Addicted To The Day Dream

    I am addicted to the day dream. I often feel less joy from doing than I do from imagining. The fantasy becomes my reality, and the reality becomes the fantasy. I have been doing this my whole life. An addict since I was ten. I am addicted to the fantasy of something, not the reality of it. 
    As a kid, I lived in a fantasy world. It was how I survived the crushing pain of reality. It allowed me to survive in the constant barrage of hostile environments: Home. School. Camp. I survived by imagining a different life.
    But I never stopped doing that. It has gotten pathological, woven into my cells. Like an addict who can not see how he could possibly survive without the drug, I can not imagine myself without this omnipresent mental construct. I feel it is Who I Am. It is What I Am. I can not separate it from me, any more than the addict can separate themselves from the drug.
    But how do I kick THIS addiction? Where is there support for THIS? I could be the only person on the planet with this addiction. Where do I turn? 
    For many years, the pain of real life was unbearable, so I created an alternative life and spent as much time there as  I could. So when I do it now, I’m doing it to avoid pain. I’m still just trying to survive. I still don’t believe I can hack it in the real world. Years ago, reality crushed me beyond my own recognition. It robbed me of almost everything I truly was and almost everything I wanted to be. And despite all the work I’ve done on myself, that fear persists even today. My fear that life, real life, with all it’s responsibilities and unknowns, will destroy me. So I avoid it as often as I can. I go inside and fantasize. I’m doing it now, even as I write this. Imagining who may read this and who may respond to it and how brilliant and insightful it may be and how I will be applauded for my honesty and my courage and my depth and my sensitivity. And as in life, I have woven the fantasy of the event into the fabric of the event itself.
    A part of me believes that fantasy is always better than reality. That is my core fallacy around this addiction. Just as the alcoholic believes, with all his being, that life is better, easier to handle, more fun, less painful, more rewarding, with the drink than without it. I believe that my life of fantasy, inside my own head, is better than the real world. Even though I have plenty of evidence to the contrary. Even though I have years of proof that life can be fun and fulfilling and magical, this core fallacy remains; Untouched by the events of my life; Unaffected by the growth I’ve experienced; Undaunted by the revelations I’ve had. This core fallacy remains intact. Alive and well. Steadfast and relentless. It keeps me trapped in a prison of my own making.
    A piece of me is fully invested in the belief that the world I can create, moment to moment, in my own mind, is, in every respect, better than the world out there. All these wonderful ideas and creations and imaginative concepts are better served by keeping them inside my own head than by trying to make them work in the world.    
    My necessity to create a world of fantasy in order to cope with my unbearable reality, however, also facilitated my vivid imagination and my boundless creativity. My response to pain helped me develop some of my most valuable gifts. My method of survival was to create something else. I created whole new worlds inside of me, and that’s where I spent lots of my time. It disconnected me from reality. It made it difficult to connect to others. It made me feel alone and isolated and different. But it also honed my imagination and my creativity. If I could create entire realities, within the confines of my own mind, complete with feelings and perceptions and atmospheres and nuances and details and everything else, then I could create anything. After making a whole world from scratch, an entire reality from the ground up, anything else I had to create seemed easy. So when it came time for me to create something, anything, else, I excelled. That ability was a gift born of pain.
    I have carried that pain and fear into my adult life. Most of us do.  I have tried to stuff and deny that voice by having so much fun that I couldn’t hear it anymore. That hasn’t worked.  I don’t like this fearful voice, but it is a part of me. And I can not obliterate it by simply over indulging myself in pleasure and avoiding responsibility. I’ve tried that. It doesn’t work. What I need to do is listen to that voice, that voice I hate, and hear what it has to say. Then, and only then, can I speak to it from a different place and tell it that it doesn’t have to be afraid anymore. I can tell that voice that I’m not ten anymore. As I have learned over and over again, my way out is through. That means listening instead of squelching. Because the more I try to shut it out, the louder it gets. And then it takes over. And then I’m in trouble. Like I am now. 

©2009 Clint Piatelli. All Rights (and an Alternative Reality of Wrongs) Reserved.

Re-Inhibitor

        One of the things so many of us love about children is their ability to surprise and even astonish us with some of the the things they say and do. I was around a gaggle of my little cousins last weekend, ranging in ages from six to sixteen, so I was witness to an endless stream of entertaining behavior. I started asking myself why we as adults are so enthralled with what children do and say.
        One of the reasons I came up with hits very close to home with me. Children are usually much less inhibited than adults. A child will do something, like get wet, roll in the sand, cover their head with seaweed and put on a diving mask so that they resemble an alien, simply because it’s fun. Simply because they want to. Simply because they can. They’re not worried about what people are going to think of them. And if they are, it’s most likely along the lines of “Oh boy, this is going to make people laugh. I’m going to get some juicy attention for this!”.
        This sort of attitude allows children to be much freer in their range of behaviors. Obviously, they have to learn how their behavior effects others, and therefore develop boundaries and governing systems. But I’m not talking about behavior like that. I’m referring to the kind of stuff like looking like an alien at the beach. Behavior that is undertaken simply because it’s fun, simply because it's self expressive. Behavior whose environmental impact is limited to people’s opinion of it.
        In children, it’s all about fun. It’s all about being yourself and doing what feels good. Children know how they feel, and they express it. They express what they like and what they don’t like. Self expression is a key element in being a kid. What they do. What they say. What they wear. It all screams “Here I am! This is me!”. That sort of outgoing, innocent, somewhat irreverent, self expressive energy is a beautiful thing. And something we lose so much of when we “mature”. Maybe that’s one reason people find artists, particularly rock musicians, so fascinating; that gonzo-out-there-this-is-me energy is so alive and well in them.
        I’m focusing on the attitude here, not necessarily on a particular behavior. As we get older, we learn all types of lessons regarding how to act and what to say. Many lessons are valuable, and help us with our self control, develop our boundaries, and make us cognizant of the rights of others. And some lessons are rather worthless. These are the lessons that create so much inhibition and fear in us that we literally forget what it means to be ourselves. Lessons that raise our self consciousness to such dizzying platitudes that we won’t do things that are harmless but loads of fun strictly because we’re afraid of what people will think of us. Lessons that completely alienate and stifle the child within.
        In my case, when I was a child, I was much more like an adult. I was very self conscious. Prohibitively so. I was incredibly inhibited. More than even many grown ups. I didn’t like myself much at all. In a way, my life has run in reverse. I feel more like a kid now than when I was a kid. I have more fun now than I ever did as a child. I’m exponentially more expressive. I’m more myself. I’m far less self conscious or inhibited. I very much want to be loved and liked, but I’m far less concerned with who doesn’t like me, or even if they do or not.
        By no means am I suggesting that I don’t have these self conscious inhibitor gremlins inside of me. I do. I’m very aware of them, and sometimes, their voices are loud. I struggle with them constantly. But I’ve had some success in taming them. I’ve had some success in realizing where they absolutely do me no good. I’ve had some success in telling them to shut the fuck up.
        What I encourage people to do is get in touch with the kid inside of themselves and rediscover who that kid is. He or she has much to teach you. Not only about who you really are, but about who you really aren’t. If you’re willing to get to know that kid intimately, he or she will help you re-ignite fun and joy and uninhibited energy. That kid will tell you a lot about what you really love. And about who you really love.
        And that child will also tell you a lot about the pain you are still in today. If you truly open up to your kid’s unbridled joy of self expression, then you will also open up to whatever residual pain still lives inside you. Pain that still effects your behavior today. Pain that still effects who you are. And who you aren’t. Maybe that’s one reason why so many people shut out that child within. Because of the pain that’s still there. Because they are afraid that once they rediscover that kid, it’s not going to be all fun and games.
        And it usually isn’t. My own journey involved opening up to the pain first, which is usually how it happens, and another reason people are reluctant to re-discover the inner child. The pain usually comes before the joy, and who the hell wants more pain.
        But I can tell you from experience; it’s unquestionably worth it. The payoff for dealing with ourselves is a fuller life. The freedom we gain in our emotional lives is invaluable. We are able to access energies in ourselves that have been dormant for years and maybe weren’t even aware of. Our self expression flows through us and out of us and back into us again like high voltage through a cable of high conductive copper, re-energizing our lives. We start recovering who we really are. We become open to pain as well as joy, true. But that is so much better than being numb, which is where so many of us reside, so much of the time. I know. I was there for a long time.
        The child within will teach you about your latent pain, and help you get in touch with that ache deep inside of you that hasn’t yet healed. But once you’re in touch with it, you can start the process of releasing it. The child within can teach you about love. About unconditional love. About joy and self expression and fun. They will teach you about feeling. About being. About living. Ultimately, getting in touch with your inner child is about freeing yourself, on many levels, about many things. And how the hell can that be bad?


©2009 Clint Piatelli. All Rights (and a house full of very self expressive Wrongs) Reserved.

Love Me Through Glass

        Placed in an incubator just moments after I was born, I got comfortable being looked at through glass. I got comfortable being loved through an invisible wall.
        From the first seconds of life, I learned how to love and be loved using walls. These walls were a fact of life for me from the very beginning. The barriers were in fact physical before they were metaphysical. I didn’t have to learn how to put them up. They were already there. It’s all I knew, right from the start.
        Because a person, especially a new born, needs love to live, I had to detect the love coming through the glass, or else I’d perish. So I immediately developed the ability to feel love and affection and connection right through the wall. And right after I developed this ability, because I was in there for three weeks, I got used to it. I got comfortable with experiencing love through a wall. So that’s how I did it.
        I’m still most comfortable being loved from afar. Being adored through some sort of wall. But now it’s a wall of my own creation. Or at least it has been. That’s all changing now. But it’s a work in process.
        I’ve noticed that what’s easiest for me is to be aware that someone is looking at me, maybe even talking about me, and letting it go at that. Being noticed and smiled at from across the room is a great feeling. It is most often an invitation to at least say hello, and maybe strike up a conversation. But I notice my reluctance to do so, and it makes sense. Because as long as all you can do is look at me, adore me from afar as it were, I’m comfortable. I’m safe. You don’t know me yet, so I’m still okay. I get to bask in the knowledge that you find me somewhat attractive, and that you’re curious about me. And all too often, that’s enough for me. Because after that, it starts to get unsafe. After that, a little of the wall has to come down so that we can talk. And that, believe it or not, can be very scary for me.
        In an intimate relationship, the wall is still there. It’s a lot thinner, and the glass is spotless and pretty transparent. But it’s a still a wall. Because I still feel the need to keep myself safe. I can’t let you all the way in. I never have. Even right after I was born.
        This is not a unique trait. In fact, it’s all too common. Now that I’m acutely aware of it, I see it everywhere. Not only in myself, but in others. But that’s the way it always is. Only when you become finely attuned to your own experience, your own pain, your own struggle, can you so deftly pick it up in your relationships with others. That’s one reason I believe that some of the best sports coaches were not necessarily the best players. They constantly experienced the struggle of their limitations, and therefore the pain of their professional existence, much more than their super-star counterparts. Therefore, when it comes time to coach, they are able to more readily relate to the struggles of the average player, who make the majority of the team. You can learn to massage egos, and stroke the bellies of the stand outs, a lot easier than you can learn to relate to the painful experience of the common reality.
        When I was released from the incubator chamber, the physical glass walls were soon replaced by emotional ones, but they still weren’t mine. I developed my own from mirroring what I saw, and instinctively knowing that I already knew how to construct them in order to protect myself. So I did. And I got better at it the older I got.
        I’ve chosen to unlearn this way of doing the love dance, a way that I was taught since my very first moments of life. I’m grateful that I’ve become so aware of this and that I’ve chosen to work at doing it differently. My walls are coming down now. With so many of us, the walls get bigger and thicker and stronger as we get older. We can become more closed off as we age, we therefore age quicker, and it makes the aging process far more difficult. Even cruel. I’m going the other way. I feel younger than I have since I was a teenager.
        Like an addict who hit his bottom, I started the slide after my dad died, and I hit the ground with a life shaking thud. After bouncing around on the bottom for a while, I realized that I was in love with a woman who just left me. And that’s when I started to climb out. After I finally faced myself and could not run from the pain anymore. That’s usually how it happens. We come up against ourselves after a trauma, like a death or a divorce or an accident or a series of heart breaking losses, and we start living. Or we start dying.
        But as I’ve said, it’s a work in process. If I were standing, half naked, on stage in a room with thousands of people all staring at me, I would be more comfortable than I would be if I had to approach one of those people and talk to them. Even if I knew that they were liking what they saw. I can often overcome the fear of approaching someone and striking up a conversation, and I’m a lot more at ease with myself than I used to be, but what I notice is that the fear is still there. The fear of not having a wall of glass through which to connect. A wall that’s been there since I was born. A wall that’s coming down.


©2009 Clint Piatelli. All Rights (and The Wall by Pink Floyd of Wrongs) Reserved.

The Body As Canvas

        One toy that re-appears each generation is some sort of humanoid figure, less than a foot tall, completely made of white resin, that allows you to paint on it. Sometimes the paints come with it, sometimes you have to buy the paint separately. Curiously, the closer it looks like a human being, the more clothing it usually has on.
        I remember seeing these as a kid and getting incredibly excited. In fact, when I see them today, in whatever modern form they have evolved into, I get...incredibly excited. Because even as a child, the idea of having a blank slate upon which to create myself filled me with a light that made me glow from the inside out.
        Before I knew what it meant to not like myself, I didn’t like myself. I always remember wanting to be somebody else. I had a very active fantasy life where I was always pretending that I was some other thin, cool, popular, attractive, happy kid, instead of the fat, melancholy, socially awkward boy that I was.
        These little all white figures were tabulae rasae that I could paint as brightly and as beautifully and as outrageously as I wanted. It was much different than painting on a piece of paper. The little statue that looked like a human body was far more symbolically evocative of who and what I could become. It was like I was painting on myself. It was as though I was re-creating myself whenever I painted one of them. I obviously wasn’t mature enough to be aware of that then, but I see that connection clearly now.
        Even now, just thinking about a three dimensional human form upon which to paint and adorn however I choose fills me with a child like joy and excitement that only the possibility of full self expression can conjure. As a child, my opportunities for full self expression were extremely limited. And when the opportunities arose,there was always a ceiling or a limit on just how expressive I could be. Even if I was just painting a toy.
        Not now. As an adult, whatever limits I place on my own self expressiveness are, ultimately, of my own design and choosing.
        What I’ve come to understand is that, like that little white statue, I see my body as a canvas upon which to paint whatever I choose. But, unlike the statue, it’s not a static canvas. It’s a vibrant, dynamic canvas that I can sculpt into the shape I want. I have a certain amount of control over the shape of this canvas, and through exercise and nutrition and discipline and knowledge and desire and hard work, I can make it into something I like the looks of. Something I like the feel of. I don’t have to fantasize about being somebody else. I can become the man I want to be. “Sculpting” and “Painting” this canvas called my body is one piece of that self-actualization.
        The clothing and the jewelry and the hair color and whatever else I adorn to present to the outside world are like the colors and designs I paint on the little white resin statue. I have become that magical canvas upon which to paint. And I don’t want to limit my colors or my designs. I want to use the colors and the styles and the designs that I like. I want to combine them all to create a unique presentation. I want my physical form to look as unique on the outside as I am on the inside.
        It doesn’t make any sense not to use whatever colors or styles or designs or accoutrements excite me to create this. Certainly not because somebody else is telling me what’s acceptable or normal. As a child, it was parents or teachers or other kids setting the rules on self expression. Now it’s societal norms.
        No thanx. Been there. Done that. It’s not a whole lotta fun. I’m going to use whatever colors I like. I’m going to go with whatever designs and styles move me. Why shouldn’t I? Why shouldn’t you?
        This reminds me of a conversation I had with my neighbor’s mother about the color of my house. When I first painted it, I saw her sitting alone on her lawn and went over to say hello. I hadn’t seen her since the previous summer. After a few minutes she said to me “You know, I really don’t like the color of your house. Purple?”. She’s an outspoken, old school Italian woman. Her candor and directness I find refreshing, very unlike her female offspring, who just stopped talking to me one day after I painted the house. Anyway, without skipping a beat, I replied to her “Well you know Mary, I don’t like the color of your house either. It bores the hell out of me.”
        We both laughed. Ah, truth. Nothing like it.


©2009 Clint Piatelli. All Rights (and a massive tabula rasa of Wrongs) Reserved.

Problem Solving 201

If you desire, please read my last post, “Problem Solving 101”, before exposing yourself to the following self revealing madness.

         For most of my life, when I ran into difficulties, especially emotional ones, I resisted seeking help. I kept my pain inside. Because from what I could tell, people just made my difficulties worse. If I wasn’t shamed for having the problem in the first place, then my overriding experience was that people were unsympathetic. This was based largely on my childhood experience of going to adults for help, and rarely having it turn out much better. When it came to helping me ease my pain, adults didn’t appear to know what the fuck they were doing.
        This is no way of an indictment of my parents. Whatever I learned or internalized or interpreted (or misinterpreted) from them isn’t their problem anymore. It’s mine. Whatever character flaws they passed onto me, or whatever bad lessons they inadvertently taught me, it’s my responsibility to decide who I want to be now, and it’s up to me to become that person. Understanding my past is only useful if it’s part of a comprehensive plan to move forward. Think of trying to get to an unfamiliar, but desired, destination in your car. Knowing where you’ve been helps you figure out where you’re at (and maybe why) so that you can find a way to get to where you want to be.
        But my experience is a great example of how consistent negative and traumatic events in childhood can deeply impact a person’s perspective as they mature. Even if the circumstances improve, if a kid is unaware, as most kid’s are, of how their world view is shaped by their limited experience, then they internalize this perspective and become completely invested in it without even knowing it. Then we carry that into adulthood, and if we remain unconscious, we never even realize that our current lives are still being shaped by our past. We can change that only if we become conscious and choose a path of enlightenment over automatic response and conditioning. It takes time, it takes work, it takes help. But the payoff is a more conscious life. A more enlightened self. And vastly greater potential for happiness, fulfillment, joy, and intimacy.
        This unconscious and all pervasive belief that problems did not, could not, be solved led me to feel trapped. I was in a giant cage called life, and in that cage, life was something that happened to me. I wasn’t something that happened to life. I felt like a victim all too often, like I had no control over anything, least of all me.
        As a child, this was more or less true. Children don’t have a lot of control over their environment or their circumstances. And their control over themselves is certainly still developing. But I, like most kids with this experience, carried this into my adolescence and into my adulthood without even realizing it. And that’s when the fun really started.
        I hid this belief very well. It operated on a very deep level, and I didn’t feel it all the time. But it was always there. Sometimes this rather pessimistic outlook permeated my entire existence, and it would manifest itself as severe depression. Sometimes it was just below the surface, and it felt like low grade depression and moderate anxiety. And sometimes, it just sat inside of me and stank, coloring every experience, even the joyous ones, with little dabs of dull achy grey.
        With this perspective, it was impossible for me to receive help because I didn’t believe help was possible. But I knew I could help people, because I did. And I enjoyed it. But when it came to me, I was “different”. My problems were too complicated, or not “normal”, or I believed that I was just simply so fucked up that my problems were equally as fucked up, and therefore unsolvable. I didn’t see a way out. Of anything.
        My only out was to keep running emotionally so that I couldn’t catch myself. Like chasing one’s tail, pretty soon it doesn’t matter if you ever catch it or not. You become so invested in chasing your own tail that you forget what you’re doing and keep doing it because it’s all you know. Your life doesn’t become chasing your tail so much as chasing your tail becomes your life. The action of chasing it is what you live for, unconsciously of course, like an addict who’s addicted but doesn’t know it.
        What helped me start to shift this, years ago, was when I started going to therapy. At least now I was talking about what the hell was going on inside of me. At about the same time, or a little before, I started reading self help books, and whatever I could on psychology, spirituality, and the like. I had been introspective for many years, but now I was taking the next critical steps in the education of self. I was trying to find some answers instead of just asking questions.
        Personal growth workshops, seminars, and group therapy were next. Eventually, I made it to al-anon, which was a huge wake up call. Here were people sharing very difficult stories and internal struggles with others. They were not only sharing, but getting help. Getting relief. Connecting to others in marvelous ways. I wanted more of that. So I kept going.
        What all of this did for me was show me that there was help out there. That difficulties can be shared. And that people can help. It changed my long standing and stubborn belief that problems don’t get solved.
        I re-wrote my own book. I didn’t have to keep everything inside. I could open up and become more part of the emotional human race. I wasn’t in this life all alone if I didn’t want to be. That gave me hope. And strength. And more than I could possibly say.
        I’ve gone from despair to hope. From loneliness to connection. From can’t to can. I’ve been there. On both sides of the proverbial fence. I’ve been on the fence itself. And I’ve been a hundred miles from that fence as well. Let me tell you. It’s better over here.


©2009 Clint Piatelli. All Rights (and an open book of Wrongs) Reserved.