Sunday, November 22, 2015

The Double-Edged Sword of Imagination

I've been spending some time learning about my Ennegram type. I am a Type Four: The Individualist. There's a lot to be learned from psychological evaluations of personality type, but today I'm going to talk about imagination.

I've always seen imagination as a pathway to endless marvels. I never really considered that imagination could also be a pathway to destruction until reading about Fours. There are pieces of my imagination that I have known are problematic without even realizing that they are, in fact, connected to imagination. 

Reading about my type and our overuse of imagination, I didn't really think I had that quality. Then, I suddenly realized that empathy is simply the ability to imagine deeply. I'm sure that sounds really obvious, but I had never really thought about it that way. Empathy is such an emotional and automatic response for me, it feels like more of a reaction than a cognitive process. Seeing empathy, something that I highly value and appreciate but also know to be problematic, as a process of imagination made me start to see that maybe I do have this over-active imagination problem.

Introspection is another double-edged sword that I hadn't ever recognized as a compartment of imagination. Knowing yourself and examining yourself is a good thing, but you can get lost in your mind, ruminating on all your flaws and problems. Being hyper-aware of your shortcomings is not a fun time, yet it's a trap I find myself in all too frequently, another trap of imagination.

Yet as I read about the concept of my "Fantasy Self", the idea that I build up an idealized self in my mind, I thought, "I don't do that." Oh, Chelsea. It's so cute when you blatantly lie to yourself. Of course I do this, and I think a lot of other people probably do this without necessarily realizing that they do, so that's why we're here talking about it today. 

The idea of Fantasy Self is closely linked with perfectionism, a trait I know myself to have and of which I am trying to break myself. I have been trying to break myself of a lot of things, actually. I have been trying to rebuild myself into a whole new person, a person I have a very clear image of, my Fantasy Self. Working towards a better you is a good thing, but imagining better is only a part of the process, and if you're not careful, you can find yourself imagining without working. Re-wiring yourself is a slow and painful process. There are going to be snags. Everyone makes bad decisions, falls into the habits they're trying to leave behind them. And that's where the Fantasy Self becomes dangerous. I have this idea of who I want to be, of who I "really am" and then I torture myself when I cannot live up to that. My brain throws every instance where I was not the person I wanted to be in my face, played over and over again with no stop button. I berate myself for not having done better, not having been a better person. When you get lost in shame spirals like that, you can't see clearly. It's hard to make any progress when you can't find your footing because you're too busy obsessing over mistakes. And when you do make progress, you tell yourself that it's not enough, you're not enough yet. And if you're not enough, you're not worthy of being loved. You start to think of yourself as a project, not a complete being.

I'm trying so hard to teach myself that I'm a person, not a partially built house that's unlivable before completion. It's hard to know that so much of me needs to change, feeling like I'm learning an endless string of things that are wrong with me. But it's easier when I learn to assess the individual problems. Seeing that my imagination has led to most of my problems in life, I can start the process of learning to hone it into something that's productive and filled with beauty. 

I would love to hear ideas from my fellow wakeful dreamers on how you deal with the self-destructive aspects of your imagination. 

Tuesday, November 17, 2015

Perpetuating Hate

As I've scrolled through Facebook over the past couple of days, I have become extremely disheartened by the amount of hate I have seen towards an entire group of people. What I really saw was fear, but hate nonetheless. In the immortal words of Yoda, "Fear leads to anger. Anger leads to hate. Hate leads to suffering." 

It truly saddens me seeing the internet, my beautiful internet, used as a platform for hate. Apparently I process things in fiction, because I couldn't get Theoden out of my head. "What can men do against such reckless hate?" I tried to tweet out some love for people who are being affected by bigotry, knowing it wouldn't really do much, but also needing to try to tear down some of the hate with love.

It wasn't long after sending out my string of tweets before I started feeling convicted about taking offense to social media being used as a hate medium. The impact of my words on social media, particularly Twitter, have been on my mind a lot lately. For several years now, I have used Twitter as a way of processing my thoughts. As someone who had previously done all she could to hide every feeling she ever had, I thought this was a good thing. And it was good. For me. It makes me feel better, more level, than suffering in silence. It feels true. It feels like I'm being honest about who I am, showing the world all my flaws and fears and discouragements and hoping they will still like me. Things like, "I always thought I was the only one who thought that way until you tweeted it!" have gone to my head. I always imagined that sharing my thought processes was helpful to people who shared my struggles.

But the truth is, I have used social media as a platform for hate. I have used it to hate myself. I have used it as a way of saying, "Look at all this junk I have in my brain. See why I can't get anyone to love this?" I have subjected people to my deepest thoughts of self-loathing, perpetuating hate. I have processed thoughts in a way that I thought would sound hopeful, but just sound negative to those whose minds don't work the way mine does. 

Words mean a lot me. I pride myself on speaking the truth. Well, the truth is that I don't place a high enough value on how those words are perceived by other people. I am a very reactionary and passionate person, and that leads to words that don't need to be said. That's something I'm working on, but deeply struggling with. 

Negative words have a bigger impact on people than positive. For every ten positive/neutral things I say, I know my negative ones will be the ones remembered, whether I meant them in a negative way or not. 

I honestly don't know how to process emotions. That's what brings you this post and pretty much every other post I've ever written. I thought that I had learned a more productive way to process my emotions, but it turns out I didn't. I don't want my metal illness and my struggles to be the mark I leave on the world. I will not pretend to be okay when I'm not, but today I commit to stop perpetuating self-hate in my life and on my social media. I'm not sure where I'll take my processing of thoughts, but I will figure it out. I hope you and everyone in my life can be patient with me. 

Thank you to everyone who has made me feel less crazy and less alone through the years. It truly means the world to me and has gotten me through some very difficult times. I'm sorry I abused you as my friends and my audience. Thank you to everyone who has shown me love and patience. You're truly gems.

Walking Contradiction

I live somewhere between reckless optimism and hopeless pessimism.
Somewhere between dreamer and realist.
Somewhere between empathy and apathy.
Somewhere between self-indulgent and self-loathing.
Somewhere between endlessly introverted and deeply lonely.
Somewhere between spotaneous adventurer and anxious planner.
Somewhere between lover of flaws and perfectionist.
Somewhere between loving deeply and building thick walls.
Somewhere between forever determined and easily discouraged.
Somewhere between tough and hypersensitive.
Somewhere between addicted to truth and avoiding reality.
Somewhere between feeling everything and feeling nothing.
Somewhere between hurting and healing.
Somewhere between joy and fear.
Somewhere between crazy and human.
I am a walking contradiction, a stranger even to myself, looking for a path to balance.