In the recent past, each time I had posted something with a negative aura, I had internally hoped it to be the last time; In fact, I even began a new publication series "Lost Way-out & Hope" to be entirely dedicated to working out suggestions for situations that makes one appear helpless in one's eyes.
But the exact opposite has been happening perhaps. I mean, at a certain point in life, one realizes that trying to "appear normal" though may work in childhood and on a short-term basis in adulthood, it is not really possible to be lived like a lifestyle. Sooner or later, you have to face the past you're running from.
But a few days ago, I just reached the [yet] lowest point regarding helplessness face to face.
Before telling that story, let me spoil you with some background information, like: my father used to run out of examples for reminding me how "negative", "nay-sayer" and "pessimistic" I'm, as his most frequently used reference points was a side-character in an adaptation of Oliver Twist he had watched in his childhood – unknown to the kid me. Later on, he found an update to his vocabulary by adopting terms from a happiness-guru purchased via the videos of his lectures. One day, I accidentally watched one of them, but to me, it seemed a bit stupid. The same I felt years later when I began to think about "The Secret" and the reality that if success was as easy, probably everyone is just extremely stupid to not use "The Secret"; The reality, however, is that "The Secret" is a marketing package which contains contents that only 9% of it is truth and the rest is pure bullshits glamorized to sell products nobody needs – other than, perhaps, sociopath, narcissists, and the co.
But there were other too. Like, Caitlin – whom I perceived as a best friend – till her suggestions about me "being too hard on myself" and the encouragement to "drink alcohol" and etc. run the benefits of the doubts I had greeted her with too thin. In retrospect, I'm just plainly irritated as to what did she really wanted with me. Was it sex, was it marriage, was it jealousy, was it? I don't know which fool really come up with the idea that drinking alcohol is a "life-changing event", but it's not. If you really need proof, ask the addicts. To them, it's a life-ruining mechanism, only and only! Yeah, I mean, sure, if you get drunk and have sex, that "having sex"-part is indeed a life-changing event, especially, in case you have never had sex before, but that's really not to be attributed to the alcohol; and to be honest, if we really need to be slightly mentally manipulated to have sex with each other, then probably our relationship is more on the borderline of rape than love. From my experience in one and the clips I've seen from the latter, both involve similar physical interactions, almost same noises, only that in the first one, probably one of the parties, especially if it's a kid, is just freezing and releasing little or no noise whatsoever.
But there were always others, who didn't know me closely, and who would always think that I'm living more amazingly than them and I've just been privileged or somehow won their luck in the lottery of life. And I kind of believed them for a while. Because there were so many of them.
The first crack in such belief was a friend whom I was trying to help to come up with mental justification why he shouldn't use drugs to numb out his feelings of dissatisfaction with his life and the pain about how others have treated him in his past, but then he turned to me and said: "it's so easy for you to say so, cuz my life is not at all as terrible as yours!" or something along these lines. And he was right. I was just comparing his pains with mine, and it seemed so minuscule that it was obvious you don't need drugs to deal with it.
It was a big lesson: comparing your pain to that of others when yours is not even remotely comprehensible for them, is only going to make you incapable of realizing others' suffering.
A lesson, I should have learned years before, when we went out with some stranger who was a neighbor in a building I was staying temporarily waiting for a visa; It was sad that he had no other friends with him on his birthday, but we made a birthday for him and that aside, he had a visa, he had his parents living in the same country, he was a student in one of the fair-enough prestigious universities in Europe and he wasn't stupid, neither ugly, nor physically disfigured. But somehow he had apparently committed suicide.
I didn't see it coming, but I should have. But could have I? Me, who had been writing poems about desiring death on my birthday. How could I have known that celebrating one's birthday and having friends and etc. is such a huge red flag about being suicidal. I can't recall any birthday – expect the most recent one – when I ever tried to celebrate it, ever, not on my own.
Anyways, ever since, I have made enough internal progress to be capable of not covering my own feelings from my own self unconsciously, I have tried to contact this and that person and ask them for suggestions.
Years ago, I was desperate and hopelessly clueless as to how to ask for help or advice, and I end up making a mess out of it. Like the time when a friend of mine was thinking I'm just bullshitting her to be in her pants. And you know what, misunderstandings like that feels awful when you're a childhood rape victim, because you can't grasp that for ordinary people having a sex is equated with immense pleasure and in your eyes it is just one of the most horrifying experiences available, and you just feel like: "What the fuck is wrong with this asshole!" and once your initial anger wears off, you being to wonder "why the fuck did I ever think she is a friend, and especially such a friend whom I can talk to! She fucking isn't and probably never was! How can I be so awful in evaluating people!"
But as the years pass I began to just resort to testing the water: asking a professional who is publicly publishing more and more information on a theme I'm struggling with with a question that he or she may publish more material about.
But it never worked that way. Except for one example, other times I just received suggestions about visiting a therapist or things like that which is just ... It is just bullshit, had they known my past.
Cuz you know what? The first time I went to a psychotherapist's office I was 16 or 17 years old only! I was accompanied by my mother because I was underage, you know! The other time, I had to overcome the huge stigma of my father about "needing therapy" as if there is something "wrong with his son." I think, almost every week we had arguments about "why is he paying all this money!"
On a few other occasions, I searched for therapists too, but I couldn't find one; You know, it's really not easy to find a therapist with the relevant background, who is available at the same time as you're living in that city and who has an interest in your case. It usually takes a few months to find a therapist. You know!
Back to the anecdote I wished to talk about:
Yeah, it hurt immensely when my sister and a few months later, Elsa, told me to talk to a therapist when I was talking with them about the things that emotionally mattered to me.
But they weren't psychologists, and though I've appreciated their friendships longer than any other female friends of mine, I won't necessarily consider their psychology-related suggestions as true. They're smart individuals indeed, but it's not their field of profession.
But there is a psychologist whose opinions I do find interests, or valuable, or let's say more helpful than average published psychologists. And she is a frequent blogger and everything, and so when there was a blog post touching on a tiny issue I'm struggling with since a while, I just add a comment asking for a more serious instance of the same issue, hoping she will summarize her thoughts in a future blog post, but it was just the opposite:
I couldn't not want to cry reading these lines:
[...] talk with a therapist about this.
It really hurts, because it came from an individual whose professional opinion I do regard as personally valuable.
And I can't believe it. Most of all because the thing I was asking her opinion about isn't even minutely a "significant" problem, issue, or challenge if you rather have me use a more hopeful sounding terminology.
It's like a million times easier and smaller than the stuff I've been struggling with on a daily basis. I mean, issues like that are so plenty in my life that a few years ago, I wouldn't even talk about them. I mean, I can speak enough German to have contacted German authors I admire since 2012 but it never even occurred to me till quite recently, because these small issues were super insignificant to the pains I had inside me.
When a psychologist tells you that you "better visit a psychologist" for an issue that in comparison to other things in your life is just "minuscule", I don't know how can I not think with myself that: my case is beyond hopeless.
I mean, if my question from Jonice Webb was the only significant thing I've been struggling with recently, Jonice Webb's advice would have been a terribly amazing workaround. I mean, the examples of successful cases are just all over the place. On top of my mind, there is this psychotherapist, talking about the client who came to her because she didn't know what to write in a form for "emergency contact information":
But I've beyond millions of these problems.
Yeah, my blog does reflect an aura of my problems, but it's really not like "I'm using my blog as a therapeutic diary." No, there is another website wholly dedicated to being the diary about the things I couldn't publish on this blog. And aside from this, there are two other diaries dedicated to things which I can't publish even after I'm dead, simply because those things are going to be more harmful to the reader than having any benefit, even research benefits.
Yeah, reading things impacts you, whether you like it or not. You can't just be a "researcher"; That's just some bullshit similar to the rest of bullshits that individuals who have an ego problem and spent their time getting a degree in human sciences try to come up with to justify the same claim as that of others who study natural sciences.
Sweetheart, the whole Curie family died from radiation-related diseases. So, fucking yeah, even real scientists get caught up in the side-effect of the material they study, and you expect yourself to go unaffected by consuming intellectual productions of another human being? Yeah, you can just dream of that. Or of course, wait till you're dead. Then it will have no effect on you, but that's because you're already dead.
That's also part of the reason I'm currently not actively looking for a therapist. Because that therapist is a human being too. Sure, I can try to talk about the more serious issues I've but what if that individual him or herself would be too affected by my stories that they become psychologically ill?
I mean, look, I have enough stupid people around me who would label me "lazy" or "in denial of my need for help" but I fucking understand that me going to a therapist and driving that therapist "crazy" isn't going to change their opinion about how all this is my fault, and it's me and only me who can change my circumstances. Parts of this kind of stupidity is perhaps rooted into our biological urge to help others when they're struggling and their lack of ability to come up with any means to satisfy their urge, so they try to deny its' existence by erasing the struggles of someone or the kind of support that someone may need.
But you know, believe me, it's not really a joke that going to a therapist is going to be more harmful at the end than helpful, because it'll produce an additional sick person to the society; Believe it or not, thanks to Marsha Linehan – though I disagree with plenty of her practices – there is an agreement that the most research approved therapy method of individuals with Borderline Personality Disorder, requires a team of psychotherapists to review the contact-point therapist.
So, her workaround in order to make "therapy" sessions work is to have a therapist to be the therapist of the first therapist who has weekly visits with the client. You see how tough it is?!
Yeah, you know, the world has rules. You can't just "imagine" them away, because you know "The Secret". Look, these are trained psychologist, and often the ones who accept "borderline cases" are highly confident in their abilities or otherwise too stupid to realize what they are dealing with, and they fail it. I mean, "fail" is perhaps not the right word, one should say "their psyche fails them to go through with the profession." You know, everyone's psyche has lots of limitations, and the conventional therapy sessions are just too damaging on the therapists when it comes to particular kinds of clients.
I have seriously thought about visiting a therapist again, especially since the guy from a UK university talked about mental illness and how students with such problems are often in denial about needing help; But I don't think, today and at the moment it is the right time to visit a therapists, because I'm still too ruined and focusing on tiny issues which aren't really any relevant to the real stuff that pains me aren't really as wise.
I mean, sure, it can make people around me happy that I'm visiting a therapist, but inside myself, if I'm hiding what's really going on in me and only look for solutions for tiny issues, I kind of can't forgive myself [in the future].
I mean, you know, you don't run a dental surgery on a patient who has a failing heart. Cuz simply it's really not the kind of thing they need, not that dental hygiene and beauty isn't of importance.
I guess my broken front teeth is in part a testimony to the urgency of the psychological challenges I've been facing ... and maybe in a few years when I'm more healed, I'll visit therapists for more minor issues which they can help me with without themselves getting ruined – if Allah wills.