I wish I blogged more, but…

I chose to finish a project first. It’s a burden. I took it on a year ago, I do it sporadically, with only occasional enthusiasm. I don’t know if the usual excuse “I don’t have time” is valid. And now the client is losing patience.

Quite turmoiling. I would sooo much rather be blogging. Or writing a book. As soon as I finish the project, I’m starting (or continuing) a book.

I miss the calming effect writing has on me. And I miss you.

I started to read posts on the Reader site, and I needed to consciously stop. Sorry to not have read your posts.

Be well! See you soon, I hope.


My child is ill. I hate she has fever. If she had fever enough I’d give her some medicine and we’d get to sleep some.

I hate she’s connected to my boob to chew. I hate I can’t go brush my teeth and hang the laundry. I went to brush my teeth fifteen minutes ago and used the time to pick at my skin. I hate I’ve wasted the time.

I hate I’ll be a zombie tomorrow. I hate working sleepy. I hate I have this much work that I don’t do. I hate I’ll have to choose between work and staying home with her tomorrow. I hate myself for wishing the first option. I’m awful as a mother.

I hate that my children cling to me. Don’t they see I’m no good?

I hate hatred. I’m on the path to the dark side of the Force. No, I’m already there.

And so on.

I’ll go try to brush my teeth and stop complaining. I don’t have a choice of hatred. I only have the right to feel it sometimes. Awful. Still is. And I hate it.

A not-so-extraordinary weekend

After a weekend of two birthday parties, spent with my mother, grandmother, mother- and father-in-law, my father and my husband, a telephone call to my aunt, and the ordinary offspring drama, I was a ruin yesterday evening. This morning wasn’t much better.

After a day’s work and a vent to my coworkers, things look just a bit better today.

I wanted to post this post yesterday as a cry for help but couldn’t find a certain word and gave up.

In short, I’m thankful to be employed and to have coworkers.

The power of belief

An interesting fact: I gave birth on the exact date I have chosen.

I had a day, a reason, and I dared to believe I can influence fate (or my organism or whatever). I believed and I still do, Fate is as crazy as me. As crazy as anyone and as bored as to try something out of the ordinary now and then.

Well, the date was in the most likely week of my pregnancy to give birth in, to be honest. So I and Fate didn’t need much energy to make the arrangement.

I thought of this fact today after I saw a film about a Jewish woman who arranged her wedding on the exact date she had chosen and believed God would find her the right groom until then – if only she believed it, if only she was determined enough.

Belief is not the same as hope. She dated, travelled, tried hard, and also didn’t waver in her determination. She rejected a few men, and was rejected a few times. And voila, it happened.

This I call the power of belief and coincidence (a.k.a. alignment of fate).

My daughter’s birth was not something that was my business only, if we’re talking about higher purpose, it was at least my daughter’s business too. And the woman from the film needed a man who had a coinciding fate.

My belief is, anything is possible. There need to be belief, determination and coinciding fate of everyone involved.

Dare to dare and miracles will happen.

Towards gaining self-esteem

Thoughts I have occasionally:

I’m such an awful person, it’s better I’d be dead or far away from doing damage.

I’m such a different person than everybody else, I’ve hard time fitting in and I always struggle.

The talk-back:

But yet again, different is not bad, different is good for the mass. I’m on the far side of a Gaussian distribution. We were always told the far side was better than the anonimity of the majority.

If nothing else, the few specimen that are out of the majority are at least good for biological (or sociological) diversity.

So I only need to find my place and use in this world.

The next bout of insidious thoughts:

If I don’t find a use for me, my diversity is for nought.

If I do find my use, but don’t do anything to be useful (like now), then I’m wasting my life. It will be taken from me (aka I’ll get terminally ill).

No conclusion yet:

I know I shouldn’t be thinking in this way, but this line of thoughts pops up a lot. I’m acknowledging it here, but I I’ll yet to think the way out.

Strokes of insight

Depression is like a call for acknowledgement, at least in a way, at least to me.
It’s a bit like “Look at me, I’m depressed, won’t you help me?!”

It’s a cry for help. (By the way, we (I) hide it. So no one actually hears this cry.) Many times, I feel depression as a tantrum. I want someone to notice, someone to see me as I am, to stand beside me and to comfort me. I’m too proud to point it out. Or maybe I believe only if someone noticed by themselves, would it mean they care about me. Then when I notice what I’m doing, I start to hate myself for it.

Most of the time, people don’t notice. This is the first fault in such my behaviour (using depression as a tool for getting attention). And again, one of the reasons I get depressed is not being independent. (Or, what came first, the chicken or the egg?) This is the second fault in my behaviour. I should start to learn to deal with my own problems. There’s nobody to do it for me.

What am I now? Sad? Angry?
I’m mostly satisfied to have analysed this thought.

TS 6: Egophobia

A post which was not posted when it was written. (A couple of months ago?) I think I thought then it wasn’t finished or perhaps that it was crap. I won’t have it go to waste and I won’t spend time making it complete or better. I’ll just post it as it is. Maybe I just forgot to hit Publish.
Anyway, the point of this blog is to have therapy sessions. Who knows how many crappy therapy sessions shrinks have behind those closed doors.

– – – – – – –

I feel like crap. I hate myself, I think I’m of no use in this world. And I can’t go to sleep because I’m disgusted with myself, how I’ve put my children to sleep, how I can’t talk with my husband (or thinking that I might be entitled to more help, which I probably am not), how I don’t deserve to go to sleep if I didn’t do what I had on a list today (and failed to do many days before), and for trying to do the impossible and yet thinking that the impossible is just in my head and I’m just looking for excuses.
I feel alone (misunderstood) and want to be alone because who’d want to be with me when I’m such a bad company.

Jack and Don scream at me to stop, otherwise, Mos can’t be heard.

Most days, my thoughts revolve along these lines. Today I’ve decided I do something about it. I came here. I coined the term egophobia, because I can’t stand being alone with (such) my thoughts. Of course, the perfectionistic side of me forced me to research if this is a valid term. Not. It doesn’t exist, according to the Internet. We have autophobia and many other phobias, and we have egophobes, according to the Urban Dictionary. My ol’ suffering falls only under the self-hatred category or most of the articles call it plain anxiety.
It’s a bit disappointing.

It’s also a bit like a cold shower. I guess, I had my tantrum, and now I’m ready to listen and be cured (as if I believed in the positive outcome).

Too much is going on in my head. I’ve always wanted to be able to shut down my thoughts. And voila, watch what you wish for, I’ve highly developed repression (defence mechanism) and almost no memories. Pathetic. I’m a terrible person. An awful parent, and … here we go again. A loop.

I want to go to sleep. I have a severe cold, a project to finish at home, many projects to finish at work, and my daughter is ill so I cannot send her to the babysitter. And when she’s better, my turn won’t come. It’s always someone’s else’s turn to be ill. Can’t I have a day off? It’s a rhetoric question. No wonder I don’t want to grow up. Being a responsible adult sucks. It’s a depressing prospect.

— [Jack, maybe Don] — Aren’t you glum.
— [He’s quite sarcastic, but it seems to be working. I feel a bit insulted so I fight back.] — 

Well then.

— [Mos] — You’ve successfully stopped the negative thoughts loop. 

Sort of. I’m also too tired to play them anymore. I resign for today.

So how can I help you? 

Uhm… by telling me something positive about me?

You know that if you are too tired to think straight, I’m too tired to think objectively? But I’ll try.
For a start, you do try to get better. You try to change, you keep pushing (I know, you say it’s the stubbornness), you keep standing back up when defeated. 

It’s hard. Why couldn’t I just win and be over with it? Is it just me who’s making things more complicated than they are? My husband says so. I’m a complicator. But I don’t feel like one. I feel everyone else is making a wrong picture of myself while, in fact, they are being complicators. Perhaps. I can’t judge. I believe the truth is what the majority says.

By the way, I’ve watched a few cartoons today. To feel better. Because I don’t have time (or money) for reading which is super best for curing my depression. Cartoons are the second best thing. For which I also don’t have time but I was really really low.

— [Jack] — You know changing a subject is a form of a defence mechanism?

Did it help?

It did improve my overall mood. But it didn’t help with being behind work. As does not to write this post. I should better be sleeping.


About the survivor guilt – some other time.