When I told my therapist that I’m jumping onto the in-person meetings a few times a week, she said that since meetings are a chore, maybe I should do something enjoyable instead. I replied that life is nothing but a series of chores. She said I should do something “fun” like Yoga, which I think is a good idea. If I can find something cheap enough in the near term, I might actually try it. But that would be just as much of a chore for me as anything else. I see her point, however, and I actually planned on looking up events and meetups before we spoke. That was already on the agenda.
I mean, I’ll do it. The fighter. But a concept such as “fun” doesn’t exist in my life right now. And I have a hard time imagining it will exist any time soon.
The scarcity mindset I have at times around my present situation is something I have to work on. And I do work on it. I do this by reflecting on the indisputable advantages and potential that I have. What do I mean by scarcity mindset? This is a concept that was introduced to me several years ago. “Oh, she has a friend and a wife and I have nothing.” Shut up. I have a capacity to socialize that she, as someone who claims to be autistic does not possess. Yes, there’s an element of performance in it for me, but at least I can do it. Takes some energy out, certainly, but it can be done.
The rolling ocean waves. Scarcity mindset one minute, then me fighting against it and forcing myself to remember my good things and my advantages. My physicality. My will to move when I get better. My depression being moderate and at times transient rather than severe clinical depression episodes that she falls into. Although, in fairness, it’s because mine sometimes does a dance with anxiety. Maybe the anxiety gives me the energy. But there’s a will to power in there somewhere that exists outside of the anxiety. I know it and I feel it. And maybe someone reading this is just like me.
I don’t remember if I mentioned going over there on Saturday. I went to the Mexican store to get her soup because she was sick. The problem is that Don Garcia’s is a trigger place. Additionally (and I didn’t figure this out until later) I was experiencing cognitive dissonance. Trigger Place + Cognitive Dissonance = I’m drinking now. Well, I did bring her tacos and soup. So that was good. But then I got hammered.
Why did I have cognitive dissonance? Because one part of me felt a pull to caretake, and another part of me didn’t understand why I was going the extra mile for this person who had destroyed my soul exactly one week prior. The brain being in two places. Discomfort. Cognitive dissonance. Then drinking. Sunday was a haze of sitting around the hotel room all day, then a firm resolve to start doing in-person meetings and stop the caretaking. Check ins = okay. Emergency needs = okay. Caretaking = no. Spending money = no.
It took some reflection for me to understand this is what happened. I’m being gentle on myself now because the most important thing is to stay away from drink. If that means writing all night long, so be it. If that means doing a meeting most nights of the week, let it be. I don’t need to get a bunch of shit done right now. I just need to stay away.
And I need to allow the anger and bitterness and depression to happen and sit through it. I was thinking earlier about how it’s very much like a psychedelic experience, you know, things come in waves, and you just accept them. Fighting them might give you anxiety. Well, this grief process is kind of like that. When I began this post, I felt listless and depressed enough that I felt someone needed to scrape me off the floor and throw me into the garbage can. And now it’s better. I’m feeling things that are not pleasant at times and I’m just feeling it and furrowing my brow and writing. And I find there’s a power in my writing now that I haven’t seen for a long time. Because honesty.
I think I’ve said all I can say for tonight. I’m hoping I sleep better tomorrow so I can go to the RAC tomorrow night. I wanted to do an in-person tomorrow, but I can feel the pull toward exercise and nature. So. That’s the nice thing I can do for myself my therapist was referencing. It’s not “fun” the way most people think of fun but walking for a few miles listening to music is a sort of fun for me. And it fuels the will to rise.
ZeroSpace 