021b – cigarettes, shame and the anxious brain

Had a cigarette right now. Been thinking about how the last pack had lasted me more than a year. Which averaged like 2 cigarettes a month. One of my friends said that’s okay since you gotta feel French once in a while. This pack however lasted me around two months. Which averages to roughly 2 cigarettes a week. Not happy with this but I want to plan to not buy another pack unless I’m spending it with friends. Having a pack to myself definitely made it much easier for my frequency to increase. 

Wondering what feels so good about smoking. I had to resist myself from lighting another one up when one ended. I managed to, and I feel good about it. But there’s a big doer energy in me right after smoking. I feel good, I feel optimistic, I feel hopeful. I want to feel this way from other things. I want to remember that this temporary relief isn’t natural. That it’s just that – temporary relief, temporary goodness.

Was researching a little bit last night and it does look like the nicotine stimulates the release of dopamine in the brain, so it’d make sense why I’ve been craving it more often these days. Don’t know enough neurochemistry to jam on this but I’m definitely curious about what’s special about this chemical. 

I’d been feeling a lot of shame around smoking, however. I managed to separate it out into a) a worry about it becoming an addiction, b) cultural and societal shame around it. So for starters, it’s also nice to be able to smoke without feeling the shame associated with it. I feel like as long as I was feeling the shame, I was also wanting to smoke more. It’s natural to want things you can’t have, right? Once you remove the barriers to getting something, you can plainly see how much you want it. Honestly, it feels easier to let go of it once I ditch that emotion of “can’t have”.

I’m not sure how I feel about publishing something related to smoking on this blog, but since I know I’m kind of following a full-disclosure policy with stuff I write, I know if I don’t publish this, I’d be doing that out of (you guessed it) shame. So I suppose it’s worth completing this and hitting publish.

Since I gotta add around 200 words more – I was thinking about how the anxious brain is never out of thoughts. If my anxiety is cured, what will I write about? Will I still have thoughts to share? There’s definitely a part of me that has been anxious and coping with anxiety for so long that a lot of my identity has been shaped by it (even though I’ve tried hard for it to not be the case). There’s a lot of “good” sides to anxiety, being able to have very sharp focus when stressed, having a ton of foresight, “remembering” a lot? And of course I’m curious (or worried even?) about whether those “good” things will go away if I’m not feeling regularly anxious anymore. Thankfully, someone has written a nice, well-researched post about this as well. And thankfully, I don’t write or do creative work for a living, so I probably don’t have to worry about this as much as those people might have had to. I like the conclusion there, I can probably treat it as an experiment. If I never try, I’ll never know. Maybe everything is an experiment anyway. Like publishing this post.

006 – reflecting on friendships

I recently met someone new and we got to talking about friendships. (Side-rant: Sometimes I wonder why I like to give context about where a thought came from. I don’t know, maybe it’s just the flow, but at times I feel I also want to credit that person whose company helped give birth to this thought-cloud. If they happen to read it, it might be nice for them to know?)

So anyway, we got to talking about friendships. I’ve been thinking about a friendship that I’m soon going to need to let go of, or at least get some space from, so I brought that up as well. Naturally, a bunch of conflicting feelings around it, the biggest being – how did I end up in a long-term, seemingly close friendship that I don’t really enjoy? I claim to be courageous, honest, direct and brave with many other difficult things, and yet I fuck up this basic thing that seems to come so easily to most people? I didn’t have the answers with me at the time, but I’ve been pondering a little bit and want to see if maybe I do. 

Originally, we became friends because of circumstance, and mostly continued to stay friends thanks to circumstance as well. We all have those friends, right? So how does one separate self from a relation like that? I suppose most people form new relationships? 

I think I have the answers, these are the some of the factors I wasn’t accounting for when I decided to “continue” a strong relation with that friend. 

  1. People’s advice: They didn’t know me, they didn’t know her, they didn’t know the details of our relationship, so they always gave me “bad” (and often unsolicited) advice. And since I was weak (or if I want to be kind to myself, impressionable), I listened.
  2. Potential loneliness: Ah, the dreaded loneliness. The feeling that apparently goes away if you have someone around. Who are these people kidding? How can loneliness go away just because you have someone around? People live in such strong denial – loveless marriages, loveless relations, and I’m so angry that they push all of this on other people. And I regret letting myself fall into these traps of fear.
  3. “Politeness”: AKA my inability to set boundaries. My inability to say no. My own imperfect ideals of perfectionism and kindness. My inability to see that the truth is kinder than any other kindness I might try to bestow upon people.
  4. Lack of awareness: Of course, this seems to be prevalent in most of my posts so far. I only started getting in touch with my feelings around two years ago, and because I’ve always had other (almost objectively) bigger things to tackle, I suppose I wasn’t ready to look at my friendships clearly. 

Now, something you might notice (if you for any reason went through some of my other posts) is how often I mention things like human connection and being intentional about the people we spend our time with. I wasn’t always like this. Since I only started becoming aware a while ago, I think it was only around the same time that I began addressing or looking at the things that were missing from my life. I’m not someone who’s ever had a hard time making friends. I used to definitely be introverted as well as shy and reserved, so it definitely took me a while sometimes, but it had always been that way, and it was rarely something that bothered me.

But when I moved to this foreign country that I currently reside in, some of my anxiety (that manifested as really strong body dysmorphia) pretty much hit my “social life” the most. My self-esteem and self-confidence plummeted really hard. What’s the easiest and the most instinctive reaction to anxiety? Avoidance. So I suppressed most of my social needs and wants, and told myself that it’s okay, and that I’ll cope. I did manage to make some really good friends, I did do the bare minimum, but it wasn’t enough. So, for almost 1-2 years, I took the company of whomever it was easiest to spend time with (i.e. whomever I felt least anxious with), as opposed to checking whether I even enjoy their company enough. Whether I would seek their company as much, if I was in my best place.

So, I would often find myself in this place, where I felt like I had a lot of friends and a lot of people I could reach out to, but I often felt terribly lonely. (I know that this is a common sentiment echoed by many people, and @visakanv has talked a lot about this in a lot of his writing as well, but well, let me find out where I’m going with this.)

One of the first life-changing questions my first therapist had asked me, I think basically around 2-3 sessions in, after I’d described a “humans” related situation that was terribly anxiety provoking was something like – “and what do you think, do you feel like your social needs are currently being met?” In all honesty, I cannot describe in words the feeling that floated through me – it started near my head but definitely made its way to my feet (and out, I think) – as I thought about it and slowly uttered the words, “I guess not”.

This was also the first time I’d realized that anxiety by itself was not the problem, the problem was that it was stopping me from doing the things that I wanted to do. This is probably very easy for a third person or a professional to see, but for almost a year and a half, I couldn’t see it, my close friends and family couldn’t see it, my significant other at the time couldn’t see it, and honestly, it still baffles me a little bit. This was the first time I considered a reframe: I didn’t need to stop the anxiety, I needed to continue to do the things that I want to do in spite of it, or even if it comes up.

(I feel the need to apologize that most of my posts end up describing anxiety in some or the other way, regardless of what I start talking about, but of course I don’t need to apologize, so I’ll just throw this out and keep moving on.)

Anyway, a slightly hasty wrap-up. Re-evaluated my needs. Turned out I hadn’t been taking care of my social needs, so I started seeking company more. But anxiety was still a huge factor, so whenever it was hard to meet new people, I’d end up seeking whatever company I could easily get. It was a band-aid solution, and though it had its uses and I’m genuinely very grateful for the company and support I did get, it wasn’t foolproof. In retrospect, I do wish I’d ripped it off sooner. Ah, well. 

So, even though it’s been a while that I’ve accepted that human connection is not something I’m going to take for granted, and that it’s surely going to be a pillar for me for years to come, it’s time to address that there’s more to it. Intentionally seeking and building strong, deep and real connections is also going to be a thing. I want to consider giving friendships the same kind of careful consideration that I would give a romantic relationship. I think I’ll be happier. Even if that’s just in their pursuit, of course.

005 – are you still heartbroken? + mental health + shame

One of the first questions that people ask you when you talk to them about (romantic) heartbreak is whether you’re still heartbroken. How do you begin to answer that? My guess is if it’s not a clear no, then it’s probably a yes. Everyone goes through this process, you stop talking to the person, you delete their digital memories, you start thinking of yourself again. First – alone, then, with new people. You keep getting triggered every time you talk to or meet people you don’t like as much and so on and so forth. You make time for friends and family, you realize you’re craving a romantic connection with someone again, and you get back on the saddle with a fresh outlook.

Then, on a random Monday you’re dragged back into the mulch again. You wonder why it’s so hard to let a person or their idea go. You attempt to rationalize things again. You tell yourself the person is just a representation of everything you’re capable of feeling for another human being. Sometimes you try to feel these feels through other means – fantasy, movies, books, intoxicating substances (ha ha), only to, once again realize, that it’s only fun when you feel it for a human being. Perhaps some people might have mastered the art of not wanting to feel these feels at all, or maybe some have mastered being satisfied in feeling this only for their own selves, but I’m sure there are enough of us who want to feel it for another human being. And there’s probably nothing wrong with that – though the amount of time and energy we would want to spend on pursuing that want would of course have to be carefully reviewed.

Every feeling creates a bunch of thoughts, every thought creates a bunch of questions. That is all okay but it becomes a problem when we keep going round and round in circles. I did some normal girl shit like distracting myself and taking a small walk around the house to resist getting sucked back into the ground. And I’m glad to announce, it worked. So I’m back here to ask myself some of these questions and attempt to answer them here. This is so I can maybe reduce them from popping up as often as they currently do. 

Am I still heartbroken? I think, no. I’m ready to move on. 

What does that mean for me? Well, I gotta reply to this one seemingly nice girl who asked me out and gave me her number a week ago. I gotta explain why anxiety and depression didn’t give me the time to respond for the whole week, and I gotta be vulnerable enough to ask her if she’s still interested. 
If she says no, I think I’ll be fine – a little disappointed but not too bothered. 

If she says yes, I’ll be glad, but I’ll also have to face some of my fears again. The fact that I don’t feel confident and uplifted enough. The fact that feelings and emotions are hard all the time and I’m afraid and wary of doing things that have the potential to make me feel something (“negative”). The fact that I feel like I might cry if I think about someone else for more than a few minutes. The fact that I never know how much to talk about anxiety and depression because people get a bit weird about it, even though I don’t feel like there’s a need to. The fact that it’s so much harder to bring this up when going on a date with someone, simply because it feels like a bigger deal to reveal that about myself in that equation.

So much shame when it comes to mental health problems, I cannot even. Where does it even come from?

Here’s some of the things that I do or have done which might give someone (or myself) the impression that I’m pretty chill and well-adjusted when it comes to dialog around mental health:

  • Most of my family and close friends know about what I’ve been dealing with.
  • The memes. the jokes. the tweets, the posts. 
  • One of my Hinge profile prompts says that a social cause I care about is mental health awareness and the destigmatization of dialog around it. 
    • This one’s going to be fun to think about, but I’m already realizing that I put this up almost 4-5 months ago but haven’t really taken much action when it comes to it, apart from, of course, being as open as I can be from time to time. 
  • People at my workplace (in my team) know about it, about the fact that I have generalized anxiety, and that I’m in therapy as well.

Then, what is it? Where’s the shame coming from? Or, what do I hope for? These might be two separate questions but the second framing makes it easier to answer at least one of them. One of things I want to be able to do is be okay with saying “I’m feeling really anxious so I think I’m going to go home” instead of “Oh, I just have a lot of work and chores to do so I think I’m going to go home”. I think this is the first time I’ve put this down in words (apart from in therapy once, and I think the solution didn’t stick), so I’m excited to attempt this again if a situation asks for it.

While I’m at it, it might be worth addressing why I don’t already do this. I think there’s two reasons – a fear of the follow-up question, and putting the other person (or people) in a spot.

What is the follow-up question I’m afraid of? Basically someone asking me why I’m feeling anxious. In all honesty, I think it bothers me when it’s not asked, and I haven’t fully resolved what answers (or truth) I’m okay with revealing when someone does ask me that. I suppose that’s probably something I might need to figure out before I attempt experimenting with this.

Ugh, emotional labor does get tiring sometimes. What a damper. The sun’s almost gone down as well, but I’ll try not to relate these two stimuli.