One of the most frustrating things about having a background in psychology and a fairly in-depth knowledge of my own behavior and why I act the way I do is that it doesn’t make it any easier for me to actually do anything about it. In fact, it makes it harder sometimes because then I will berate myself on top of not doing what I need to do. I can sit there with my (last) therapist and say, “I procrastinate on doing what I need to do because I dread the negative consequences if I mess it up.” I make a lot of sense when I talk about my issues, and before my last therapist, I was able to snow the three or four therapists I had before her.At the end of the last post, I mentioned that it was hard to fix my bad behavior, even if I knew what I was doing wrong.
This is not a humblebrag, by the way–me saying that I could run rings around most of my therapists/counselors. It’s a flat-out brag. Or rather, it’s the truth. I am really fucking smart, especially when it comes to people and motivations. Including my own. I’m a bit of a Cassandra in that I know what is going to happen before it happens, but people don’t want to/can’t hear me. Then, I have to watch the shit happen as I predicted without hollering, “I fucknig told you so!” afterwards.
My mother on the other hand, not only doesn’t know her own issues, she denies she has any. That’s not completely fair. She knows some of her issues such as that she’s anxious about everything, but she has an excuse/reason for it all. She justifies her anxiety, even when I point out that it won’t help anything to be anxiaus about her situation. It’s not as if I don’t have compassion. I have anxiety as well, and I have a hell of a time keeping it under control. Well, I used to before my medical crisis. It’s not as bad now, but it’s slowly creeping up again.
The difference, though, is that I try to mitigate my anxiety whereas my mother does not. She displaces it by dumping it on my brother and me–repeatedly. Ironically for a therapist, she has every excuse not to see a therapist herself. The only time she did was when she had to for her practicum. She still talks to that woman as her mentor (my mother’s mentor), but they no longer do therapist/client sessions. As far as I know. I have mentioned to my mother more than once that she should see a therapist. This was usually at the point where I was about to snap because I could not take it any longer.
I have had my shoulders physically depress as my mother complained and complained to me about whatever was on her mind (usually my father). I’ve also hunched up my shoulders around my ears in the same situation. I feel a literal weight on my shoulders when I talk to her, and it can take hours to recover. That’s progress, by the way. Two or three decades ago, I would be depressed for days. Suicidal, even. I’m not exaggerating. Talking to my mother made me lose the little will to live that I had–which was miniscule.
Taiji has helped me set boundaries with my mother. I owe a lot to Taiji, to be honest. I started when I was thirty-five or so, and every year, my life has gotten better. It’s hard to tell people about it because it sounds so mundane in the telling. Well, not if I give the overview. Then it sounds sort of impressive. As long as I don’t get into the nitty-gritty. Taiji saved my life. That’s not hyperbole. It got my body ready for my medical crisis and then it saw me through it. I have said over and over again that it was love, luck, and Taiji that saw me through my medical crisis.
My mental health has taken quite a dive in the past six months or so. Well, to put it more precisely, there was a very slow decline in my mental health starting from the second year of my rebirth. It wasn’t obvious at the start, but it became clearer as time continued.
At the end of 2023, things started going wrong. Just little things, but they added up. I took it as the balance for my miracle. I know life doesn’t work like that, but it’s hard not to think that way. I was given the miracle of a lifetime when I was brought back from the dead (twice). How the hell could I think I deserve anything good after that?
Here’s the thing, though. Life was good for a year after. And decent for a year after that. I know it’s partly just because I wsa so graceful to be alive. I knew not to take it for granted because I had been dead (twice!). I had seen how easily it was for life to be taken from you. Life is, indeed, fleeting.
My mental health slipped more and more as time went on. See, here’s the thing. What happened to me was a miracle, yes, but I was still the person I always was. Not as depressed and not as anxious, yes, but it was still me. Me with all my strengths and flaws, There was one major change that I did not like at all: I could no longer write fiction. I tried, but it wasn’t good. I have not written any in the last six months at least, and there’s a big reason for that. I don’t want to get into it because it’s still not something I can talk about without tearing up and wanting to bawl my eyes out.
Safe to say, it has taken a toll on my mental health. A lot of the color has gone from my world. I have a hard time finding joy. I know this means I should find a therapist, but they are in short supply. I went on BetterHelp, a website on which you can find a therapist, and when I put in what I was looking for, there were no matches. The problem is that I want an Asian non-male person who is also queer and aware of gender issues. I live in Minnesota. There are none of those. I know I don’t have to have someone in Minnesota online (I presume), but there still was no one who fit what I wanted. I have to decide what’s most important to me. I think having some Asian matters because a big part of what is bothering me has to do with my family dysfunction. Which is based in a very Taiwanese (East Asian) mentality.
I’m done fro now. More tomorrow.