Letting Go of Ideas

Last night I went home, took a moda, and kicked some a55.

Good thing is, moda and Wellbutrin seem to be compatible. The only thing I need to worry about is staying hydrated with two stimulants in my system.

Got to work late today. Sigh. Nothing done at work that I said I’d do, though. I just have zero motivation to start. I’m thinking about installing ColdTurkey on my work PC, just to deter me from going to reddit. I spend far too much time there. Mainly just reading the news, comments on news articles, and askreddit threads.

I can’t keep doing this. Vacation is at the end of the month. I need to light a fire under my rear, somehow.

Last night after being productive at home I spent a couple hours reading hoarders threads. I have a tendency to get excited about doing some new thing, buy the stuff for it, and never use it, or only use it once. Hence, reading about hoarding. I read something very interesting that stuck out to me: recovering from hoarding, as mild as mine is, means letting go of ideas. Ideas meaning, some new hobby or activity. I’ll think, I’ll start doing x or y because it sounds interesting. The idea itself is the exciting part, but when the stuff is bought, the excitement ends. I see myself doing the thing, but action doesn’t follow. Maybe because my perfectionism and the thought that I won’t be great at doing something for the first time kicks in.

And then the fact that I have all this stuff gives me anxiety. That it sits there, unused, gathering dust, gives me anxiety. That I’m not using it. But letting go of it? Well, I’ll do that hobby or activity one day, won’t I? The thought of, I shouldn’t get rid of something if I spent money on it. It’s a circular, self-supporting thought process that leads to the items remaining, gathering dust, and my anxiety about the items remaining continues. That’s where the “letting go of ideas” theme comes in. Donating stuff also alleviates the “wasting stuff is bad” feelings, because someone will be able to use what I give up.

I think overall, the relief at the stuff being gone will be higher than the disappointment that I just gave up on something. I’m not as driven or motivated or interesting as I think I am, in the optimistic side of my mind.

I need to free up space in my mind and my house, get rid of these half-baked plans and ideas. Getting the stuff gone or donated will be hard, but worth it in the end. Then I can finally focus on what I need to do: write and draw.

Writing and drawing, that’s a whole other issue. I’ve always thought I was good, or at least decent at writing fiction and drawing. It’s been a major prop for my diminished ego. But a mild talent doesn’t become anything more than that unless you do something with it. It shouldn’t be a prop for my ego, along the lines of “well, I know I’d be good at it if I tried.” I’m not good at it. And that’s okay. I’ve been so terrified of people seeing the stuff I write and draw, afraid of condemnation or mockery. I’ve also let the mild hoarding get in the way; “I can’t write or draw until I take care of this.” But it never gets taken care of.

The things that give me joy need priority in my life. I let these fleeting interests and accumulated stuff get in my way. They need to go.

More and more I get an understanding of the faulty system of my mind. More and more I begin to discard faulty beliefs. Is this a side effect of aging? Of relentless self-reflection? I don’t know. But the most important thing to acknowledge is that unless I start acting, nothing will change.

Bracing for Impact

The weekend was a wash. My cold from last week perfectly segued into the monthly sufferings common to most women. So, a weekend spent sitting on my rear, surfing reddit, watching tv, stuffing my face, reading web serials, the works. Also, just thinking.

I spend so much time in my head. I can spend hours just away in myself, no human contact, enriching and developing the story I’ve been building for years. A sci-fi story, with various influences. My maladaptive daydream, if I’m being honest. It’s an escape. I often do it to avoid the pervasive feeling that I need to be doing something else. I always feel this, it’s sort of a background miasma. It’s me vs. the constant need for perfection and accomplishment. Only, I don’t really want to be productive. I want to waste time. I want to do nothing.

Motivation to do anything but sit and pretend I’m someone else has been seriously lacking for the last few years. From my perspective it’s a lot of things. Constant employment, from childhood. The grinding fear of homelessness and not having enough. The damage to my psyche from my tender, loving stepmother and my caring father. For years, being emotionally braced in the crash position, waiting for impact. Only to find there was no impact, because I made it out of poverty after more than a decade. I married. Now there is no pressing disaster on the horizon, but I’m still waiting for collision.

It’s tiring. The constant sense of doom that pervades me is boring. Of being a powerless victim waiting for something bad to happen. Feelings of powerlessness and lack of control, of pretty much anything. Things I blame on being a woman. If I wasn’t a woman, why, I’d be confident and self-assured and able to have the life I wanted. Bunch of horsesh1t, the grass is always greener on the other side.

When can I wake up, and realize that one life is all I have? I am still young. I can do the things that I want. I can let people in, even if I can’t be the person they want me to be. I don’t have to be ultra-nice to compensate for my appearance. I can push back when people try to take advantage of me. I don’t have to cling to people who give me the time of day. I can write and do the things that I want to do, even if my anxiety punches me in the face with thoughts that I shouldn’t write or draw.

Stop bracing for impact. Stand up. Look around. Live. Enjoy things again.