Tag Archives: self sabotage

Disjointed

It just is, here, now

No time to sabotage this

Not true, whispers soul

 

Reflections, they change

The hush of silence tells all

Too little, too late

 

Sometimes the fall comes

No fist can keep the blood here

No heart beats that fast

 

Don’t know if you care

I don’t know if this hurts you

But I need to breathe

 

 

by Daphne Shadows

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Filed under Not that Kind of Poetry

Hate and Deprive

Do you ever just start questioning everything in your life?

 

Why do I do this?

Why did I think that?

Why do I waste my time on that?

How dare I take time to do that – and anyway, why do I?

What’s the point in this?

Yada, yada, yada.

You get the point.

 

Recently- okay that’s a lie.

For  a while now, I’ve been questioning myself on why on earth I think it’s okay for me to take time out of my day to read a book – something I enjoy – *gasp*!

How dare I!

How selfish!

 

Self hate is a pretty strong accusation so for the sake of you guys not living inside my head and knowing everything that goes on there, we’re just going to go with, I’ve been depriving myself of pretty much everything I enjoy.

Why?

Because I’d feel guilty, bad, wrong, selfish, like a horrible person, if I spent any time taking care of myself.

It’s like I’m depriving myself of love.

Not allowing myself to be happy or do anything simply because I’d like to.

 

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But I’m only skimming the surface just yet, so let’s keep it to what I’ve discovered so far.

 

Last week, I was in a lot of pain (medical issues, don’t worry, I’m not missing any limbs), and it hurt to lie down in bed, even though I was exhausted.

I’m lying there, praying for sleep, wishing against wish that I could wink out of consciousness and fall onto the pillow of being unaware.

And the thought pops into my head –

Why not grab my book, go in the kitchen and read?

 

At this point, even my “hate and deprive yourself” programming couldn’t break into my pain induced thoughts, and so I got up quietly, grabbed the book I’d been sipping (because I hadn’t really sat down and read in quite a while) and went into the living room/kitchen, turned on the light, sat against the wall, and read.

For a few hours.

At about one in the morning, I broke my awareness away from my book and looked at the clock. Deciding to go to bed, I realized I felt better. Happier. Calmer.

 

For a few hours I’d ignored the pain, hadn’t even been aware of it.

For a few hours I’d not felt like an emotional wreck. I’d felt kinda good, actually.

And then it clicked.

All the questioning I’d been doing – why do I allow myself to selfishly waste time and read a book when I could be working on something I need to get done? Never mind that I couldn’t sleep. Never mind that I wasn’t being productive lying in bed and becoming more and more miserable as sleep evaded me. Why did I think it was okay to take time to do something that would simply make me happy?

 

Because it makes me happy.

It gives me some peace.

Reading allows me to escape reality for a little while. It takes me somewhere else.

I read for the love of stories. For the amazing thing that happens when I disappear into another world.

 

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And it made me realize that even on small levels like this, I’ve been punishing myself for doing anything that makes me happy.

Now, I’m sure I’ve said that before. But I’ve blurred the lines of boundaries and my rights as a human being so badly that saying that hasn’t really sunk in, made any sense.

Last week, it made sense. I went from, “uh, yeah, sure, I’m aware that I do that” to “oh, I accept that I’ve been doing this, it’s bad, and I need and want to stop if I want to be happy and healthy”.

 

Did this magically make my bad habit of feeling guilty and hating on myself if I wanted to/did read for a little while?

No, of course not.

I’m a human. Humans are stubborn and it’s hard to break habits, good or bad.

But at least I’m working on it now.

And anytime that not so little voice tells me that I’m horrible for taking time to read – I smother it!

 

Here’s for continued vigilance to that end…

 

 

 

(***A note to my readers. If I haven’t responded to your comments yet, rest assured – I will. I have read and I love your comments!)

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Filed under Stream of Consciousness

I Sabotage Myself

I sabotage myself. No two ways around it.

How do I do this, you might ask?

 

Like any good moron, I do the same thing time and time again. When I’ve bled myself dry of all inspiration, unhappy with myself and everything else in existence, I finally get so moody and miserable that I realize I’ve suffocated myself of all that feeds me. Again.

Creative types need inspiration. When the world turns to bone dry, drab greys of work and no fun, I lose it. I start writing because it’s something I have to do. Not because it’s something I want to do.

 

But that didn’t really answer you. How do I sabotage myself? I cut myself off from everything I enjoy, everything which brings out raw emotion inside me. For a creative person, that pretty much equals death.

I get up, do what 100% absolutely, needs to be done. I eat, exercise, sleep, make dinner, write a bit, and do whatever else I have to get done that day.

I do not, repeat – do not – read a book, tweet, blog, look for new music, research things not related to my current novel, look up quotes, fantasy art, watch reruns, sketch, search for new blogs or people on twitter, organize my work space, and something else I’m probably forgetting. I do nothing fun. At all.

Why? Because for some reason, I have again, shamed myself out of it.

I have no idea why I guilt myself out of enjoying the little things until I burn myself out. Why do I feel I must work work work! or I’m failing at life? It’s dumb, I know. But I guess I haven’t figured that out yet. It’s kind of like a phobia. I can SAY this, understand it, and reasonably accept what I’m saying, yet the behavior is still there.

*head desk*

 

WHAT’S MY ISSUE?

I don’t think the problem starts within me. Instead, I’m taking too much stalk in the opinions of others. Mainly, society’s.

No fun. Work. That’s responsible, productive, that’s what you’re supposed to do, right?

I get so caught up in what everyone else thinks I should be doing with my life that I forget it’s my life. So I cut everything I enjoy out of my life.

Again, pretty dumb of me. I need to enjoy life. Or else there’s no point to it. Why not enjoy the time we have to live as a 100% unique creature? Be inspired. Be happy.

Even after I’ve remember all of this and begun to add in what inspires me, I still have to jolt myself back into writing for the right reasons.

And this takes a lot more work than you’d think.

 

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WHAT TO DO ABOUT IT

I knew before starting draft #4 that I didn’t want to do that this time around. I want to remember why I write. Because I love it, I enjoy it. It’s who I am. Not a requirement.

I started cutting myself off from any inspiration before I began writing again – but caught myself this time, a few weeks ago.

Yay me!

However, I still have to remind myself why I’m writing every time I go to write. Negative processes tend to stick in the brain’s memory a lot longer than positive ones do.

So I wrote myself a note. I do that a lot; write myself out of my issues. I also write many lists of what I’m doing, why I’m doing it, and where I want to go with it. If I’m having a particularly hard time organizing my thoughts, I write them all down so they’re not floating around playing battleship with my marbles.

This time however, I decided to write myself a note on how to fix my writing issues, and post them on my corkboard. That’d be the green sticky notes all over this post.

 

I joined this group called #amwriting which I found on Twitter on February 1st when a friend recommended it. You can look it up HERE. When you join, they have you type in your writing goals for the month. They then post them on their website for the length of that month, so everyone can see them. They ask that you blog on your writing on a weekly basis so that everyone in the group can then cheer you on. Pretty cool, right?

But blog every week about my writing?

Ha ha!

Not happening.

I’m thinking I’ll blog on my writing issues, endeavors, speed bumps, crazy squirrel-aliens, and accomplishments once (maybe! twice) a month.

I won’t bore you with the actual writing in and outs. Maybe I’ll write about something I find strangely interesting that I found while researching. Or something I did that is probably embarrassing but gives an insight to how I write.

I’ll let you know how I’m doing with my writing – where I’m at concerning my goals. I’ll incorporate SOMETHING that has to do with my writing. I just won’t get all “writer who talks about every uber idiosyncrasy of writing” on you. 😉

 

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My February goals:

1. Get halfway through writing draft #4.

2. Get back into the swing of blogging once a week. Get excited about it again.

3. Read a book I enjoy every day.

You can find my monthly goals HERE, along with everyone else’s goals for this month that is partaking in #amwriting.

 

I have now been writing draft #4 for 11 days. Its so awesome to be at the actual writing stage. Not that I don’t enjoy the species, world, setting, character building and plotting. I just crave to write. It’s who I am.

😀

 

Do you sabotage yourself? Why? How do you fix yourself when you realize you’ve done it again?

Anyone else forget to not listen to society’s opinions to the point of destroying their sense of self?

Anyone else join #amwriting this month?

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Filed under Stream of Consciousness