Mad Pride

The concept of pain has been on my mind today. (I, quite frequently, delve into random thoughts while droning through work.)

Children of the Cross, as I like to think of us. Yes, I know, that probably doesn't make sense to a million people out there, but it makes sense to me, and it will make sense to some of you, too. We were young, we were incredibly fucked up, and we needed something solid. Pain is a solid force when you surrender to it. Pain can make the haze clear (or the clear hazy, if that's your goal), and pain can make everything seem worth it. Kinksters, we were not; we were in it for the pain - don't let anybody fool you. The people who made it about sex pissed us off, and we made it clear that we were here for a purpose. We wanted to see that white light on the outsides of our gaze, and we could fight off four or five of you to get there. We had something to prove - even if we didn't know what it was at first. But beyond that, we had something to gain, something to attain. We were the subculture within the subculture. And it was a beautiful thing. (The most beautiful thing I have ever seen is your face, flushed red, when you felt the first sting of the single tail. Pig tails be damned; you were THE woman, the first woman, the only woman, in that moment.)

Nearing 30 now, I often ponder the psychology of pain, the purpose of it, and whether or not I'd ever go back to that place. I do miss it. I long for that fuzzy feeling like it was a limb I've lost. Sometimes, I feel lost without it. It was while pondering this concept of pain that I came across the Newsweek article "Mad Pride." BAM! The concept of pain smashed headlong into the concept of fucked-up-ed-ness and the origin of all the not-too-normal.

I spend a lot more time than I let on thinking about what is normal. Was I ever normal? Did I enjoy being a lot LESS normal than I am now? Surely, there are drawbacks to being fucked up just as there are drawbacks to being medicated and on an even-keel. I remember the highs and lows of letting my body, my brain, and my emotions do whatever they wanted. I remember that I used to write poetry, fiction, and songs. I remember that I felt a deeply connected spiritual grounding that I feel I have lost. I was a damn-strong mentalist (we'll not use words like psychic around here, Missy), witch, and healer. DAMN STRONG. I remember that I enjoyed pain because I enjoyed the end-result. The path to it wasn't important; only the moment when I got there was important. I could choose to do anything to get me there. Some would argue that we were not unlike addicts in our quest for pain-zen. I know I sure was. I chose to give up MUCH in that search.

But there are some days when I feel I've been numbed to all of that just so I can do what is expected of me. If I want to get out of bed every day and come to work, I have to take my medication. How much have I sacrificed to be part of "normal" society? Gone are the crosses. Gone are the spine-numbing heels. Put away are the instruments of pain. They collect dust, and it makes me sad. Mom jeans (though I am not a mom) and sensible shoes pack my closet now, and a Saturday night means in bed by 10PM.

In every culture in the world but America, the state of being fucked up is celebrated. You can talk to a spirit? The Native Americans would be elated. You can feel someone's pain and diagnose their illness? India is calling you. You say you can hear ghosts? Britian has a TV show just for you. If you can do any or all of these things in America, however, you are promptly labeled and drugged. Even if you can't see or hear ghosts but you just can't-get-out-of-bed, we've got a pill for you. Beyond this, in every culture in the world but America, the state and concept of pain are revered also. Because pain leads to the state of fucked up, which ranks highest among what people can do to make themselves more god-like or bring themselves into harmony with their gods. In my mind, you can't have one without the other. When we became "normal," we stopped seeking out pain. We stopped seeking that state of zen because we had bills to pay, husbands to feed, and we were incredibly fed up with the bullshit we got from the other members of our subculture. When did that happen? When did we cross over from Children of the Cross to Baggers of the Groceries? And why can't we go back? Are we on the outside now, forever?

The discussion about Mad Pride is one I have had with myself a million times. Would I be better off without my medications? Would I be happier? More creative? More spiritual? Or, am I just better where I am now making sure I am able to do what society says I must? Is there a happy medium? I want to believe that I can do both; but on some days, it is incredibly difficult when just being a normal worker-fish makes me so goddamn tired. What room is there for pain, for fucked-up spirituality when you're so tired? The thought of being a weekend-er pisses me off. It relegates something incredibly personal to me, incredibly important to me to a hobby. I truly feel as though I am hiding part of myself, part of my history and story, by just being 9-to-5 fish. I feel like a fake because I'm not all here - part of me is still back there waiting for the next strike.

Casting

[Post moved from OD]

A long time ago, my therapist asked me to make a chart / list for her of the "personalities" I felt I broke down into. They haven't really changed in all of these years; but as I think about it now, it is possible that there may be a new one or two added to the mix. The dominant personalities, though, haven't ever changed.

Melly - For lack of having a "theme" name, this is THE dominant personality. This is the personality that pretty much everyone gets to interact with on a daily basis. This is the most integrated part of me - the part of me that I've been able to reclaim and put back together the most. When I'm calm, this is the part of me that I retreat to. I suppose you could say that the other parts of me orbit around this one because I can't really get them back into the whole yet.

Mother - This is the part of me that is the problem solver. This is also the part of me that is the clone, the conformer, and the silent part. When I close my eyes, I see Mother as a fifties housewife. Perfect clothes, perfect hairdo, perfect makeup. Mother will always make herself into whatever she believes the world wants her to be. I don't even realize when she comes up to the surface anymore because ...well, because it's easier to believe, I think, that you're making yourself better for someone to love you more than you're making yourself into something you're not because you're afraid of losing someone's love.

Lily - Lily is the child part of my personality fractured off from the rest of me. I'm not entirely sure where the name came from as she's the only personality with an actual NAME instead of a "theme." She said her name was Lily, though, so her name is Lily. Lily is very quiet, and she blends into the background of things incredibly well. She believes that if she isn't seen, she won't be touched. Lily loves playtime, though, but it is hard for her to go from playtime into serious time. Lily likes to go to Toys R Us. She likes to color, and she likes bath time with Daddy. (Daddy = Hub.) But ever since Daddy took another little girl, there's no more bath time; so, Lily feels abandoned all over again, and she stays in the corner of the head-room and doesn't talk much. She comes out every now and then, and I can hear her voice sometimes.

Butch - I used to have a particular personality named Butch, the fighter. Now, though, Ms. Butch is more of my smart-ass. She is the personality with whom I converse when I need to converse. Since Mother cannot be counted upon to play devil's advocate or to hold a decent conversation when revelations need to be had, Ms. Butch had stepped in to fill this role nicely. She used to fight with anybody and everybody, but there is a lot less fighting in my world these days. So, she's sort of taken the sarcastic, smart-ass but still pretty smart and intellectual able to have a really good conversation role, which is still really weird because I'm totally talking to myself. *sigh*

The Animal - This is the addition to my little group that wasn't there when I made the original list for my therapist. In the head-room, in the opposite corner from Lily, there's a little black cage; and inside of that cage, is the animal-woman. For all intents and purposes, she IS a woman - full figured, arms, legs, head, no fur, etc. What makes her an animal is the fact that she doesn't speak, she simply watches the rest of them interact with her glossy eyes. When she moves, it is fluid, stalking. She craves that hunting feeling. When I'm in the midst of "meat" mode (Frog has seen it), that is the Animal. When I'm in blood lust, that is the Animal. She so very rarely makes an appearance any more that I often forget how strong she is, but she's still there.

So, if you can picture it, they all hang out in a room together (what I call the head-room) kind of like the version of hell in Les Mouches (did I spell that right?). For the most part, they all get along because they understand where their freak outs come from, but they do fight - and that is some weirdness right there, let me tell you. And their freak outs lend themselves to my surface freak outs. Their fears lend themselves to my surface fears. Sometimes, I wish that others knew them better so they could be more easily recognized. It would be easier, I think, if someone could say to me, "That isn't your fear, Melly, that's Mother's." Because then, I could analyze that and see that Mother's fear isn't necessarily the best thing for the whole of me. Or Lily's fear might keep us pinned into a corner whereas if we forge together as whole, we might get past it.

And by the way...

I should not be allowed to take my Ambien and then wander about...

At some point last night, AFTER I took my Ambien, I went out into the hotel, wandered around looking for an ice machine (never found one as far as I can tell), found a vending machine, purchased an apple juice (vaguely remember being pissed off because the machine was sold out of OJ), asked the front desk woman if she had matches after going into a diatribe about how I knew the rooms were non-smoking and I was not a smoker but I had a soothing candle to help me relax and sleep, tried to take video on my cell phone, and managed to take some sort of photograph of myself on my cell phone to send via text to Hub. I have no idea if the photograph I sent to Hub was of the nude variety or not! I do not really remember leaving my room to wander the hotel, nor do I remember coming back to the room and / or getting back into bed. Neither do I entirely remember calling Hub at any point in the evening last night, but I apparently did because I got him in trouble for calling him during the meeting last night after he'd clocked in at work.

Someone really should keep an eye on me after I take my meds...

Coping Mechanisms

So, I was talking to frog about coping mechanisms this morning, which made me think about my own coping mechanisms. I know I have both good ones and bad ones. I need to rely more heavily on the good ones and less heavily on the bad ones; but in order to do that, I think I need to identify both, don't you agree?

Let's start with the bad...

• I'm a picker. I pick my nails, my arms, and any bit of skin I can get at. There is actually a name for what I do because I can get so lost in it that I can do it for hours if I'm not careful, but I don't remember what the name of it is. At one point, I rationalized it that I did this so the outside would hurt as much as the inside.
• I bite my nails.
• I'm comfortable in the "drama zone"; although, I have to admit that this has gotten a lot better.
• I pick fights w/ Bear when I'm feeling lonely or stressed out in order to release tension.
• I go to bed and sleep. I did this a lot when I lived in CA.

The good...

• I call people - particularly frog.
• I email - particularly Angel.
• I take a bath.
• I scrapbook.
• I play with Epona.

So, I need to focus more on those good things, and I need to build more good things.