Habits

I’m trying to reframe things in my mind as the weekend is about to hit again.

I’ve just been so frustrated with everything the past few weeks.

Everything kind of collapsed.

I had to just sit and let the anger and annoyance with life wash over me.

Run its course.

I’m still miserable feeling.

Physically feeling heavy and tired.

A lot of doom and destruction is rummaging around in me.

But looking at what I can from a few years back, I am starting to see some habits surface from myself recently.

Good ones for once.

And a few of my bad habits are starting to crawl to the back seat.

They’re small, simple changes.

Ones that I can digest and get situated before taking on another.

I used to think that in order to change, everything has to be different now.

Right now.

Yesterday even.

But that’s not always the case.

For me, these changes take a lot of time.

They take months to settle in.

And then hopefully a couple more months to become semi automatic.

I haven’t gotten that far yet.

But, that’s a lot to take in alone.

And when I start thinking about that, I start thinking about how time can heal things.

Or at least it has been helping me trudge through so far.

I’ve been noticing that the passing of time between my small habit changes is pretty long.

It’s absolutely necessary for me to have that time though.

It helps me separate my body from my mind.

It shows me how they repel one another.

And how they work together.

It’s just everything takes forever.

And patience has never been a strong suit of mine.

It’s very difficult for me to manage my impatience.

I become short tempered.

I shut down.

The past couple of weeks, I’ve been trying to stop holding myself back from feeling my feelings.

And have been trying to work through them more appropriately and timely.

It’s a fine line to not allow myself to blow up at the same time.

I’m prone to just shoving everything down and away to never actually deal with it.

Or I scream and yell until someone – or myself, walks away.

And these are not productive behaviors at all.

For me or anyone who is around me.

Me shoving away my feelings like that only creates a vacuum of frustration and maladaptive behaviors.

They compound over the years and implode.

So I decided to try something new.

I’m trying to let my feelings wash over me.

Drown in them.

Letting them be in me and living through the undeniably uncomfortable shituation.

These ups and downs will never go away for me.

They just are.

They’re a huge part of me and my personality.

My darkness runs extremely deep.

It mingles with my anger and confusion.

But very small habit changes are helping me see other ways to cope.

I can’t express enough how all of this *gestures at everything* is only possible with the medication that I’m on now.

None of this would have happened if I wasn’t on the right antipsychotic.

But, I’m finding ways to help my body and help my mind process all of this life bullshit.

Realizing that my mind and body actually are connected was huge.

People say that, sure.

I’ve heard it thousands of times.

But it never actually registered with me.

I’m different.

I’m hopeless.

Nothing will ever change in my miserable fucking life.

But once it clicked for me, I have been able to make changes.

And the idea of the mind and body working together but separate came to me.

The fact that two things can be true at the same time.

My body and mind can work together AND separately.

I can be happy AND frustrated.

I can be miserable AND physically feel better.

And so on…

The changes I’ve made, I don’t think, have been huge either.

Like drinking less diet soda.

Drinking more water.

Well, not eating dairy or meat anymore was bigger.

But not life ending.

It wasn’t difficult for me due to the physical issues they cause me, I think.

I also added daily supplements like vitamin D, probiotics, a multivitamin and turmeric this year.

Oh, Writing.

Writing has been the constant positive habit and outlet for me.

(That is probably something everyone here on WP gets.)

It’s a floatation device for me.

I can write about anything.

Anything and everything I’m thinking.

Or feeling.

I can express myself using whatever words are best equipped.

I have always written a lot because it was the only thing that was really comforting. 

The only thing that understands me.

The only thing that makes sense.

Writing doesn’t judge me or misinterpret me. 

Writing just is.

It just gives and gives. 

I’ve never felt like people really understood me.

But the page and pen do.

Or my laptop and my phone.

Whichever I feel like using.

I think without writing, I would’ve exploded by now.

I would’ve fucked up bad.

It wouldn’t be good.

I’m really glad today that I can write again.

I didn’t write for years.

Not anything meaningful that is.

Short things here and there.

But no journal or prose but a random lined sheet.

I notice now, in those times of not writing, I was prone to picking up horrid habits.

I act out when I don’t have a solid release.

That’s something I never thought of until just now.

It’s curious.

In times where I wasn’t writing, I wasn’t doing remotely well.

It’s like I was embarrassed to write anything down because my life was just so fucking infuriating and absurd.

Well, the entry is done and I still feel like garbage, ha!

But at least I can acknowledge that I have some better habits than I used to.

I’m trying to keep stepping in the right direction.

Ever so slowly.

– Keren