The pleasure principle of the exquisite pain - we really do do it to ourselves

Alcoholics use sex to help them overcome their addiction; I use one form of pain to deal with another. Yes, the pain. The oh-so-exquisite pain.

Clearly, I have a problem.

Lately I've begun to think about all the mistakes I made during the 'young and stupid' days. About 85% of all actions in the past four-odd years have been met with the same reaction: What have I done? What the fuck was I thinking? And yet the mistakes continue to happen. As the saying goes, "Once bitten, twice shy"; so in my case, it should probably be "Thirty-two times bitten, sixty-four times shy". Not that have made thirty-two mistakes in the past few years, but the number is probably close anyway. Why is it that we can never learn?

Maybe we do learn a little, but the next time around we make the same mistake, and hope against hope that things will be different, and history won't repeat itself. But then if we're making the same mistake, won't the outcome be the same as well? And no matter how much we snipe and gripe about getting our hearts broken and bang our heads against the same wall, we always end up going back for more. So do we really not learn, or are we just addicted to the drama and the pain of it all? The oh-so-exquisite pain?

God knows I've made enough mistakes to fill an entire national library. And God knows I've sworn never to repeat them, and that I'd rather hurt myself before hurting anyone else. And yet here I am now, making what is close to the same mistake that I made barely a year ago, and at the same time hoping to get out of this unscathed -- or at least alive -- without doing what I did to myself just eight months ago. It's either wishful thinking, or just plain sadism.

What hurts the most - knowing how it really is, how it might never be, or how could it have been

Sometimes we think that things are slowly but seemingly taking a turn for the better, and before we know it, we start to let our guard down and try to ease into the change. But then it's only when we cave -- or in my case, implode completely -- that the reality of it hits us (or is conveyed by the people around us), and the impact is so profound that we're left kicking ourselves in mortified humiliation.

Three lessons learnt

Trust. We're always afraid that something won't work, that this time will just be like all the other times, that we're only setting ourselves up for failure and bitter disappointment yet again. And yet we know deep down in our hearts that this time was not like all the other times, so we have to have that trust and faith -- in ourselves, in anyone else involved, in our own judgment and in the fact that if we really do want everything to work out, it will in the end. So we wait, but is that a sign of unbreakable trust and unswerving faith, or just denial that everything has crumbled about our ears and it's time to let go? And if one party gives up along the way, and the other follows suit, is it because they had no other choice, or because the trust and faith were somehow broken?

Taking risks. In the movie: "How do I know she won't keep punishing me for the rest of my life?" Steve asked, to which Miranda countered, "How do I know he won't cheat on me again?" And their shrink replied very simply, "You don't." We don't know what and how much we stand to lose by doing something until we actually do it, but that is the risk we all have to take if we want it. Similar to bungee jumping where the fear that the safety harness will break is ever-present, we are given the chance to reconsider our choices, and if we know we want to try it, we take a deep breath and jump, knowing full well the causes and consequences of our actions. If we fail, we know we can still hold our heads up and say, "At least I tried," because no matter how much it hurts to fall, it would hurt more to stand in the sidelines and wonder what could have been.

Forgiveness. People make mistakes, people may not know what to do sometimes, but that is just human nature. But we look past all that and accept them just the way they are, because not to do so would mean that we can't forgive them for being themselves instead of what we want them to be. It can't always be all about us -- what we think, what we feel, what we want. Sometimes we have to put ourselves aside and understand that this is how they are and know that we can love them for it. And it's only when we forgive -- ourselves and/or them -- that we can move on, with or without them.

the immovable meeting the irresistable

We all want to hear the truth. But when we finally do, even though we know it was for the best, we start wishing with all our hearts that we hadn't, because that's when we know it's too late.

What happens when two people want completely (or at least significantly) different things? One person is burnt out and trying to break free, and the other seems dead set on hanging on for dear life. How do they work it out so that both parties are at least reasonably satisfied? Does the defector grit their teeth and stick with it in the hopes for a change of heart, or does the tagalong hold up their head and walk away? If the fire has died down and the butterflies have flown away, is there any hope at all that the fire will reignite and the butterflies will come home? Or is it all too late?

Too late. The most terrible phrase ever uttered. Too late to be sorry, too late to be loving, too late to be kind. Too late to try and fix the things that went so horribly wrong, too late to say everything we wanted to but were too afraid to say. Why do we always learn from our mistakes just a little bit too late? It seems that only when we're on the verge of losing that we suddenly repent and fight tooth and nail to regain our position and make up for all the mistakes we made -- only it's just a little bit too late. But then when we're on the other side of the field, watching someone else fight a losing battle, do we keep our feet planted firmly on our side, knowing it's where we stand that matters, or do we relent, reenter the foray, try to help them and hope to get out of it alive once more?

I've been learning to live without you now
But I miss you sometimes
The more I know, the less I understand
And all the things I thought I figured out, I have to learn again
I've been trying to get down to the heart of the matter But my will gets weak, and my thoughts seem to scatter But I think it's about forgiveness Even if you don't love me anymore

- India.Arie/Don Henley, The Heart Of The Matter -

The domino effect- when it all becomes too much

Reflection can be a bitch. Sometimes we don't mean to do it, but then something triggers a memory and everything comes flooding back to us, and like it or not, we find ourselves thinking, and thinking, and thinking-- about the past, about the present, about everything that we did to make things the way they are now, and everything we missed out or overlooked that could have made things different. And then some of the memories become so consuming that they literally make our stomachs heave and we have to stop to catch our breaths, before the pain becomes too great.

I did this to myself. I knew better. Just like all those other times when I thought it would be different, it turned right back around and bit me in the ass. And I have no one to blame but myself, because I knew better. I should have known better.

"... cried enough, but I can't stop crying. I want to keep everything the way it is, but I'm tired of everything being the way it is. The next four months will fly by, but they're not moving fast enough. I have this feeling, and I love this feeling, but I hate this feeling, because I can't do anything about it. I don't want to see anyone. I don't want to talk to anyone. But I want to talk..."

"... if this were a crime punishable by death, I would gladly face the execution over and over again..."

"... the door that leads to my escape, I've finally found the courage to open and go through it. And now that I'm standing on the other side of it, you will never be able to..."

"... is my biggest secret, and I would give..."

"... you could end up doing something you've always wanted to do in a place you never imagined you'd be doing it. The memories you have now could be nothing compared to the memories you're about..."

"...Why were you in the car in the first place?... The gas light is on... The gas light is now flashing..."

"... enough is enough is enough... If it seems to good to be true, it..."

"... in the eyes, or in the speech, or just in that little secret smile that gives a clue to the..."

"... not physically here, but is something that occurs so often that it has actually become a constant presence in our lives? And how do we explain to them that because it has become such a constant presence, we can actually..."

"... suddenly as they're flung open, they're slammed shut again, going whichever way the wind blows, and going against whichever side the boundaries..."

"... come so dangerously close to breaking, and just like that, to be made to keep..."

"... a time and place for everything..."

And then comes the silence. The monstrous, deafening silence that overrides everything that had ever been said and done.

Defining moments

We all go through phases in our lives where we are almost completely alone. We learn to take care of ourselves, to keep everything to ourselves, and to shut everyone else out. It doesn't necessarily apply only to being single; it could happen in any circumstance of life -- moving to a new country, moving back to a home country, or even starting a new job. We know we have to depend on ourselves more than ever before, and in the end we become so self-possessed that we are in danger of being unable to relate to other people anymore.

But then life takes a turn and suddenly we find ourselves in a situation where it's not just about us anymore; now there's someone else, there are other people involved. We know it's time to remove that armor and learn to let them in, and yet we still subconsciously keeping our guard partially up, terrified that at any given moment we could do or say something that would actually give us reason to duck behind it again. So we take a backseat to everything, knowing we can't really go back because we've gone too far by putting our cards on the table, and yet too ambivalent to move forward. Why do we make it so difficult for ourselves to break out of this prison -- a prison of our own making at that -- and allow ourselves to go through a phase of which we have long been bereft?

Maybe because when we were taken out of this prison, the overwhelming sense of freedom without bounds made it all too much to handle, so we went back to the one place where we knew was safe, even though we had been alone. Freedom may know no bounds, but not life, and certainly not the more complicated aspects of life. So maybe we need to define them, because until we do, we're stuck in this limbo, where the lines could become so blurred that we don't know where they fall, and we don't know what the rules are and how to act, and we end up losing more than we could ever afford to.

Let it pass

It's back. Or maybe it never went away in the first place.

Meredith: I have a feeling.
Derek: I get those.
Meredith: Yeah?
Derek: Yeah.
Meredith: And?
Derek: If you wait long enough it passes.
Meredith: Promise.
Derek: I promise.

- Grey's Anatomy -

So why hasn't it passed?

gale-force wind

The doors can stay open for days at a time, and then, just as suddenly as they're flung open, they're slammed shut again, going whichever way the wind blows, and going against whichever side the boundaries fall.

And once again, I'm standing on the outside, shut out of a world I could barely set foot in in the first place. To have come so dangerously close to breaking, and just like that, to be made to keep it all in.

A reminder

Big decisions are the worst to make. We ponder for ages over whether or not to do something, seek advice from people, only to end up taking our own. Then we make our decision and we know that it was the best one (probably because there wasn't really a choice to begin with), and we work towards it, trying to ignore any doubts we may have, and trying to keep the faith and hang on for dear life to the hope that no matter how (unfortunately) long it takes, everything will be all right in the end. And just when we start second-guessing ourselves and possibly start wondering -- albeit a tad too late -- if we really had made the right decision after all, that tiny little thing happens to make us reassess, regroup and remember why we did it in the first place, and why we thought it was the best thing to do.

Serves me right

So it really wasn't just a figment of the imagination after all.

Enough is enough is enough.

It's like the saying goes, "If it seems too good to be true, it probably is."

As _____ a time a any

Is there really a time and place for everything? For doing what we want to do, going where we want to go, saying what we want to say? And which is the most fragile of all: the words, the action, or the place? Lately it seems as though saying what we want to say relies the most heavily on this adage, because saying it not only directly affects us, but the people we say it to, and the fifty-percent chance of saying it at the wrong time and/or in the wrong place could change everything, and not necessarily for the better.

So if we have decided when the right time and place would be to say something, but something happens along the way and throws everything into a different light, what do we do? Do we hold our tongues and cling to our resolution to follow through with our initial plans, or seize an opportunity, however wrong it may seem, to get it out of our system? Following Plan A might just turn out the way we had intended it to, but we don't know when, or even if, we would be able to carry it out; Plan B might help us get it over with sooner, but it could reflect -- and possibly badly -- upon the events that led to having a Plan B in the first place. And then there's the even more daunting problem of what the outcome of either plan could be, as there's that fifty-percent chance of having it blow up in our faces. So then one might see fit to argue that if we know there's a possibility of slinking into bed in mortification anyway, regardless of which plan we follow, why not just throw caution to the wind and say it?

Is there a Plan C?

Pain and addiction - one doesn't exist without the other

They're self-inflicted and self-developed. We put ourselves in a position where we're vulnerable to everything, even though we know we're likely to get hurt. And when that happens, we can't complain about it or blame anyone but ourselves, because we made that choice, and somehow, it was never about us in the first place.

I don't say it..but you know it's there..

The most common case is when it's right in your face and you see it happening. The less common case is when it's right in your face, and then after a while it disappears, but you know -- or at least you hope -- it's still there. The least common -- and most surprising -- case is when without ever having seen it, it happens anyway, and our awareness of it is most heightened when it seems to have diminished a little.

How do we rationalize it? When someone scoffs at us for even harboring such a notion, how do we tell them that as ridiculous as it may seem, it really is happening? How do we explain to them -- without appearing the slightest bit insane or irrational -- that even though it's not physically here, but is something that occurs so often that it has actually become a constant presence in our lives? And how do we explain to them that because it has become such a constant presence, we can actually miss it when it's not there as often as before?

Perhaps the biggest problem isn't not knowing how, or even when, to say it. Perhaps it's not knowing whether to say it.

heart in a cage

From as early as we can remember, we are taught -- whether directly by someone or indirectly by our own subconscious -- to build a wall, around ourselves, to protect ourselves from getting our hearts and spirits broken. But every now and then, something -- or more precisely, someone -- comes along and starts nicking at it -- whether with a careful fingernail or a pickaxe -- and before we know it, we ourselves are helping them along by taking down the wall we so carefully constructed. And of course, once we've taken down that wall and let our guard down, it doesn't take much to make us wish we'd kept the wall right where it had been. And so the mending and rebuilding starts all over again, in one vicious cycle.

In a world where so many things are uncertain, is it any surprise that some people start to think of everything as touch-and-go? When that certain person waltzes in and out of our lives as they please, we start to fear that each time we see them could be the last. When one relationship ends badly, we start to think that maybe we just don't do well in them and that every subsequent relationship is therefore similarly doomed. Sometimes it's almost as if we're afraid to be happy or hope that things will turn out right this time around, because that just makes the fall higher and much harder. Some call it being real. Others call it being paranoid. But maybe it's just being cautious: that subconscious rebuilding phase so that nothing or no one can ever touch us again.

But the one thing we never learn, the one thing -- besides caution -- that we choose to throw to the wind, is that no matter how well we build that wall, no matter how securely we keep our hearts caged in under lock and key, someone will always get in, and they're there before we even realize it. It's whether or not we choose to leave them there or lock them out that makes all the difference, and it's not always as clear-cut as it seems.

lost in transition

In times of a transition, it's possible to lose our perspective on things, or -- in cases few and far between -- just gain an entirely new perspective altogether. But in retrospect, is a transition an excuse for actually losing our perspective? In the months and weeks leading up to said transition, we harbor and nurture dreams for the future, building up our hopes and expectations, so wouldn't losing perspective -- or for want of a better term, giving up -- on that make all the initial hoping and dreaming a complete waste of time? It could be a way of protecting ourselves from possible disappointments or heartbreaks, but doesn't that also mean a lack of faith?

Faith. It can be so constant and at the same time so volatile. Faith that no matter how difficult things may be now, there's always that light at the end of the tunnel. Faith that at some point the games would have stopped and the time to grow up and get real is drawing near. Faith that maybe for once in our lives, things really may not be 'too good to be true'.

the gas light is now flashing

Sometimes it isn't about what we want, but what needs to happen. And no matter how well-prepared we think we are for it, when it really does happen, we realize that all the preparation and pep-talking we put ourselves through had been of absolutely no use at all. And then we fear that we may wake up two weeks after it happens and realize that we can't reverse it, and we'll have to live with it for the rest of our lives.

So much to say, so much to do, and so little time to say and do it all.

make it stop

One of the things that makes it so difficult to let go is the fear of the unknown -- the fear of not knowing where we'll fall once we let go, how much the fall would hurt, and how we'll recover from it. We're afraid that the plans we've made might fall through once they become real, because no matter how much we brace ourselves for it, sometimes the real thing might not be what we had hoped it would be.

Where once I was dying for time to fly by so that things could change, I would now sell my soul to keep everything the way it is, the way it used to be.

Denial

In the most typical method of birth control, one pill a day is taken for 21 days, and then life is dictated by Aunt Flo some time in the next 7 days; the phase of a woman's life that has always come and gone as it pleased can now be fully controlled from every 28 days to every four months, until it can no longer be put off. The same can be said about going through a transitional phase in life; we know it's coming, but we choose not to think or do anything about it until it's ready to slam into our faces and we have no choice but to deal with it. But it's how we deal with it that makes a difference: we either sedate ourselves emotionally so that we don't end up freaking out and bawling our eyes out, or... well, we end up freaking out and bawling our eyes out.

The emotional sedation (more commonly thought of as 'denial'), however, could end up being a little more difficult to deal with. At least, the side effects of it. Deep down we're so overwhelmed by everything that needs to be done that we block out all thoughts and feelings and concentrate (perhaps a little too hard) on the task at hand, and in the end, when the transition has been made, the reality of it finally dawns on us and we realize that we never knew how to deal with it in the first place.

When we get that feeling that something doesn't seem quite right, and we think and think about it but still can't figure out exactly what the problem is, some might say, "It'll hit me eventually." Obliviousness notwithstanding, is it also possible that somewhere (extremely) deep in our subconscious, we secretly know what the problem is, but our refusal to accept it -- and disinclination towards dealing with it -- has us scraping the barrel for something else to pin the problem to? And if we're denying the problem, are we denying it because we wish we didn't feel this way, or because we wish we didn't have to deal with it?

Liberté

After months of standing in front of the door that leads to my escape, I've finally found the courage to open and go through it. And now that I'm standing on the other side of it, you will never be able to touch me again.

Pending conditions II

It's like looking at a painting of a woman. It's an exquisite painting, but in the back of your mind you know something about it just doesn't seem quite right. You stand there until it literally hurts to look at it, and then you realize what it is: her eyes are each a different color..

I'm still looking at my painting, but I still can't figure out what's wrong with it. Either it just hasn't hit me yet, or I'm thinking too much lately..

Pending conditions

It's like being on the notoriously long and boring highway. It's foggy and you can't quite see where you're going, but you know that as long as you stay awake and just keep driving you should be all right. The catch: you knew that there was a problem with the brakes, but you decided to chance it anyway, and naturally, with your luck, the one time you decide to risk all and get into the car is the one time that the brakes finally give out. The closest exit to a rest stop is still a long way off, so unless you run out of gas or deliberately swerve off and crash into a tree, you just have to keep going (it has been taken for granted here that common sense will ensure you don't deliberately crash into a tree). So when the car starts coughing and sputtering, you know it's about to die, but it would make absolutely no sense to jump out and risk breaking something, and besides, there's always that little hope that the car could somehow last until you get to the exit. This begs the question: Why were you in the car in the first place?

Sometimes we get ourselves into a situation without realizing just how far it can take us. But we know that the distance it can go and the length of time it can take isn't entirely up to us, because there are certain things we can't control. When the car finally runs out of gas and stops, you're not surprised that it's dead, but at the same time you're upset that you can't go anywhere now, not even to the exit. If all the plans we make start crumbling about our ears, would we be able to put ourselves in a position where we can toss our heads and say, "Whatever. I saw that coming anyway"? Or is there no conceivable way to escape the disappointment and self-blame and heartbreak?

The gas light is on. And when it starts flashing, I'm not sure what I'm going to do.

Letting go

Oftentimes it's the most difficult and painful thing to do, and yet it can be easier when we know that we have no other choice. But then before we say goodbye, the need for 'closure' arises, and we seek to get it in any way we can.

Sometimes it's not so much to find out why we have to let go, but more to acknowledge that we have to let go, and say what needs to be said. It's the same way as when we say, "I love you"; we don't say it on the condition that the other person has to say it too.

So just because the other person left without saying goodbye, it doesn't mean we can't step up, be the bigger person, and say our own goodbyes either.

Here

I'm here.

Through all the tears and troubles, I'm here.
Through all the fun and laughter, I'm here.
Even though every single day is an excruciating effort not to fold the cards, I'm still here.
Even though every single night is a struggle not to admit defeat and give up, I'm still here.
No matter how far away you stray, I'll still be here.
No matter how long it takes for you to come back, I'll still be here.
In spite of everything, I need you to know I'm here

The Walking Contradiction

Our life experiences play an enormous part in the way we think and behave. We learn from them and prepare ourselves for future experiences that challenge our sense of self, our belief systems, and our wellbeing in its entirety. When we get hurt, we learn to protect ourselves so that nothing and nobody can touch us again. And yet it proves to be both a blessing and a curse.

Someone said to me, "You've changed a lot over the last couple of months... You've gone back into your shell and closed yourself off again... You've become so serious, like you don't know how to laugh anymore...You just seem so SAD all the time!" The claim actually seemed to strike a chord somewhere in my system is reason enough to take it seriously to a certain degree. Fortunately, I was able to justify some of it.

It's true that I don't talk much to people these days, except when I'm at work; in fact, it's probably my overly articulate and exceedingly verbal job that has robbed me of the energy and patience to talk to anyone outside of work, except the closest people to me, the number of which I can count on one hand. And my inability to laugh when people say the stupidest things may very well be mistaken for seriousness. And it's true that when something bad happens I shut down and crawl under a rock until I've recovered, and shut everyone else out. But I don't think I'm 'SAD all the time'; there just isn't anything to be wildly ecstatic about. And yet this appears to be a complete change of character altogether in others' eyes.

Over the last few weeks, I've thought a lot about things that have been said to me about not being myself in certain circumstances and around certain people. And even though I conceded that they probably had good reason to think so, I thought that at the very core of it all, I couldn't not have been myself, because I don't know how to be any other way. But then at one point someone asked, "Is there something you're running away from?" And then the reality, that had become such a deeply-ingrained part of my life and who I am that I was barely conscious of it, resurfaced: I was running away from the possibility of getting hurt again.

Which makes me a walking contradiction.

We are well aware of the risks we have to take when we want something. We know what we stand to lose, we know we could end up in dark places, but we also know what we stand to gain if we get past all that; the pain is merely a lesson to be learnt along the way, a lesson that we discover was worth learning when the pain is over and we've gotten what we want or when we come out of that dark place. So what is the point of running away, if it only takes us farther from what we're trying to reach? That guard we put up, coupled with our natural instinct to fend for ourselves, goes against everything we've been working for and only makes everything worse than it already is.

So why can't we let our guard down? If in the end we do get yet another slap in the face we know that we got into this completely of our own accord and there's no one to blame except ourselves, so why are we subconsciously stopping ourselves from trying for what we want and subsequently repelling everyone else? We know that in the end our hearts will win over our heads and we'll probably do it anyway, but maybe it's just the task of patching up that heart all over again, and the pain that comes with it, that keeps pulling us back one every three steps. Maybe it's the terror of opening up only to have it thrown back in our faces like all the other times we tried.

I know what I want when I want it. I know that in the end I'll throw everything away just to take that risk all over again. And yet I know that if I lose everything, I will never be able do it anymore.

So I'm a walking contradiction. A stupid, stubborn, walking contradiction. And probably a bit of a hypocrite.