J.O.T.A.F.O.S.

       We all experience moments of supremely intense doubt. Sometimes these moments stretch into minutes, or even hours. They can be crippling.
       This is not the kind of doubt you experience when you’re not sure if you should get the chef’s special or the chef’s salad. This is the the kind of doubt you experience when you question your value as a person; when you question the value of your contribution to life.
       I used to keep these moments all to myself. I never let any friend or lover or family member in on them. For I was afraid that if anyone, and I mean anyone, knew that this was what was going on in my heart of hearts, that they would literally write me off, right then and there. These doubts felt that ugly, that unacceptable, that disastrous, that shameful. I call this particular fear of instant abandonment the Just One Thought Away From Oblivion Syndrome (J.O.T.A.F.O.S.).  
       There’s a twelve step saying that goes, “We are only as sick as our secrets”. The more secrets we keep, and the deeper and darker the secrets, the more pain we’re in. Conversely, the more we share, the more we heal. Through lots of experience, from being on both sides of that axiomatic fence, I can say, without question, how powerfully true this is.
       I’m much better at sharing these moments of doubt now. I’ll tell someone I love about them. I’ll write prose about them, or create poetry about them. Sometimes I’ll even post those writings to my blog, for anyone to read. Quite a leap from keeping them completely hidden from the whole of humanity. The creating and the sharing diffuse the power of these doubts.
       Creating and sharing also allows me to move through these doubts quicker. If I keep these doubts all to myself, they rattle around inside of me. And, like heavy metal ball bearings sloshing around an otherwise empty dryer, they can do a lot of damage. By sharing, by opening the door and letting them out, I release them. They have less ability to hurt. In fact, they transform. These doubts and feelings can now be used to heal. They can be put to healthy use. Like the creation of art. Or the connection with another person.
       A while ago, not exactly sure when, I wrote this poem during one of those periods of intense doubt.   
          

During the quiet passages of an inner symphony
Between the drum beats of my own heart thunder
Within the preciously small spaces between breaths
In lungs always working to get more air
Woven into the complex pattern of energy
That make up but a single moment of my thinking
I ask the question
Can anybody ever truly love me for all that I am
And for all that I am not?
    
Am I ever going to find a woman
Who will not only embrace me
For the Apparently Occasionally Overwhelming Everything That I Am
But actually Love Me For It?
Will a woman ever find me so complicatedly fascinating
And so lovingly simple to understand
That she can grasp all of it without so much of me slipping through her hands
Will she love me enough
So that I don’t eventually ooze out of her life
Like too much gel through something not vast enough
Or willing enough
To grasp it all?



©2103 Clint Piatelli, MuscleHeart, and Red F Publishing. All rights reserved.

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.

Why Does A Dog Lick His Balls?

       I wanted to do a post today for the same reason that a dog licks his balls; because he can. After being unable to post for so long, I have a yearning to do so, simply for the sake of doing it. In the process, I’ll hopefully say something that you can relate to. If not, you’ll never see this, ball licking ability or not...
       For the past few months, as in this very moment, I’m having trouble executing the manifesto of this website. That is, I’m experiencing lots of trouble sharing what’s really going on inside of me, on the very deepest of levels. By owning that, here and now, I suppose I’m trying to at least share something real - my struggle - even though I’m not coming out and saying what it is. Admitting that you’re in turmoil within yourself is at least a step in the right direction.
       In a way, this feels like a cop out. Telling you that something big is up, but not telling you what. But it’s the best I can do right now.
       I’m not closed down, but I’m not terribly open either. I’m kind of in this murky soup of emotion. One thing is for certain, however, and I know that it holds the key to my release. I’m feeling lots of shame. Tons of it. I even feel shame about feeling shame. As long as I’m here, I’m lost. Trapped in a prison of my own design.
       My hope is that through sharing this here, I can touch a place in you that feels the same way. A place where you want to share what’s going on, because you know it will help. A place where your burning desire to heal comes up head on against the most formidable fear and shame you can imagine. A place you have to get past, but can’t see how.
       I’ve been here before. So have you. We’ll get through it.  

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.

Problem Solving 101

       Growing up, my models for emotional problem solving and interpersonal conflict resolution were virtually non-existent. On every level, conflict in my home environment was something that you tried to avoid at all costs, because the result was usually mayhem. But even trying to avoid conflict was problematic, because virtually anything and everything was fodder for chaos. Like a road that detours into another road, that detours into another road, that detours into a disheveled road rife with unavoidable pot holes, divots, and other obstructions, tension and crisis were the way of things. They were unavoidable.
        And when interpersonal and emotional problems did arise, as they always did, constantly, they didn’t get worked out. In fact, they just got worse. Nobody ever apologized, or had any skills to resolve issues and deal with how each other felt. I quickly learned not to share my emotional problems or have any hope that they would ever get resolved. The only tactics were to avoid these types of problems or get angry. Basically shut off and shut down or get totally pissed. Because anger is power, and that's how you "won". Either way, don’t really engage. That way, I could limit my problems. And if I ran into one, anger would "fix" it.
        My dad, like most men, looked at a problem as something to fix. An overriding male social archetype is the male as problem solver. Men who are able to effectively solve problems are highly valued in our society. Kick ass problem solvers, in virtually every field, get paid well. The bigger the problems they can solve, the more they are “worth”. And thus it’s no shock to see how as a society, we’ve internalized this dynamic as it applies to careers and placed much of our internal self worth and self love on how much we get paid.
        So for most of my life, I’ve never seen myself as much of a problem solver, even though I have have plenty of evidence to the contrary. Because internally, when it came to emotional issues, I had the mindset that my problems couldn’t get solved. So if a part of me bought into the societal archetype - and a part of me did, a bigger part than I was even aware of - my self worth was very small indeed.
        My dad was a civil engineer. A builder. A developer. Problems in this context were constant, and you had to be a great problem solver to be a good builder. My dad was a very successful builder, and therefore also a very successful problem solver. My dad loved to solve problems. As with so many men, it made him feel purposeful. Useful. Needed. So much so, that in his personal life, my dad would unconsciously make something out of nothing and actually create problems so he could solve them. I also believe many other men do this, mostly unconsciously, as well. I know I certainly used to.
        While this ability to solve problems serve us very well in our careers, this propensity to create problems to solve, or more insidiously, to look at emotional difficulties as things to “fix”, don’t serve us well. The general male perspective of looking at feelings being hurt, or the creation of intense feelings at all, as a “problem” that need to be “fixed” is not a useful approach. Because it means trying to “fix” the way someone feels.
        In my experience as a kid, that usually meant trying to convince me that I didn’t feel a certain way, or that what I was experiencing was not what I thought it was. Basically, trying to “fix” an emotional “problem” entailed trying to deny my experience so that I wouldn’t feel sad or lonely or scared or hurt or whatever. It’s all my dad knew how to do. He was a very deep feeling man who struggled with his own feelings. So trying to teach me how to deal with my feelings was not something he was capable of. Not a ton of men are. But that’s changing.
        Denying my experience as a way to get me to not feel what I was feeling never worked. All it did was not allow me to trust myself, because I was always being told by a trusted adult that I shouldn’t feel a certain way, or that what I was feeling wasn’t real. And unfortunately, if I resisted the denial route, as I usually did because it didn’t ever feel good, my dad would get frustrated and eventually get mad at me. So then I would feel even worse. Much worse, because now I was shamed for feeling at all. It was a total mind fuck. And a heart fuck as well.
        I say this with absolute compassion for my father. It must have been as hard for him to see his son in pain as it was for me to be in it. The big difference, of course, was that he was an adult and I was a child. My ability to make any sense of this wasn’t developed yet. So I got taught some very bad lessons about what it was to feel.
        My dad died at age eighty-six, no more aware of how much difficulty he had dealing with his emotions than when he was a younger man raising his son. I would love for my dad to be alive today, and more importantly, for him to be able to hear me when I tell him about the lessons I’ve learned about emotions and feelings and the depths of the heart. In typical father fashion, my dad had a hard time hearing me on lots of things, because I was his kid, and damn it, he knew more than I did about everything, even things he had absolutely no fuckin’ clue about. I was aware of this dynamic, and he was not. So I could roll with it.
        But if I could magically bring my dad back from the dead, and sit him down, and magically have him hear and believe every word I say, I would tell him this:

“Dad, I know you are a deep feeling man. You feel so much, so deeply, that most times, you don’t know what the hell to do with it. So you either explode, or you stuff. That’s what you taught me to do.

But I found a better way, dad. Because, just like you, I feel so very much, so very deeply. And, just like you, I used to not know what the hell to do with it all. But I do now.
Guess what dad? It’s kinda simple. I just feel it. I just allow myself to feel it. I don’t run from it, or stuff it. Or turn it into anger. Or turn it against myself. First , I just honor it. I honor how I feel. I honor myself, and I feel it. As deeply and as much as I need to.

And then, something amazing happens. Just by truly honoring how I feel, embracing it, feeling it all the way in, I somehow know what the hell to do with it. Don’t ask me how, but I do.

Sometimes I express it, right then and there. Sometimes I hold it in and express it when it’s more appropriate. Sometimes I write about it, or let it out in some other form of art. The options are many, but I do SOMETHING with it dad. I eventually release it. I don’t let it sit inside of me anymore and let it eat at me from the inside out.

I know this about me dad. I know it about you. I know it about many.”

        My dad would hear me. Because his heart would now be wide open. Like mine. And, because he’s a guy, and because he’s a builder, he would be thrilled that I exhibited some good old problem solving.



©2009 Clint Piatelli. All Rights (and nine pages of change orders) Reserved.