Being caught up in the self-improvement loop is better than indulging self-destructive alternatives. Still, you’re fundamentally operating from restlessness—wherein: Rather than letting the truest impulses find you, you are busy rushing things. Your mind compels you to bulletproof and forcefeed:
your ’’brain’’ with knowledge and information
your ’’persona’’ with newsletters, updates & feeds on social
your muscles and tendons with (over)corrective stretches and excessive exercise
your ’’gut’’ with supplements and supposedly nutritious foods
your ’’soul’’ with spiritual teachings
All too busy deferring and buffering against the very wholeness that you seek.
It took me 5 years after the break-up to finally admit to myself that all these years what I have been trying to do was to prove her wrong. I was trying to reestablish the world that got shattered. I was trying to put it back together. I was unwilling to let her [image] go until I showed her and proved myself that she made the wrong call. For I was unwilling to give up idealizing her. I was unwilling to see that she doesn’t get me and buys no longer into me and that’s why she disrespects and mistrusts me now. Me, me, me, me. [The more] I projected my fearful hopes into her [the more] she projected her fears into me. We barely ever met. It had to end. I wanted to break up with myself too.
Being alone feels like home. It’s a [neural] pattern that got imprinted early on. Solitude is where I feel I belong. Let me explain in glib victim-speak: According to my mother as an infant I was left alone a lot to my own devices so to speak. Apparently, mother played ego games with me and refused to jump to my cry-calls for she believes in the importance of methodically breaking down the will of a whimsical infant. Supposing that this is indeed what happened I would infer that in the face of the overwhelming emotional pain of the darkness of solitude I resolved to cope with it by relying more on my dreaming mind. When occasionally she appeared to comfort me—timed on her own terms—I felt overexcited [and bewildered I guess]. Engaging mother thus involved anxiety: hence the over-excitement. It became a big deal for me. Alone I’ve found relative peace and equilibrium while engaging and relating with [m]other involved imbalance and ambivalence. This imprinted a pattern in my neural makeup that decades later has determined the trajectory of my social life. Today I seem to compulsively seek solitude and a respite from the company of others. I deal with lots of stress in the realms of friendship and intimacy for I’ve adapted to relate from a state of neurosis there: a state of [hormonal] imbalance and [emotional] ambivalence. Exposure to the attention of others usually triggers a massive neurotic flare up in my psychology. Attention—I surmise—turns me on and overexcites me to the extent that I grew up deprived and starved of it. The chronic observer shuns attention but chronically pines for it—flip flopping between intense bouts of avoidance and indulgence.
Admittedly, this is nothing more but a neat little story that I could comfortably believe and use as an excuse to live love-poor as a recluse rather than lovingly, against the grain of my pain, feeling home everywhere and any time with any one: within the timeless dimension of the present moment. If there happens to be any grain of truth to this unilateral account the narrative most certainly goes back [multiple generations] deep down our family tree and involves an infinite amount of incomprehensible variables. This is where victim-speak falls short. What’s more, these very insights are borne precisely from the pain of the neurotic patterns I inhabit. It is what it is. It’s a given. All the precious pearls drop from the eyes of our mortal wound. Our neurotic pattern is the fountain of true love.
It may ease but it won’t cease. It’s not a tick to be fixed. It’s a given: a peculiar pattern that auto-curbs itself to the extent you move consciously [lovingly] with it.
/Meeting with friends is typically a big deal for me. Intimacy triggers a massive neurotic flare up in my psychology. There is a rush of adrenaline and a spike of cortisol, my body temp drops, my hands go cold, glycogen plummets, and I sweat profusely. I look calm but inside I fidget and feel compelled to show off, to impress, to please. Attention turns me on big time. It’s something chronic (and probably trauma-induced). When my perception is that I capture the imagination of someone and I feel felt and seen, I lose poise and I get overexcited. I proceed to indulge in showing off. It feels like getting a fix. Especially when someone is a partner in all this, i.e. their neurotic pattern is to be impressed upon, then the insane dance of the ’dumper’ and the ’dumpee’ ensues.
Given that social interactions in general are either fear- or love based when you experience a kind of nervous buzz taking over you can be certain that you are in a mode of fear-based behavior. Love based engagements are free of agitation and full of easeful joy.
The process of harmonization goes hand in hand with the development of sensitivity. If you start listening, for instance, to the nutritional needs and (pseudo)allergic reactions of your body you’ll inevitably become more sensitive to foods. The body is a powerful probe. Use it with ease. Or else… you’ll miss the mark. (As in: alignment gone awry. Srsly.)
Do you still feel (the feeling of feeling) terrified when your symptoms flare up? Do you still think there is a (right) way to (do things to) avoid the next episode that is already stalking you?
Are you still fixated on resolving your issues and escaping your symptoms once and for all? Are you still fixated on doing it the right way? Are you still working on the project of transcending the broken version of your self (that is at the mercy of the stressor-ridden contingency called its environment)?
Do you still buy into the idea that it’s not as safe over there as it is over here? Or, in other words, that the world is over there and you are over here?