myself, but couldn't figure out why it was so easy and so instantaneous, nor why I was even doing it.

So I hashed it out. It didn't take long to discover that the reason I was doing it was because I felt that I'd done wrong by upsetting my friend; I was punishing myself. I had decided that I didn't deserve the 'treat' of these excursions.

As for the ease in which I was able to make the mental and emotional shift; I have always been a very willful person. Call it stubborn  call it determined, call it self disciplined. I can walk down the chocolate bar aisle and just keep walking. I can be offered my favourite sweet or savory treat and decline with grace, at times, even without hesitancy. I was using those same strengths to convince myself that I didn't want to go. Which then meant that there was no feeling of loss or regret, but this is counter intuitive to self punishment. There should be some sense of loss in any punishment based on denial of a desired thing.

Conclusion: I'm an idiot. But a very clever one.

And this is how we turn tools into weapons of self destruction.

Why do I feel this way? Let's dive a little deeper into my psyche.

I've been to the Toronto Zoo, but not since I was a wee lass. I had never thought of going to the ROM nor the Science Center  at least not since I was a kid, and talked about going with Dad. That's very much a me and Dad thing.

Then there's my roommate, who covets all of my experiences. He wants to be the one to share them with me. This applies to others as well, not just me. He genuinely enjoys a shared experience with anyone. He's an experience junkie. Personally, I think he's just trying to power lvl ;)

Okay, so those are just sentimental excuses. Let's try another angle.

I don't know how to feel about being spoiled in general. It's difficult for me to accept gifts even at Christmas and my Birthday. In fact, when I had a birthday party with my new London friends, I insisted on no physical gifts; instead, I demanded a performance of sorts from each one (they are all talented performers of some sort).

It's not that I don't want the gifts...I just mange to convince myself that I don't deserve them. Someone told me recently, that its not about the feelings of the person receiving the gift, but about the feelings of the person doing the giving and that, I can relate to. I'm a really good gift giver. I have the ability to find that one thing that speaks to a person.

A friend tried to tell me once that gifts were often selfish in nature. That we give gifts based on our likes and wants. I'm not like that. I never have been. I find the thing that screams a person's name. And often, its not something that I would necessarily like or want. And it feels so good to watch the person open it, examine it, realize what it is and then get that 'Oh My God, this is amazing!' look on their face.

I guess for me the selfish part is wanting that glow. That feeling is for me.

With that in mind, I should be able to receive any gift offered me, with grace, be it a new T-shirt, a spangy new necklace, or an adventure amongst the various hot spots in whatever city I happen to be gracing with my presence, with the knowledge that it is making someone else happy. I am nothing, if not a people pleaser.

My new mission: use these tools to make progress instead of turning them around on myself and busting up the new path I've laid.

Talk It Out

I received a copy of "Bared to You" for Christmas. It was very well written, especially when compared to the "Shades of Grey" books. I'd like to ask E.L. James' editor what they were thinking when they let it go to press so raw. The acknowledgements section of Bared actually had me in tears. Her editor has her own paragraph, and it made me think of the work I do as an editor, and the editing that my friends do for me.

I wanted to devour the book, but I had to break it up into chunks. I found myself growing too emotional at times. It just struck so many chords. And of all of the gifts that I got this year, I think it has been the most useful. I feel like it gave me the tool I needed to fix some of what is wrong with me.

Without any spoilers, let me just say that the book talks about therapy, and sort of a 12 step program for people who have undergone emotional abuse. I recognized that one of the things that I do, that I hate doing, but can never seem to stop myself in the middle of, is because I've been Triggered. And now, I can see when I'm doing it, or about to do it, take an emotional step back, figure out what set me off, and deal with it instead of blowing everything out of proportions and just causing more problems.

Now I've got a choice to make.

If a piece of fiction that briefly mentions a therapy technique can be such a life changing tool, what sort of progress could I make if I actually committed myself to seeking out therapy?

This is a frightening thought on so very many levels. It means admitting that I need professional help. It means possibly being told that there is more wrong with me than I like to acknowledge. It means the possibility of hearing things that I'd really rather not hear. A therapist isn't going to hold back the truth that I need to hear. That's sort of the point. And a therapist is going to have the  skill set to make me face any realizations instead of just filing them away in the "Nope, it never happened" or the "Nope, that's not why" folders of my psyche.

This also would be flying in the face of my severe trust issues. I've had doctors do wrong by be in the past. And I've got enough wrong with my internal wiring already, that I hesitate to let just anyone start tinkering in there. But am I really ready to let such an opportunity pass just because I'm scared of what might go wrong? Ever since this while ride began, I keep promising myself that I will not live in fear. I guess that means that I've already made my decision. It's just a matter of acting on it.

*deep breath*

Wish me luck.

Take A Ride

I took my first serious ride in a wheel chair a few days ago. It took a bit of convincing (read, bullying) to get me to shut up and sit down, but Ikea is just too big of a place to be able to wander around under my own power. Though it wasn't until my vision started going wonky and I couldn't take more than a few steps without nearly falling over that I finally agreed to park myself on a bench until my friend returned with the chair.

Though after that, it really was an adventure. I'll admit to feeling a little bit childish, but only in the good, someone is taking complete care of me, sort of way. I suppose it was reminiscent of my days being pushed around in a stroller or a shopping cart. The latter would have been more appropriate here, as my lap soon became piled with stuff.

All in all, it was not a bad experience. I think that the next time I come here, I'll skip trying to act like Super Woman and just start in the chair. We'll need to make sure there are three of us. One person to push me, and one to push the cart ;)

I will admit that the thought of things like a cane (which I now use about half the time that I am out and about) and a wheelchair frightens me. I dislike being dependent on people and things. Perhaps this comes from growing up with parents and other family members who have always encouraged me to stand on my own two feet. Perhaps its tainted by the time that I spent being totally dependent on people whom I then had to cut ties with. Either way, it scares the hell out of me.

I have been taking prescription pain killers for about two years, now. Even that is a dependency that I am hesitant to lean on. Granted that if I stopped taking the first of three, I would be completely bed ridden, and puking my guts out from the pain, unable to form a coherent thought past the fog of searing, throbbing pain. But the other two, I only have to take if the pain levels spike to where the first is no longer quite enough. All three are non narcotic. All three have side effects preferable to the symptoms. And yet...

I have to constantly remind myself, and be reminded by those around me, that it's okay to take them when I need them. That it's stupid, and even a little childish, not to. Even a little masochistic.

So I put on my big girl pants, and I take the pills when my hands start to shake with the tell tale sign that I'm in more pain than my body can handle. I make a pot of tea and accept that I am going to drink at least half of it just to keep up the energy it takes to sweep the floors and wash the dishes. I take my cane when I leave the house if there's the slightest hint of numbness or weakness in my limbs. And I come to peace with the fact that it's possible that I may have to start planning to make this place wheelchair accessible.

Declination

I have noticed that as my health declines, and more and more stress from both my health and just life in general, are heaped on me, I have been slipping out of the Happy Place that I have always been able to cling to, even in the darkest times of my life. I have become a very negative person, and even difficult to be around. This is not something that people have had to tell me, just something that I have noticed myself, and have had confirmed by others.

I need to learn to let things go. Things that never would have bothered me so much a couple of years ago have begun to drive me crazy. A good deal of this, I think, comes from being mostly house ridden, if not bed ridden, a lot of the time.

So I've been working on:

 -trying to be less negative, or to at least catch myself in the act and cease and desist in a more timely fashion instead of going on and on

-making social appointments to get out of the house

-letting go of the little things

-balancing my diet with my steady decline in physical activity (I am below 160 for the first time in over 2 years!)

-balancing feeling fulfilled with feeling overwhelmed (harder than it sounds)

-using creative outlets to boost my mood (singing, writing, crafting, etc.,)

I've already made some headway over the holidays, noticing that my dark cloud is lifting, and that I am significantly easier to live with. Let's see if I can keep up the good work.