Tag: psychology

Bathtime thoughts

There’s an old adage that “there’s no money in a cure” when talking about pharmaceutical companies. It’s wrong though, from a single angle. There is money in a cure; when the treatment is the main product of your competitor.

Was also thinking about Scientology.
There’s a disconnect in understanding them I think. While we joke about Xenu and so forth, we’re not thinking about it from their perspective. If they’re so far into the “church” that they know that big ultimate truth, then they’ve been conditioned to KNOW that learning of these things without conditioning will KILL YOU.
I can only conclude then that either those who’re exposed to the protesters shouting about Xenu & the whole alien-souls backstory are either never going to be allowed so high in the organisation to be told of its alleged importance or are so high in the org that they know it’s bullshit (unlikely, as there would need to be thousands that high in base-level jobs for those to be the only type exposed). I conclude this because if the ones being shouted at knew what their cults own stance on that knowledge was, the fact these unconditioned protesters were not dropping dead from the knowledge would expose a fundamental chink in the armour.
Of course I rather suspect that there’s a third or fourth option, possibly in the form some sort defined of natural enemy of Scientology who I’m unaware of who can be exposed to the info & live with the express purpose of harming the cult, or that the definition of the information destroying/killing you is in a more metaphorical or spiritual sense.

Misery loves company

The past month.

The last month has not been good.

It’s actually been over a month now when I finally decided to do something about the increasing number of heart palpitations and the trouble breathing I’d been having. My blood pressure was apparently fine, but since I was getting joint pain as well, I was sent for blood tests.
While I was waiting for the results I found they lessened when I had a bit to drink. As the tests eventually came back clear, it seemed to confirm the symptoms were psychosomatic; a direct reaction to stress. It also dawned on me that the feelings were so much like the start of a panic attack, but they lingered for hours on end.
A fortnight later and I still have the same continual symptoms. For a week of that I tried lessening it with alcohol, but by the end of the week it already had little effect, to the point I was sober from a bottle of wine to myself in a few hours.
I became increasingly aware that it got worse when I tried to work by myself. It became obvious that I’d finally hit some psychological stress limit from working on my own with no reward.
Getting some personal things, like new glasses and dental checks done, helped a bit. I looked forward to going to the LF meet at the weekend. And sabotaged it. Again I took the portable shop with me, and again I tethered myself to a single table to run it. The final nail was two friends inviting me out at the end of the day, and not being able to with the millstone in tow.

During this time I tweeted about it, and got minimal response. I was getting desperate and increasingly feeling that I was being ignored. A background character in everyones lives, these people who claimed to be friends. I decided there wasn’t much to loose, just let go of my sense of control and let myself fully emo-up. To let myself freak out.

Admitting you’re in a very bad place makes you paranoid. It makes you repress any good feelings you do have because you fear it’ll make you seem like a liar if someone sees you in that moment. And while people did sit up and attempt to start helping, every bit has been tainted with the knowledge that I had to literally jump up and down in front of them to get them to notice I was in pain. No one noticed things slowly getting worse? My mood darkening? Am I that forgettable?
Everyone keeps saying I should ask for help if I need it. And every time I do, I’m told it’s something I need to do for myself.

I did manage to meet with a couple of friends, and it did help for a bit. I tried to rest as they advised and it helped more. But each time I’ve tried to get even a small amount of work done I’ve been overwhelmed with the futility of it. Everything seems insurmountable.

Everyone offers the same advice, and having to explain the same facts of the situation over and over again to purported friends who haven’t paid a blind bit of attention until I started yelling I was hurting, just rubs it in.

Here’s what’s happened.
Yes I’ve tried that. And that. And that.
No, that won’t work because of this. And this. I need to do THIS. Ah, you can’t help with that then?

I had hoped the amount of help I’ve tried to give other people in the past decade might have amounted to something, and while I have had some help from more recent quarters, it still feels like the last ten years have been something of a waste in regard to the friendships made.

The words on this screen are hollow and meaningless. It seems so many of them are easily typed and forgotten. So many I know are happy for relations to remain that distant.
Is it really so much to ask for a few real words, or the human touch again?

I’m tired of all this.