I need to journal more about my experience with microdosing. I didn't journal at all this week. I didn't write at all this week. I wrote something last week, and wanted to celebrate by taking a break and then that break became longer and compulsive, and I guess it felt good to feel like I deserved something. I haven't written in a week and I feel plugged up, and the plug is frustrating me, like something needs to move through but can't. I was going to take a drive out to some hot springs today but decided not to because I knew I really needed to write, it became something of a crisis.
Paranoia was starting to creep in. I've been having emotional swings, too, going from feelings of shame and fear to sadness, up to tranquility, down to resignation, over to arrogance, back to terror. I keep thinking, "I can't do this." I've been writing and feeling guilty, as if I shouldn't be doing something I love. I should be sitting here waiting for Tuesday, being a good boy so I don't get fired. I have to do exactly what my employer wants and expects all the time. I haven't figured out that balance yet: one where I'm actually participating in my own life, and not living it for others. I liked that thought, because, I thought it meant that I could act out. "Poor me."
I was thinking of driving Uber which I've been doing lately, how it's triggering at times because I used to "cruise." You know what cruising is. It's exactly what it sounds like. And I would wind up against my will in the parking lot of some massage parlor trying not to go in, and rationalizing all the ways I could. "I'll just get a massage, I deserve it," and so on. I've been getting intense cravings on the weekends lately. The Friday bell rings and I'm like Fred Flinstone sliding down the back of that dinosaur ready to "play." Play for me is isolation, and addiction, hoping I can get some pussy, or something. Praying I'm worthy of it, that it will finally happen. Of course on the weekends no one will know. It will be like it doesn't count. It's just like an alcoholic who vows to not drink during the week, and "white knuckles it," praying to get to Friday.
Of course the shame on Monday will tell the tale. The bleary eyes and fear, and that's if you're lucky enough to make it in. It's not so easy to pull oneself out of a tailspin. Sometimes the weekend goes till Tuesday and starts on Thursday. But so on these Uber drives I wind up in grocery stores like I used to do, hunting. Craving intensifying. And even though I don't do anything I blame and criticize myself, and generally believe I'm an awful person and a failure rather than accepting what's happening, and forgiving myself. Somehow the blame seems like a better alternative. It's like what other people want, or it seems to be a guarantee that it won't happen again. But no matter how hard I try I'll never be perfect.
What I've been attempting lately is to accept everything that comes up. My homophobia, fear, terror...craving. I'm not a bad person or a failure for experiencing these things. And I'm not a bad person for wanting to isolate. I can make mistakes and it's ok. It's not life or death. Why do I think it's life or death, because of the critic? The critic seems like it wants to kill me sometimes. And sometimes I'm afraid it will succeed. But the only way forward is to accept it all. Most of my problems come from me judging myself, and most of the time I'm judging my thoughts. I judge others the same way. Just now I was watching Seinfeld, and I wasn't open to the whole experience. I didn't want to see egotism in the actors, or parts that fell flat or weren't funny. I didn't want to see the truth: that they were humans and humans are imperfect and imperfection means the unknown. I couldn't handle it. I didn't want to be different, maybe, and not like something. Maybe it was egotism, not wanting to watch something not good. What world would I be in if Seinfeld wasn't good? One that was of my own crafting. Maybe the thought of being with my perceptions was too scary. I didn't want to be alone. I wanted to be like everyone else. But what about being unique? And what about accepting myself for those very perceptions. Humans are different from one another, and that's ok, and that may be what makes life interesting.
"No, that's awful. I'll be alone forever." Even now, what I'm writing, isn't new or authentic. It's regurgitated. I can feel it coming from a place of fear. But If I keep writing from here then maybe I'll get to the other place, the one of authenticity, love, and joy. "No," I think, "it's not good enough." I'm afraid of that place. That place where there's nothing to hold onto. We're all in that place all the time anyway, control is an illusion, they say. You can try to hold on but really you just hold on so tight you create a lot more pain than if you were to let go and let it happen. And when you start to let go you can ease into it and see that it's not so bad, like a kid who refuses to eat broccoli he's never tried. You fight and you fight and you fight and you think fighting feels good until it doesn't feel good anymore, or you somehow give in and eat the broccoli, just to make it go away, and you see it's not so bad. It's kind of bland but you like the texture, the little florets on top that are bumpy and rough like a cat's tongue, and the terrible crunchy stalk but something about that texture awakens something and makes you curious, and maybe you start to wonder what carrots are like...
This week has been tough. This new office setting an adjustment. I still try to isolate while I sit at my cubicle. I try to make myself small as people walk by so they won't stop and talk to me, and loom over me when they talk and so there's no escape, and nothing I can do. If I hide my boss won't come and ask me to do something, or criticize me and ask me why I haven't done something else. I need a periscope so I can see my boss coming. I just want to be left alone to watch my soccer and do the work that comes in. But I don't know how to do most of the work and I have to ask, and all my worst insecurities are right on the surface, and on top of all that my boss snaps at me when I ask questions. He gives me this terrible exasperated look when I interrupt him typing emails because he won't let anything off his plate. He peels his glasses off his face and stares at me like a father who's one mistake away from pulling out the belt. So I want to be perfect to prevent this and being perfect means not making noise, and it surely means not asking questions. It means knowing everything all the time and not needing help.
And yet I want to prove myself in this environment and make myself right for it, rather than expressing what I'm feeling and saying, "you know what, this isn't right." There's a certain kind of resignation taking place that I feel and maybe that's making it all worse. It's like it's own kind of freeze response. I tell myself it's not that bad because for the most part I'm left alone, but that's even scarier and makes me think I'm doing something else wrong, like I should be doing something and then I'm waiting for the ax to fall. I tell myself I have to trust what's going on: that if nothing's happening that's because nothing is happening, and that if something is wrong, or I'm doing something wrong, someone will tell me, but still I try to do more work to make myself indispensable, or untouchable, I work harder to try to prove myself. I take on more so I'll be worthy and I try to anticipate needs. This path leads to getting assigned more work at the same pay, taking on more and more so I can prove I deserve to be there and that I'm valuable and worthwhile, then getting overwhelmed and feeling resentful because I feel like I can't say anything because doing a lot of work is what makes me worthwhile, and if I can't do that then what am I? I'm stuck. Just like I'm stuck in all this trauma.
Maybe I'm policing myself. If I'm keeping such a vigilant eye on my thoughts (because I'm not doing much) then how will I be able to do anything? I feel stuck in a lot of these emotions. They keep coming up but they don't move through. Writing helps. Getting into nature helps. The other day I was feeling stressed after work and I knew I needed to get into nature and go for a hike, but I hadn't been to the gym in a couple days. The idea of skipping filled me with guilt and anxiety, but I made it to the trail. What's one day of not going to the gym when I have a lifetime of working out ahead of me? My lesson, sometimes, is learning how to not do. Not doing is sometimes the antidote to compulsion, while other times doing is the antidote. Learning to know when to do and when to not do is as much the recovery as the recovery itself. But I'll say that in working out, recovery is all about rest, and being gentle, and taking time. Maybe I push so hard because I hate the feeling of being stuck, or stagnant, like I'm not going anywhere or doing anything. Maybe I'm fighting my emotions or running from ones that are really scary. Maybe that's fear of intimacy, maybe that's a worth thing. My worth comes from doing rather than being, and so, I have to be constantly doing. But as many people have noted, that's no solution to shame, no matter how much I want it to be. Maybe it relates to my freeze response. I don't really know. Maybe I can start learning to be ok with "I don't know." I've been fighting against "I don't know" for a really long time, and I'm really tired.
I'm microdosing psilocybin by the way, in case you were wondering.
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