Brainweasels: Progress
Jun. 4th, 2013 12:23 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sessifetAlso known as: My Issues, Let Me Show You Them.
As my levels of cope increase (and the sunny weather continues), I keep having these small moments of realisation on how to handle myself as my brainweasels set up their permanent camp in the near bottomless well of 33 years of life and its attendant anxieties, bad memories and embarrassing gaffes.
Realisation 1: I can't stop them directly. In fact, attempting to stop them just means I'm shouting at myself in my own head, like an OAP standing at the edge of the duck pond shaking their cane and shouting at the gulls for stealing the ducks' bread crumbs. It's not productive because the gulls will come back as soon as the OAP stops shouting and waving their cane. Same goes for the brainweasels. I can shout at them and they just bob along the surface looking at me with fake innocence written all over them. As soon as I stop shouting, they'll continue to explore, occasionally poking back up to hoik up random memories which will then arrive in my conscious mind along with that familiar sick feeling of embarrassment.*
Realisation 2: There's no point in throwing them back in. Doing that just encourages the brainweasels, because wheee, we have a new game and I'll get tired of throwing before they get tired of retrieving. They're like tiny little labradors with all the love replaced by spite and hatefulness.
Realisation 3: Shouting at myself or pushing away memories is unhelpful and unkind to myself. They're not coping mechanism, they're defence mechanisms and shitty ones at that. Because shouting at myself doesn't stop the brainweasels and it only makes me tired and dislike myself. Pushing away memories means they keep coming back as sharp as always and I end up mentally bleeding from a multitude of tiny little papercuts.
Realisation 4: I need coping mechanisms, or at least ways to stop myself from useless mental shouting.
Realisation 5: Might as well continue the anthropomorphisation of my self-esteem and self-image issues into brainweasels and actually engage in conversation. This ends up with the weird situation where I, with paint brush and paint can in hand in reality, am telling a particular smug-looking brainweasel that the nasty little treasure he dug up for my edification is in fact a memory from when I was nine and was trying to help collect chicken eggs. Sure, my help was detrimental and then there were suddenly chickens everywhere. Yes, I ran away, but so would you if a cockerel the size of a medium dog was trying to attack you. But you know, no-one but me ever shouted at me or made me feel bad about it afterwards. This was 24 years ago. We can let it go now, because I learnt my lesson the first time around**. And then I made myself a cup of tea and told myself I did really well and to keep up the good work.
Realisation 6: I am allowed to be positive to and about myself. I can tell myself that I'm doing something really well or that I'm really good at some things. For example: I've made three really nice dinners in the last two weeks (the rest were just regular or take-out); I'm doing a really good job on the hallway; I'm making this house into a nice place to live. I am worthy of love and affection from myself. And to underscore that, I am going to go make myself a cup of tea and a pat on the back once I've posted this.
Realisation 7: This will be a work in progress and there are things lurking that I don't particularly want to look at, but hey ho. No-one ever goes through life without collecting a few dings and scratches and regrets.
*Huh. I just realised it's nearly always embarrassment. Only a few angry or sad memories. How interesting. Something to ponder.
**The lesson was 'don't trust chickens, they're evil little fuckers' and 'next time, lock them up before attempting to collect eggs', which I feel is still useful advice for a happy and healthy life.
As my levels of cope increase (and the sunny weather continues), I keep having these small moments of realisation on how to handle myself as my brainweasels set up their permanent camp in the near bottomless well of 33 years of life and its attendant anxieties, bad memories and embarrassing gaffes.
Realisation 1: I can't stop them directly. In fact, attempting to stop them just means I'm shouting at myself in my own head, like an OAP standing at the edge of the duck pond shaking their cane and shouting at the gulls for stealing the ducks' bread crumbs. It's not productive because the gulls will come back as soon as the OAP stops shouting and waving their cane. Same goes for the brainweasels. I can shout at them and they just bob along the surface looking at me with fake innocence written all over them. As soon as I stop shouting, they'll continue to explore, occasionally poking back up to hoik up random memories which will then arrive in my conscious mind along with that familiar sick feeling of embarrassment.*
Realisation 2: There's no point in throwing them back in. Doing that just encourages the brainweasels, because wheee, we have a new game and I'll get tired of throwing before they get tired of retrieving. They're like tiny little labradors with all the love replaced by spite and hatefulness.
Realisation 3: Shouting at myself or pushing away memories is unhelpful and unkind to myself. They're not coping mechanism, they're defence mechanisms and shitty ones at that. Because shouting at myself doesn't stop the brainweasels and it only makes me tired and dislike myself. Pushing away memories means they keep coming back as sharp as always and I end up mentally bleeding from a multitude of tiny little papercuts.
Realisation 4: I need coping mechanisms, or at least ways to stop myself from useless mental shouting.
Realisation 5: Might as well continue the anthropomorphisation of my self-esteem and self-image issues into brainweasels and actually engage in conversation. This ends up with the weird situation where I, with paint brush and paint can in hand in reality, am telling a particular smug-looking brainweasel that the nasty little treasure he dug up for my edification is in fact a memory from when I was nine and was trying to help collect chicken eggs. Sure, my help was detrimental and then there were suddenly chickens everywhere. Yes, I ran away, but so would you if a cockerel the size of a medium dog was trying to attack you. But you know, no-one but me ever shouted at me or made me feel bad about it afterwards. This was 24 years ago. We can let it go now, because I learnt my lesson the first time around**. And then I made myself a cup of tea and told myself I did really well and to keep up the good work.
Realisation 6: I am allowed to be positive to and about myself. I can tell myself that I'm doing something really well or that I'm really good at some things. For example: I've made three really nice dinners in the last two weeks (the rest were just regular or take-out); I'm doing a really good job on the hallway; I'm making this house into a nice place to live. I am worthy of love and affection from myself. And to underscore that, I am going to go make myself a cup of tea and a pat on the back once I've posted this.
Realisation 7: This will be a work in progress and there are things lurking that I don't particularly want to look at, but hey ho. No-one ever goes through life without collecting a few dings and scratches and regrets.
*Huh. I just realised it's nearly always embarrassment. Only a few angry or sad memories. How interesting. Something to ponder.
**The lesson was 'don't trust chickens, they're evil little fuckers' and 'next time, lock them up before attempting to collect eggs', which I feel is still useful advice for a happy and healthy life.
