Sad and Happy

happy and sad

Sad is single
Happy is double

Sad is lonely
Happy accompany

Sad is bad
Happy is glad

Sad is worry
Happy is easy

Sad can’t sleep
Happy rests deep

Sad has pill
Happy has will

Sad is stranded
Happy emancipated

Sad looks down
Happy looks around

Sad is short-sighted
Happy is excited

Sad is flabby
Happy is horny

Sad is gray
Happy is gay

Cherophobia

Cherry1

No, it’s not the fear of cherries, but the fear of happiness.

I think I might be suffering from this a little bit.

After coming out, feeling ready, willing and able and tumbling, I realized that there is a deep-rooted uneasiness within me when it comes to potential pleasure or happiness.

I think I know exactly where it comes from.

Whenever I experienced great happiness in the past, it always seemed to be followed by great despair.  So I have developed this strange belief that in order to avoid heartbreak, I must avoid being happy.

The result is depression.  A self-inflicted condition due to a state of mind.

I am just becoming aware of this now.  It’s quite disturbing.  I’m not sure what to do.

Whenever I realize something, I write it down.  This is how I give it a form and shape.  I find it easier to tackle after it becomes visible, observable and describable.

Cherophobia:  aversion to happiness.  There is some of it within me.

I’m sure the universe will take care of it.  If this is something that should be kicked out of my belief system, then let the butt-kicker step forward.  I welcome him.  Or her…

I Panicked

Bad Romance

When was the last time I panicked?

I think it’s when I imagined myself reconciling with my wife and then the two of us making love.

After I had this thought, there was a pain in my stomach.  I felt my guts twisting.  My intestines turned to mush and I had to run to the bathroom.  This is what happens when I panic.

I don’t quite understand because it was not a bad thought.  Maybe this shows how much our relationship has deteriorated.  Or maybe it shows how afraid I am of getting close to a person I don’t trust.

Is this what survivors of abuse call a trigger?

Who’s Your Pusher?

Pusher2

Who is pushing you?

Who is pushing me?

I have been so used to being pushed, that the day it stopped, I felt something was wrong.  So I turned around to have a look at the person who had been pushing me all this time.

Who are you, pusher?

This reminds me of a post I published recently, entitled The Inciter.  Plus another one entitled Brave Submissive in which I wrote that I was going to report him/her.  I don’t think I reported this person yet.  I’m still afraid.  Why am I afraid to report him?

Let’s investigate my fear.

*sigh*

First of all I must ask myself:  Am I afraid of the pusher?  No.  The answer is no.  The pusher gives me what I need.  I like him.  Without him I’d be lost.  But then who am I afraid of?

See, he’s pushing me again!  He’s the one who asks me these unpleasant questions.  Always asking why I do the things I do, why I think the way I think, why I feel the way I feel.  He’s pushing me toward self-discovery.  But why does it trouble me?  Don’t I want to discover who I really am?

Yes, but today’s subject is the pusher himself.  It’s not about me this time, it’s about HIM!  Or her.  I don’t even know if he’s masculine or feminine!  Actually I do.  He/she is both.

Let’s start by giving him/her a more appropriate title, other than “pusher.”  This is where I become uncomfortable.  I don’t want to pronounce this title.  I hate the word.  But I have to say it.  It’s going to be the last word I type on this page.

Why do I hate the word?  Because it means everything and it means nothing.  That’s right, it’s such a meaningful and meaningless word.  Yet this word is his title.  It can be replaced by similar words which mean the same thing, but this one word is the shortest, simplest and truest of all.

God

Brave Submissive

I intend to report you.  Yes, this is what I’m going to do.  Since this is the only freedom I have left, I am going to take advantage of it fully.  Which reminds me, by the way, that you once said I was a reporter.  So this is what reporters do.  They report.  Then here is my first report.

I’m not angry.  Do I sound angry?  Maybe I am a little.  I don’t even know how I feel.  I’m shaky, I know that.  I feel like something is going to be released, finally.  My insides are trembling.  Nervous, that’s the word.  I feel nervous and I don’t even know why.

There is so much I want to say, I don’t even know where to start and I don’t even know who to address.  Who am I addressing?  You, the one I intend to report or the reader?  Both, because I’m making it public and I know you are reading it too.  You read everything I write.

Two reasons to be anxious:  you and the reader.  But first you.  The fact that you are letting me report you.  How bizarre.  Why does it feel so unsettling?  Because I’ve never spoken of you so overtly before.  You have been my secret for such a long time and I’ve only spoken of you enigmatically.

Now I’m about to speak of you very bluntly for the first time.  No more mystery.  No more poems.  No more parables.  Just the plain truth, as raw as it gets, even if I’m afraid of how it might come out.  I want to do it.

I need to do this.  The time has come.  No matter how hard it is and how much I shake and fear.  I’m tired of keeping it bottled up inside, it’s driving me insane.  Although I know I’m going to sound crazy to some.  I don’t care.  I’m not doing it for anyone else.  I’m doing it for my sake and probably yours too…  beloved goddess.

Intruders

They pry
They poke
They enter
They come in
They get into
They break in
They trespass
They transgress
They offend
They infract
They violate

I don’t like these intrusions
I can’t stand these transgressions
I can’t take these violations

There is nothing here to learn
Except to protect myself
Against foreign invasions

I Can’t Help You

trust14

Here is another wonderful “talking to myself” session.  This one will be recorded publicly though.  Perhaps to shame myself or to entertain bored readers.

I’m tired of thinking of her.  It’s a waste of time.  If I could change the way I think of her, that would be great.  I should hypnotize myself to make me love her.  That might work.

Love her?  No thank you.  “Like her” maybe.  No, not even.  Accept her.  Yes, I could start there.  Accept her current existence in my life.  Can I do that?

Well I think I have accepted her already.  I let her be, don’t I?  I let her affect me too.  Maybe this is what I should be working on.  I should not let her affect me.  Or, I have a better idea.  Why not let her affect me and then transform the effect into something good!

Let’s try it.  She said this yesterday, after I said to her that she already has everything:  “No, I don’t have a husband who loves me.”  I did not reply because I knew what it would trigger.  So I just kept silent.  I absorbed it.

Now the phrase is coming back to me and Oh!  I could smash…  never mind.  There is no use smashing things.  She sincerely wishes that I would love her.  Why should I let it upset me?

I cannot love her simply because I can’t trust her.  And that’s ok, I don’t have to trust the people I don’t trust.  There is a reason why I don’t trust her.  She is not trustworthy.  To me anyway.

I trusted her at the beginning and she took advantage of it.  She profited.  It was her choice or perhaps not.  Maybe she had been programmed by her family.  Or she programmed herself in order to survive within her family.

Whatever it is, the issue is hers, not mine.  And she refuses to look within herself.  That’s why she suffers from anxiety.  I can’t help her.  Would my hugs help her?  Perhaps.  Perhaps not.  I don’t know.  And you know what?  I don’t care whether I can help her or not.  I’m trying to save myself here.  I have spent enough energy for her already.  The little I have left I will keep.

Sorry dear.  I know you’re drowning but I can’t help you.

They Come at Night

ghosts1

I’m not afraid when they come during the day but when they come at night, it’s another story.

The scenario is the same — always the same, ever since I was a child.

I fall asleep peacefully and then suddenly, in the middle of the night, I sense them, all around me.  The fear builds up as I take a deep breath and then when they are just about to touch me, I force a scream out of my mouth, as loud as I can, and I wake up suddenly at the sound of my own voice.  Sometimes it wakes up my wife and I have to explain that there were some ghosts who tried to grab me.

I don’t know how many times this has happened, probably more than a hundred.  One time I woke up and I was standing in the middle of the room, about five feet away from my bed!  Now THAT was creepy.

More recently, for about four years now, they started coming but during the day.  I can handle that.  It’s quite awesome actually.  We have long discussions and they explain a lot of things to me.

When night comes, I feel secure, so I invite them to return and show me their faces in my dreams, because during the day I don’t see anything.  So I fall asleep with a huge smile on my face, but then suddenly, just after falling asleep, I feel them all around me and I scream to wake myself up.  Then I tell them to go away and leave me alone.

At first I thought that there were some good ones and some bad ones.  The good ones come during the day to communicate with me and the bad ones during the night to scare me.  I never invite the bad ones but then why do they come?

Today I read an interesting article on the subject which forces me to change my line of questioning.  I’m asking myself a new question:  “Why do I perceive the night visitors as bad?  They have never hurt me.  They come every time I invite them to do so.  Why do I freak out when they approach my body?”

I think it has to do with my upbringing and all the ghost movies I watched when I was a child.  Plus the fact that it’s dark at night.  Who’s not afraid of that, at least a little bit?

Now I scratch my head and wonder:  perhaps the ones who come at night are the same as the ones who come during the day.  The only difference is… my reaction.

Last night I tested my bravery.  I went to bed alone, took off my clothes, turned off the lights and lied on my back, on top of my bed, completely exposed and vulnerable.  I even kept my eyes open.  I relaxed, tuned off my thoughts and dropped my expectations.  Then I invited them to come… and I waited.

After a few minutes, while I kept staring at the dark, things started to move, literally.  The darkness was moving and changing colors and shapes started to form!  I watched for awhile, repeating to myself:  “Nothing bad is going to happen, nothing bad is going to happen…”  But things were moving faster and then shapes started to become more obvious and then… oh my fucking god, chills started going up and down all over my body and the fear just overwhelmed me.  I grabbed the blankets and covered myself, but I didn’t turn on the light.  I stopped staring at the darkness, turned around, closed my eyes and explained to them that perhaps I wasn’t quite ready yet for a face to face encounter.  I fell asleep and they didn’t bother me while I slept peacefully all through the night.

Tonight I should try to push a little farther and see what would happen if I kept staring at the darkness and actually let them touch me, if they can.

*gulp*

The Introvert

unsociability5

Today is party day.  My wife invited a lot of people — family and friends.  I know what to expect, I went through this circus many times.  We will greet each other, sit, talk, drink, laugh, eat and then climax:  happy whatever!

The talk usually starts with a “how are you,” then revolves around whichever topic is mentioned.  The fun things we did are brought up, the interesting things we saw are emphasized.  Then anything goes:  hearsay, rumors, news from TV or from other members of the family or of famous people.  Who’s good, who’s bad.  Anything that pops up can become the subject of discussion.  Opinions are expressed.  Jokes are inserted.

Laughing is important to keep the mood happy.  When speaking, a touch of exaggeration is necessary to keep the listeners entertained.  Sometimes there is originality but most of the time opinions are second-hand ideas, the repeating of things heard elsewhere.  Finally a clever “expert” will make a concluding remark and the subject will change.

Fortunately, there is respect in our group.  No fighting.  There is a small chance of an argument between the mother-in-law and her daughter, but nothing serious.  Three languages are in use:  French, Portuguese and English.  It can get confusing because some of us understand and speak only one or two of those languages.  No one bothers translating.  You pick up what you can.  The discussions rarely amount to anything anyway, except maybe laughter.

I think most of the participants just enjoy the feeling of togetherness.  It doesn’t really matter what is said.  Compliments are always welcome.  Funny things are remembered.  Polite smiles are expected, fake ones for photos.

The bulk of the herd should arrive around 5 p.m. and leave at 9.  We will be crammed on the main floor of our medium-sized house.  I will have to endure a minimum of four hours of movement, noise and interaction requests.  I don’t know how to prepare for it except to write and express my apprehension of this upcoming inescapable situation.  I usually fare pretty well, though.  I take the role of the bartender, mixing drinks and serving the thirsty.

I’m more of a listener, and once in a while I will throw a sarcastic comment that will get a few of them rolling and the others frowning.  Two or three such interruptions is usually the most I can afford in one sitting.  I usually drink in order to help my mind relax, but I want to try not drinking at all this time.

I feel alienated in a crowd and never know where I fit in.  I try not to stay too long in the same spot.  I walk around, pretending I’m going somewhere, trying to stay cool.  It’s hard to engage in any sort of intelligent conversation because of the chaos and noise.  Everyone knows that I’m disabled, that I don’t go out much and that I’m a bit depressed, so they don’t bother asking me what I’ve been doing lately because it’s kind of useless.

My mother-in-law usually asks me “how are you,” I reply “fine” and that’s the end of our conversation.  What else can I say?  The truth is:  “I’m sad because your daughter ruined me financially,” but that would be a bad thing to say.  And the purpose of life is to be fucking good, right?  Or at least appear to be…

The clock is ticking.  I want this day to be over quickly.  I don’t get what others enjoy in these gatherings.  I understand though, because I once experienced the warmth of being with a group of friends in the past.  I’m not sure why I changed, though.  Maybe it’s just part of growing up.  Or maybe I lost my friends and I don’t know how to make new ones.  It’s a mystery.

I’m an introvert, I know this much, and that’s a good enough explanation, I guess…

Let’s Party

party2

Another party?  Why?  What are we celebrating this time?

Why are you inviting so many people?  To be seen, heard and admired?  To laugh, eat, and drink?  To give and receive compliments?  To feel good?  To feel loved?  To feel secure?  To give purpose and meaning to your life?  To be happy?

Doesn’t your life have meaning and purpose already?  Don’t you feel secure, loved and good already?  Why do you need to hear compliments?  Is it because you feel worthless?  Why the need to drink so much?  Is it to feel uninhibited — because deep down you feel repressed, smothered and strangled?

Why so much food?  You can’t be that hungry — is it because you feel empty?  Why the need to joke and laugh so much?  Is it because you feel like crying?  Do all these friends around you make you feel better, acceptable perhaps?  Why do you feel unacceptable?  Did you do something unforgiveable?  Why do you need to be recognized, admired and praised?  Do you feel invisible, unimportant and ugly?

Is this party going to fix anything?  Maybe just temporarily…  Wouldn’t you like a more permanent solution to your problem?  Oh!  You don’t have a problem?  Sorry, miss Happy.  My mistake.  I must be crazy.

Okay then… let’s party.