A song exploring the communication problems between those of us with chronic pain and mental illness and those without.
So, yesterday’s post got me into some trouble with a friend. I wouldn’t have wanted to deliberately disturb or hurt my friend, of course. But, hey, it does seem to be a borderline thing. We lose friends like leaves falling off trees. It’s not easy being green and it isn’t easy being (and staying) a friend to a squishy brainer. People that don’t suffer with these conditions tend to misinterpret the actions of a borderline. At first, it made me question whether I should be so open in this blog. But, I appreciate knowing I’m not alone when I read other bloggers on here who also struggle with mental illness. One blogger that I follow has shared things I haven’t dared share (they would make my friend run a mile – or several miles, in fact, and put up a giant wall and maybe get attack dogs), but I so appreciate that she has written of these things, because I can identify, and it’s a comfort to know I’m not alone in going through the situations she’s written so frankly about.
I’m happy to report that I didn’t lose this particular friend. He’s decided to stick around for now, and hopefully long term. But, I think I explained myself poorly last night when he came over and confronted me about what he felt to be ’emotional blackmail’.
All the borderlines are now nodding their heads. This sounds familiar, doesn’t it? We get accused of being emotionally manipulative. We are extremely emotional, our feelings are overwhelming. And, when we can either no longer keep the mask in place and hold them in, or we simply choose – like on this blog – to express how we feel and what we are going through, it makes “the normals” uncomfortable and many feel they must rationalise it by accusing us of being this way just to control them. But, while I can’t speak for my fellow borderlines, I can say that I never intend to manipulate another person, and I feel that if THEY feel manipulated, then that’s more THEIR hang-up than mine. I’m sharing how I feel, not to get something out of anyone else, but to rant and rage at life as it is. Sure, it’s great if the regular non-squishy brain types find the blog informative, if it dispels some stigma, if it softens a few negative opinions about those of us who struggle with chronic pain and mental illness, but that’s not the main reason I blog. This is my place where the mask can come off. And, yes, sometimes, the gloves come off, as well. This my place to be brutal. But, it’s not a brutality aimed to hurt anyone – it isn’t malicious, even when I am furiously angry at life – well, it might be malicious toward life itself, yes. But, it isn’t a maliciousness aimed against any person in order to try and get my way. It’s just me having a place to talk, to really talk, to bring it out in the open instead of suffering with it in silence.
So, some points:
1. When I post here, the farthest thing from my mind is how what I’m saying may pressure you into doing something for me. Again, if you feel that way, it might be an issue of your perception. What it is NOT is my manipulation!
2. When I post here, as uncomfortable (or, in some cases, impossible) as it may be for some to understand, this is where I am right now. It isn’t something I chose. I am going to repeat that: it isn’t something I chose. The question is, should I choose to openly share about it. And, as I say, that’s what I’ve been asking myself today: should I continue to post my experiences and feelings and how chronic illness, and life itself, affects me? Or, should I stop? Should I bury it. Never expound on it. Only refer to it in songs that people can either ignore or choose to interpret in another way? This sounds harsh, but is your comfort more important than mine? I’m honestly – and, without malice – asking the question.
3. No, I don’t want to feel the way I do all the time, but I don’t think that my mental illness necessarily makes me wrong all the time. I do see a lot of things very differently, yes. But, I’m not convinced that just because my brain is squishy means everything I think is messed up. I am a creative person, and expressing myself here is an outlet, an unleashing and releasing. It helps me, and sometimes it helps others, too.
So, maybe it’s a situation of, take the good with (what you consider) bad. And, realise, this blog isn’t some sort of agenda to get my way. It isn’t an act to get attention. Sometimes, yes, it IS a cry for help (I’ll give you that one), and – though it might really scare you – I’m not alone in how I think and feel; there are many of us here. We are sorry if we make you uncomfortable or feel threatened, but try not to judge or blame us – if you want to blame anything, then, like us, blame life, and rage against it a while with us, because it really is a bastard.
In other news, (pardon this bit of shameless plugging) I updated my bandcamp page, doing some sound edits, improving some bits here and there, and it’s all there waiting for you to discover. Now, shall I emotionally blackmail you to check out my music? Ha ha, ’tis a joke. I want people to like my music and download it because they like it, not because they feel like they’ve been railroaded into buying something they don’t really want. If you like the music, YAY. I work hard on it, and it is the very deepest expression of my soul. And, yes, like all independent musicians, I can use all the support I can get. So, if you haven’t checked out my music yet, give it a go. If you’ve checked it out before, why not take another listen to see if there’s anything new you might have missed. Oh, yeah, and of course, I could really use the validation. :p There I go again. 😀
Here’s just one of the songs you’ll find there… listen:
So, this post has two main focuses. One is to introduce you to my newest instrument acquisition and latest addition to my music making and music therapy. Meet Maimie. She’s a 10 string lyre harp. I waited quite a while for her am very pleased to have her home. She arrived on Monday and we have been making music together ever since; I’m enjoying her greatly.
While you may be happy for me finally getting a harp, it’s most likely the second point of this post that will hold much of an interest: I’ve begun experimenting with binaural beats. I have to say, I’ve noticed a difference with my ability concentrate and be alert; it’s also helping with meditation and sleeping, too.
I won’t go into an explanation of what they are here; do a Google search on binaural beats and all the info you need comes up.
I’d love to say that binaural beats are totally sorting my brain out, but that isn’t the case. I’m still spending most of my days in bed, avoiding going out/people as much as possible most of the time and would easily choose death over life, but the little improvement in simple things like focusing better on what I’m reading or watching and being able to get a more decent rest is something worth blogging about.
I recommend an app called “Relax Melodies”. Pay for the full version; it’s worth it – you’ll get all the beats to take your brain on a journey of different, helpful states.
Back to Maimie the harp, she’s the kind of thing that I would have shared with the musical friend I have mentioned in previous posts…the one that I don’t have anymore. I’ve thought a lot about her since getting Maimie, and missing…well, missing the experience I would’ve had in the sharing.
In other news, I’ve been getting together with another musical friend (one I still have, but very different to the one I lost) to work on some stuff and we may just do something with said stuff, be an acoustic duo, perform together. We’re in the early stages. I’ll keep you posted. Ha, posted… yeah, ok, I’m going now.
One of my favourite films is The Shawshank Redemption. Near the beginning of the film, the “fresh fish” are brought to the prison. Fresh fish is prison slang for new inmates.
As the cold bars clang shut and the night falls with darkness and everything in the darkness, the hardened old-timers make bets as to which one of the new fish will cry out first. My heart aches, resonating and relating, as one of the latest arrivals to Shawshank finally cries out. “You don’t understand!”, he bawls, “I’m not supposed to be here!”
Not supposed to be here. This prison. This “life”. I’m not supposed to be here. I’m too weak to take it up the ass. I don’t fit into any of the gangs. And, the only way out for me will be in a body bag.
I feel alone. I reach out, but it is the intense me who gets too attached that reaches out. Rejection hurts, even when I know I’d reject myself.
I feel I am an anomaly. There’s no place for me here, because I was a mistake, a glitch.
I’m so tired.