Not listening

I told my therapist that this were better this week. He asked, "What changed?"

He and I have considered whether working helps. He and I have considered whether this OCD medication works (the antidepressants failed to work for more than a month, and even though I don't have OCD, this medication seemed, er, less ineffective). He and I have considered whether I've been able to rewrite my automatic thinking to stop believing in the inevitability of becoming unemployed, crazy, and stuck in institutions/nursing homes for the rest of my life. We've discussed the importance of getting a mentor, regular meetings with friends, etc. We've discussed the value of going back to church and belief -- he's an evangelical Christian (though he voted for Obama in 2012).

All of these factors might have helped a little bit. But right now, I think it's something different. Because I haven't been on medication for a few weeks -- and had experienced a severe depressive episode last month, while on medication. I recognized, years ago, the incorrect assumptions and analysis that lay beneath that pattern of thinking. I haven't been spending more time with friends, or family. My relationships with my father and stepfather remain unchanged.

In short, even though I have a host of plausible things that should or could make me better, I don't know that they are fundamentally why I feel like I'm doing better now.

So what is it?

Basically, I'm hungry and intolerant.

I'm hungry because I haven't had a good job in a few years. I've had part-time tutoring and a full-time PITA position at a high school. But that's it. And increasingly I have a chip on my shoulder that won't be satisfied by looking back at past glories or through incremental improvements in my students' lives. I'm poor, and would be homeless were it not for my parents. Counselors and family members are perfectly happy to speculate on whether or not a "tough love" approach would cure me -- but I don't care about that.

Hence, intolerance. I really don't care anymore what family members or ex-classmates think. Some think that I still retain too much pride, and it is the sacrifice of pride that will allow me to accept Christ again and live a better life. They could be right -- but I have a lot of issues with that, and not all emotional. I'd like to think that, even through the sometimes-chaotic periods of the last few years, I have contemplated in a serious manner some aspects of personal philosophy, and that has largely evolved away from strict adherence to a conservative religious position. It has evolved toward financial support of my family's liberal and progressive church, but more in the context of cultural center and extended family than personal belief.

I also really don't care about day-to-day interactions with my parents, and have grown less sensitive to things that are well-intended but effectively undermine my sense of self-worth and human dignity. This sounds excessively dramatic -- basically, I'm learning more effectively to tune out large chunks of things spoken at me. Perhaps if I were a better at compartmentalizing life, thoughts, and emotions, I'd be better at humoring the world view of my mother and father. But a selective mute button works for now.

But basically, it comes down to accepting that I'm more alone than I previously believed.

Now, I'm certain that this set off an argumentative tripwire among those who read this and care about me. That's deliberate. Give me a chance to explain.

I know I have people who love and care about me, and support me as best as they can, in the ways they can. And I know that, over the last couple years, it hasn't really felt like enough. It could by my own fault, a consequence of habitually pushing people away. It could be no one's fault -- the result of everyone just being busy, preoccupied with our respective lives and troubles. And it could be a bit of other people's fault -- but the truth of that is not particularly adaptive.

I have lived, for a long time, under the unspoken belief that I'm not really in control of my own destiny. I pursued a scientific research path, in part, because of influences subtle and not-so-subtle from my father and my teachers. Some of this has to do with a false belief of genetic inevitability/familial patterns/other bullshit.

But I think I'm getting to a point where I have to believe that I have more control over my life, even more than I might actually have, if for no other reason than I think it can, at this particular juncture, empower more than it frightens.

The consequences of this are a bit unknown.

I have to be careful not to beat myself up. I have to be careful not to mistake impulsiveness and impatience for proactivity. I have to also continue to be open to advice from people in a position to really provide it, even as I make sure that that advice is evaluated both in the context of my specific relationship and their specific competence in that area. Part of me worries that this might be the start of becoming more selfish, more of an asshole, and less empathetic.

But I'm willing to take that chance. I can't afford to wait any longer for life to get better on its own. I'm no longer extremely young, and the opportunities for me to do the things that, at some level, I know I can do, is closing. There is an expiration date -- and even if there isn't, I might still get better results thinking that there is.

Looking back, the times I really stepped up -- certain periods in high school, freshman year in college, a very few aspects of college volunteering, and the 2005 EU seminar -- were times I didn't know to be afraid of things not working out. I simply asked, applied, begged, and worked my way into things. And I didn't think about whether I was deluding myself about these things.

I remember a friend -- a close friend -- shot down the idea that I'd be competitive with my peers in an EU seminar to win a trip to Europe. But, for whatever reason, I ignored him, and got it.

A few years later, I remember a friend -- a close friend -- shoot down the idea that I could transition to work in the diplomatic service. I listened to him more, and didn't do it. And that was a mistake.

I wasn't aware enough to realize that, really, I did not have the research background or the organizational skills to be an appropriate candidate for the NSF fellowship. I worked a month on the essays -- and let me give credit to my advisor for supporting me with drafts and recommendations -- and got it. Maybe it was a mistake on their part, but the important thing was that I got the damn thing.

Maybe I need people I don't quite trust fully to tell me no. Maybe not -- that's putting the locus of control externally, again.

The only thing I know, for certain, is that I've got to take more personal responsibility for my life. And, for now, that means not listening to certain people.