Archive for humiliation

Self-destruction drive

Posted in health, mental health, personal with tags , , , , , on December 17, 2013 by theweirdphilosopher

Something I have great trouble with when I´m in this depressive, masochistic mindset described yesterday is that I´m having a hard time keeping the rules I made up for my own protection, that is: To not read anything that could trigger more rage and humiliation or increase my inner tension.

About two and a half months ago I stopped reading that one psychotherapy forum I was definitely too invested in emotionally. I´d spent too much time being angry at the people there, or feeling sorry for some obvious victims of therapy and trying to formulate my answers in a way that kept me out of fights while getting my point across. Aside from the aspect of time-wasting, though, most importantly I wanted to remove myself from those peoples´ voices and opinions. I was hoping that my new real life duties and the study of science would speed up that recovery. Maybe even allow for my previous ability to think rationally to return. Instead, however, I became depressed.

I always have withdrawal symptoms when I´m online – the Internet seems boring, something seems to be missing, I don´t have any place to visit. For a while I could replace it with the NaNoWriMo forums, but that´s pretty much over now (and besides, some stuff on there made me angry, too). This kind of drama addiction really runs deep. I still feel like I was pulled away from a fight I needed to win, or from a puzzle I needed to solve, and at times I rebel against it on the inside.

On really depressed days, however, I don´t want to return in order to finally prove all my thoughts right; I want to return in order to get myself hurt. I want to read things that trigger me in the hope that finally something inside of me will break and that rock-bottom humility, that icky moral masochism will take me over and not go away again, no matter what happens.

When you support an inconsistent football team as a fairly new fan, you might find yourself always  wavering between extremes. When your team wins, you think everything is looking up, everything is going to be okay, you´re never going to lose again. When your team loses, you are convinced that you´re going to get relegated, or at least that you´re permanently a mid-table team and that all your wins were down to good luck or bad opposition.  I feel like I´m a little bit like that, and that´s exhausting. Instead of aiming to not let defeats drag me down so much, I aim for not rising so high when I win. Maybe that makes sense, it might be more economic, who knows. (But then again, is it, really? Constantly having to suppress happy thoughts and visions of success? Getting OCDish about it and knocking on wood every time I have one? That´s annoying and destracting.)

But there is more to the urge to make myself miserable. To some extent it is just very morbid curiosity. When I´m depressed I feel both more ill and more sane. I feel like I finally have the opportunity to get intimate with what I´m running from when I´m not depressed. I kind of hope that this way I don´t have to be afraid anymore in the future, that I will be free. But I´ve shown yesterday how this is an illusion, how my demons will always and forever pin the fault on me. If it doesn´t shatter me, if it doesn´t change me, I´m doing it wrong. Still, I just haven´t given up on the possibility that I could free myself if only I could make myself agree with every accusation and then see how long it really stings. If it wasn´t for that other part of me that says: “But if those accusations don´t demoralize you anymore, have you gained inner strength or have you lost your morals?”, I might just do it.

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Rage

Posted in personal with tags , on November 17, 2013 by theweirdphilosopher

I always thought that my greatest flaw was arrogance, but I´m starting to believe I might have been mistaken – maybe because I was called arrogant so often. Actually, my real Achilles´ heel might be my propensity towards rage.

A good deal of my furious temper might actually be hereditary, though, as with any traits that run in a family, it is hard to tell what is nature and what is nurture. My temper isn´t solely a bad thing; much of my writing stems from being provoked by something and having to set it right. This is exhausting, though, as it forces me to constantly be more clever than those who angered me. Also, it is rather painful to be so easy to provoke. It makes you easy prey for anyone versed in psychology.

My rage is, in a way, a kind of stimulant. With the right amount of emotional distance it can inspire me towards putting a lot of work and thought into my writing and the result can be quite satisfying. If my rage goes overboard, however, it dulls my intellect, and that is one of the most torturous feelings I know. It makes me feel incompetent and powerless, and also, it makes me say rash, lofty or just plain incorrect things I´ll later feel ashamed of. I might have a furious refutation of whatever idea angered me echoing in my head, but I cannot seem to write it down coherently. It is a phenomenon that can cost me whole days.

My rage also makes me feel alone. It separates me from other people who all seem to have a different experience of most situations than me, and, even worse, it alienates them. They find me scary or immature and don´t want anything to do with me anymore. I realize it while it happens, and yet I cannot stop myself from raging. Their lack of rage and my isolation make me even angrier.

The most unforgivable thing you can do to me is provoke me on purpose, especially when you present yourself as psychologically superior (that is: smile serenely, refuse to be emotionally affected by anything I say or do, act as if I´m the only person in the world who would react the way I do). It fills me with so much hatred, with such a sense of humiliation that my mind seems to race on the spot: All my thoughts are revolving around it, my whole body reacts to it with inner turmoil, and yet it´s all going nowhere. I´m stuck in this state of mind and I cannot seem to free myself from it.

I´m so ashamed of this vulnerability that usually I instinctively deny it. It seems to prove something terrible about me. Sometimes – though definitely not today – I feel more tolerant towards this side of me. As soon as I encounter any triggers, however, I´m right back to where I started. Like I wrote before, this vulnerability doesn´t seem to go away.

Even though I feel so vulnerable and at times pathetic, I cannot imagine ever wanting to stop getting angry about things. It seems to tamper with my integrity, whatever may be left of it. I think, though, my sense of being forced to change that part of me unless I want to suffer comes from the power apparent psychological superiority has over me. My raging against my own vulnerability makes it feel like if “they” ever get one up on me, I cannot remain the person I am; so if I want to remain the person I am, I have to win against “them” first. I need either their permission or their defeat.

What I notice, too, is how judgmental I actually am. Again, this is a trait which I don´t think is solely bad. To begin with, I´m not sure if anyone can be completely non-judgmental in the first place. Those who believe to be, for example, still judge those who aren´t. When Dr. Stoneface accused me of devaluating this or that – wasn´t he, too, giving a moral judgment about my behavior? The tricky thing about therapy culture is that it pretends to be non-judgmental, while most of the time, in fact, it has its very own set of values and codes of conduct, and if you violate them, you will be judged, just that in this context it is called diagnosis.

My mother once said to me that it´s not enough for me to be right; when I think I´m right I won´t stop until everybody else agrees with me. She has a point there. When I´m thoroughly indignant, there´s just right or wrong. Another trait of mine that doesn´t fit my milieu of origin. It´s so low-brow, being a fanatic. On many occasions, I hated my family simply for appearing superior to me. They seemed to be able to fulfill the ideal of the academic who merely sees grey, nothing so radical as black or white. It was not really, however, an inability to differentiate on my part that made me look like a rambling maniac. Merely an inability to control my anger.

It´s like only now I can see how lost I was the entire time. Looking at my life under the aspect of rage seems like a promising perspective. Not for fundamentally changing, but for becoming a tiny little less vulnerable, maybe. It has to be possible to find out how that rage works and what exactly triggers it – without believing any of the explanations that trigger me.

 

Gibberish about anger and humiliation

Posted in health, mental health, personal, rants with tags , , , on April 1, 2012 by theweirdphilosopher

Uhm…wow. First off, I´m really surprised (and delighted) that even after a ten day lack of activity on this blog people still seem to look at it. It is almost eerie that my negativity doesn´t scare people off straight away, because in real life it usually does. So…uh…thanks for stopping by.

I could make this post another top notch rant because after today´s game and the things I just read I feel really, really pissed off, but the last time I truly let the beast out a reader asked me why I keep on looking into stuff which I know will make me angry.

Yeah, why? I mean…why do I torture myself like that?

I wrote about how I´m an anger addict on some level, but I think that´s just a label which covers up my lack of an explanation. It is also a way to wear with pride an accusation that is bound to pop up at some point. “You just want to be angry.” – “Yeah, I´m an anger addict, I love to hate, so fuck off or I´ll hate you too!”

I cannot stand that accusation to begin with. There are Oh. So. Many. People out there who claim that they are specifically understanding. They don´t just judge you for you (clearly-out-of-line) behavior. They want to know what makes you act that way. Why do you rant like this? They always let on that you should be grateful that someone is ready to listen to you. The majority of people (“da evil society”) will simply reject you (uh, bollocks, “the majority of people” probably love a good rant). They assume that there is some subconscious problem that makes you so angry. They name the problem and expect you to be healed. You aren´t healed. Disappointed bawling: “You just want to be angry!!!” Implied meaning: You are evil and uncooperative, you fooled me into thinking you have a problem, but if I can´t fix it, then it´s not really a problem, it´s just you intentionally being difficult!

I tell you what little Miss-Helper-Syndrome: You think you are so special and empathic and understanding, even towards outcasts of society, but true sympathy for the devil does not stop at cases like mine. They are were it starts.  

Really, if you are serious about understanding those who are inexplicably irrational, self-defeating and “evil” then don´t assume you will find a pretty, shiny rose garden of good intentions under their tough facade. If you cannot love and understand me when I want to be angry and difficult and childish, then don´t claim that you love and understand me. I don´t exist just so you can feel like a good person.

Uh…how exactly did I get here? I was talking about how I hate the whole accusation associated with the anger addiction label. Yes. Now what you just got was my this-is-how-big-my-balls-are-you-really-want-a-fight?-reply. A pre-emptive counter attack on anyone who dares to judge or criticize me for being-angry-even-though-I-don´t-need-to. Oh, and a whole lot of bitterness that stems from unfortunate experiences with former friends who happen to be hobby psychologists. Fuck them.

Now for the ugly stuff: Being accused of wanting to be angry kills me if it hits me unprepared. You know…the shame! I´m cheerfully ranting, believing I´m entertaining everybody else who are glad that somebody eloquently puts into words what annoys them about the world – and they are just put off by it! It´s like letting somebody run straight against a wall.

When I let someone in on my rantings, especially when they are unjust, childish and almost self-ironic (but really just almost, like when you´ve just lost against a better team and rant about how you hate their stupid striker always scoring goals against your team, I mean, hello, what a fucking twat!) it is an expression of trust. I trust them that they will accept my feelings and help me deal with them (you need to let out your frustration somehow, after all).  Of course I know my anger is unreasonable, that´s why it is so hard to bear. That´s why it hurts so much, why it is so humiliating, why I need to get it out of my system, why I need some kind of comforting validation from a like-minded friend. “Yes, we both know that striker is actually good, handsome and a great sportsman and we´d love to have him on our team, but come on…everybody hates a Gary Stu, right? Arrogant prick, hope he scores an own goal next!” A little bit of banter, and soon both parties will feel better.

This type of behavior comes with some risks, though. You basically expose how much of a sore loser you are (because we are all supposed to be serene and fair and all handshakes when we lose), so the others are in a good position to feel morally superior (and show it). Well, and when they do, the result is obviously shame. You have just been shown that your behavior is unacceptable. It is not amusing, it is not original, it is simply childish and everybody is embarrassed on your behalf. The result? I decide that I will say nothing for now, but one of those days I will do something that punches you in the stomach so hard that you will never get up again, and then I will spit straight into your face as the whole world laughs at you. I get such vivid vengeful fantasies that I clench my fists. It is quite amazing they never ended up in anybody else´s jaw.

Okay, and what exactly were those five paragraphs good for? I´m losing the plot if I ever had one.  I think basically it is about why I defend being unreasonably angry. Yes. “You just want to be angry” = “You´re anger is unreasonable.” Unreasonable anger is something I´m very prone to. I easily feel shamed or humiliated and my reaction is to lash out against everyone around.

The odd thing about this is that I don´t react like that to direct humiliation. Just to implied humiliation. When my team loses the match and the opposing supporters are celebrating, I feel so humiliated that I want to smash their faces in (no, I´m not a hooligan. I´m a girl, I only self-harm *cliché-alert*). If somebody directly spat into my face and called me whatever name, however, I´d probably feel some weird, calm excitement going all through my body. I would immediately surrender and give up on myself. Yes, sure, I am a *cunt, bitch, idiot, worthless, childish, deranged*. I would almost embrace the insult. I´d feel oddly at peace with myself. Weird phenomenon, isn´t it?