Insidious Adaptation

I'm supposed to write something here. Something that is to help either me or others. This, not an expectation for myself, however, an obligation, for otherwise why exist? Why would a person exist, of only to experience life for himself, gain, for himself, hold all knowledge, for himself? What is that good for?  The thoughts consume me after I disappointed myself. After an evening where I was interacting with my daughter, trying to brush teeth at bed time, only to have her subtle defiance get to me for the last time. As she sat just at the right angle, refusing to lift her mouth up and open for me to brush, and my 3rd or 4th prompt was getting shorter, she became frustrated, she threw a book to the side, it hit me in the face, and I became angry. I slid the book with force across the floor, yelled close to her face, stood up, picked her up, and put her on her bed and told her, "You made me angry!" "No, you wanted to be defiant and now I am angry!" This as my...

Look at her, miserable. She probably hates it here.  “Why can’t I find a place where people want to work?" Uh, scratch that.  When you are sad, everything is dismal. As though the very paint that paints the world is that of a flat brown and any color attempted to paint over it, pale, flat as well. The picture exists, it forms the same structure after all, but there is no vibrancy. What is lacking is the essence of flavor, the subtle aroma of fresh smells and exciting possibilities. Sadness makes anything negative seem possible, takes away a compliment, and instead of trying to get out, the self-defeat prevents much of what little effort is had. I can only write these words by being in the state of sadness, an extreme, acute, feeling that comes and goes. Possibly from over exertion, or some dietary restriction, which happens. All to often the sadness is remedied through my spiritual connection with God and what he wants for me, but this one lingered longer, maybe long enough...

Explosions erupting all round, the central nervous system kicks in, this must be battle . The physical feeling of impending conflict, its fight or flight. The worst part, the mind knows, the conscious intellect reminds the physically-stimulated body that things are OK and this is not a "battle." It is the body's familiarity with explosions associated with impending death of self or loved ones that a soldier must endure while children run around laughing and a father with beer in hand lights another one. Light it up Johnny! This is what the Fourth of July might mean to those who served so we could celebrate. This is PTSD as reported to me and this is what America tends to forget. However, the blanket way in which we refer to mental health has become an overlooked nuance. "I was anxious last night." Much different than, "I have Generalized Anxiety Disorder." "I was feeling depressed." Much different than being sad. "He'...

"The popularity resides in the clothes," a thought that drove my summer vacation. A fear that I would be seen for the inadequate self I truly identified as. The kids seeing me as this once-popular student, now nothing more than another, “poor” kid. I knew the truth, I knew that the clothes I wore were expensive, and yet, I HAD to have them. I was consumed by the inevitable situations I would land in, depictions of Tommy Hilfiger commercials running in my head as my cargo handle was grabbed by some girl in a midriff top, interested, giving me that which I could not establish within myself.  This is all in retrospect for in the moment, as I worked all summer long, babysitting and mowing lawns, to get the coveted check from my father to then go and budget appropriately, along with the minuscule amounts donated from mom, I could afford the clothes to match the persona of a “cool” kid. I missed the part where I was supposed to live and experience life, and instead I isolated...

Isolation manifests shame, validation increases safety.  How bad can it be, after all, I live in America, I am a white male with a degree and a job, technically, I am richer than most of the world. So then, what could I possibly have to complain about? Unfortunately, like a passive-aggressive remark from a parent reinforcing a competitive environment, some of the most subtle, excused things in life cause some of the biggest problems. No, not problems like lacking clean water, inadequate amounts of food, or having parents that don’t love, or abused me, but in their own way, the forming of the mind around problems too minimized to take note of can be invalidating. Invalidation seems to be the root cause of many life’s a folly. When you see a couple arguing, usually when you cut through the yelling, the little comments, you see that the invalidation, or discounting of each other’s feelings lies at the surface. This can extend to children who's parents didn’t acknowledge them o...

Shame seeping into the brain, like a molasses being poured over a rotten apple, slowly the tainted fruit engulfed in a brown, sticky substance no longer seen, for now it is a mere blob of that which consumed it. The treachery of the feeling, enough to fuel poor decisions in life to try and escape, avoid, compensate even. The feeling was there upon waking up, like it existed before my conscious mind did, like it knew of the world and it was here to show me how hard it was going to make this place.  Since the dawn of fallen man, shame has existed to remind us of our overall wicked ways. In Genesis 3:7, Adam and Eve cover themselves with fig leaves to indicate a shame from the Lord for going against what he asked. Shame is supposed to be a benefit in some way, for all emotions are. If we are living with inefficient emotions, then is this not like the digestive system deciding not to do its job, only to have the food sit, rot, producing life-threatening situations? Our bodies are t...

Fuming in a meeting or annoyed at what I feel to be provoking comments in the hall.The parts I see, I am unaware specifically as to what they are, but I notice something, something I don’t like, something rather, distasteful.  “Why don’t you just…”  I’m not sure how to finish that sentence because I am not exactly sure what it is you are doing, or what overall quality you exude that I just cannot stand. Maybe it’s the way you dress differently than I do, or the way you cut me off in mid sentence. Yea, that’s what it is. You are rude, inconsiderate, and well, wait, you are just being honest, your words aren’t really there to “cut me off.” OK, so you do have some genuine parts to you, authenticity that I lack, that I will admit.  OH MY GOSH! Now I am embarrassed. You are more of what I lack, and it took me months of justifying me right and you wrong to see what was right in front of me. I see in you what it is I want to see in myself, being authentic in al...

The evening, a time at the end of a work day. Nothing significant, only another day at work, neither "good" nor "bad." Sometimes, after work, my mood is organically upbeat, not stimulated by some "good idea" or caffeine. Rather, I have my moments where things are good and I like those moments. Sometimes, however the night seems dreary, a continuation of the work day, despite my best efforts to see otherwise. Some days after work be like... The mind racing, thinking and interpreting things a certain way, a way that interferes sometimes, enhances others, but overall has to be accepted as "the hand I was dealt." I like quotes, for they encompass something I might never have captured. I quote people because then it takes some of the stress off of me to explain, after all, someone else more prominent wrote it, so there it is. The mind likes concrete concepts. Unfortunately, life is not concrete. Life isn't even as solid as Jell-O.  Life ...