SDT
selfdestructivetendencies _ Just another WordPress.com site (This link contains exactly the same thing, it is just an actual copy of the pdf that I printed directly from the site; what is below is simply copied and pasted from it.)
Posted on November 29, 2010 by John O. Burns
This weekend, I got to thinking about intimate moments in my life… or just intimate moments.
What is intimacy? The dictionary definitions are all well and good. Closeness, personal. All that jazz.
I learned a new meaning, at the age of 30. Standing in the McCarran airport — perhaps the least “cozy” or“intimate” place I’ve ever been in.. standing against a wall, holding Samantha… getting ready to say goodbye.
We breathed. I don’t remember who started it.. who breathed in, or who breathed out.. I just remember, that our lipstouched, and we exchanged… everything. Oxygen. CO2. Life. Love. Hope. In those moments, I held her to me; held her in my arms, in my heart, and in my lungs.
Thousands of people around us… but we were alone, together. We were one.
That.. is intimacy. Nothing before or nothing after can come close to the feeling of that moment — it wasn’t the first time we’d done that.There was just.. something.. about that moment. That breath is gone. And all I feel is empty.
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A man’s gotta do…
Posted on November 26, 2010 by John O. Burns
A man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do…don’t plan the plan if you can’t follow through…The only doom thats looming is me loving you to death;I’ll give you a minute to catch your breath.
Please hang on, Sammie.
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Prescription: Fun
Posted on November 25, 2010 by John O. Burns
Saw my new therapist for the first time, yesterday. This one is different than the others… a little.. looser..believes in affirmations and shit like that. As I always do, with a new therapist, I give them the “executive summary”… birth trauma, physical disabilities, abandoned by biological parents, adopted by abusive racists. There is more, of course, but this time, I didn’t get to get to get any farther — my relationships, or any of my trauma from my tween and teenage years.
Instead, she started to aggressively focus on my “learned behaviors” and my trigger events.. PTSD, deep seated anxiety, from the dynamic that my adoptive parents displayed and taught me. Affirmations, that I am not my father, nor am I my mother, and their influence on me is not me, and it can be controlled, and dismissed.
Samantha could attest — I had a stick up my ass so far I could have been used as a coatrack. Dry, deadpan sense of humor. Couldn’t laugh to save my life, before she opened my eyes a bit. Samantha, thank you. Years ago, when we became part of each others lives — it was over a game. A simple, mindless game. I’ve been prescribed playing. Relax, just have fun. Play, like you never could as a child — and she’s right.. I grew up fast. Age of five, age of six…
I have hope. This is the first time that I can ever recall walking out of a session without thinking the person I talked to is a little unstable.
Sam, if you see this… thank you. Today is Thanksgiving. And I am so thankful for that glimpse you showed me about how it is to be a real person, through enjoying life in all its forms. Thank you. And I can’t wait to playwith you, again.
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With or without you
Posted on November 22, 2010 by John O. Burns
I heard the most amazing cover of U2′s “With or Without You” by Cellar 55… light, airy.. almosta Jamaican beat to it.. add in a little sax, and it was truly overwhelming..It’s the perfect song for how I’m feeling right now.
I think I have a chance. I have hope. But I don’t understand if I have the time I need. I may not be part of your life because I don’t get my shit together in time. But the thought of getting my shit together, and having… not you.. to show for it.That is the meaning of fear.
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Never trust a doctor
Posted on November 21, 2010 by John O. Burns
About a half year ago, I went to my primary care physican, asking for some help dealing with stress management. I told her about my childhood, the neglect and the abuse. About my ex wife, and the painful circumstances surrounding that entire mess. She referred me to “the best therapist I know”.
Looking back, this was a horrible choice. She was an oldjewish grandmother, and had what, to me, were very percular attitudes towards suffering. The concept she extoled was called imago, and struck me as freudian bullshit. But, I’m desperate. So I followed along.I told her about my troubles, including my current ones, balancing Samantha and my wife. How the children were weaponized against me, any time I tried to stand up for myself.
After a handful of sessions, I was convinced that the best thing I could do to resolve the issues between the wife and I, were to bring her in to the sessions, so that she could mediate. Nicole, of course, wanted nothing to do with it. Wasn’t interested in particpating unless we were going to do“couples” counseling. Given between the choices I felt I had, I chose to tell her thats what we’d do. Yes,another lie.
My intention always has been, and still is, to get the help I need to become a decent person. I’m not proud of that choice, but it is what it is.I have since stopped seeing this therapist, because as I said, she had one trick up her sleeve — imago — and that can’t work for my purposes. I honestly feel that I was misled by my professional — both of them. I guess thats karma.They’ve both been fired. I meet my new professional on Wednesday.
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Patterns
Posted on November 21, 2010 by John O. Burns
Everyone has their patterns; their things they do almost without thought.
Most of mine are there to help me deny my nature, squelch my emotions, and just.. wander through the day on autopilot. A book I’m reading right now, “Undoing Perpetual Stress”, tells a story of a woman in a state of serious clinical depression, that would go through her day on autopilot.. until she had to decide what to wear.That decision point forced her out of autopilot, and she collapsed, daily, into a sobbing mess.
I don’t have that problem. I don’t break down into a sobbing mess. I just… reject any feelings I might have.
Samantha had her habits, too. Some of them were visible to the world, thanks to the Internet. It’s been four days since she’s made any gesture I could see. I shouldn’t worry — its not my place.But I do. I’m scared. I’m worried for her. I’ve reached out a few times, looked with a more discerning eye, and nothing. I’ve reached out to her friends, and nothing. Be okay.
Edit: I held on to this post. Since I last wrote in it, she appeared. The joy I feel isn’t even the least bit dampened by her anger. I’m just glad shes okay.
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Confessional
Posted on November 21, 2010 by John O. Burns
In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.
My last confession was… well.. this is my first. Take that as you will.
I have sinned.I have lied to her.I have broken her trust in me. Against every odd, she has given me other chances, and I have failed her each time. I have, at times, coveted her flesh, over her beautiful soul.I have attacked her, and tried to tear her down. Make her more like the wretch I am.I have used her feelings against her. I have manipulated, through subtle and unsubtle methods, to get what Iwant from her, ignoring her own needs.I have tried to tie her to the ground, when she deserves to soar.
I realize now that the things about her that I didn’t like — her emotional expressiveness, at times, for example… were not weaknesses, but strengths.. the way things should be. I did not know any better. How I wish I had.I took from her, and did not give what she needed in return. Our entire relationship, I took, endlessly, and she gave, selflessly… hoping for me to step up. She leaned on me, and I let her fall. Over and over.I broke her heart, and in so doing, broke mine.
I’m sorry, my angel.
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Typical..
Posted on November 19, 2010 by John O. Burns
I make a comment about having more to say than I thought, or saying more than I thought.. and I get so loaded down with work that I just can’t even think about looking at a screen after getting home. The fact that my thoughts are all over the map, really doesn’t help things. About the only thing I’ve been doing,for pleasure, is reading, and listening to music. Not at the same time, anymore — I can’t seem to do that.
Samantha and I used to exchange songs. She’d make a playlist for me; things that reminded me of her. I even did the same thing, after a sort. It was one of those small gestures that she did because she cared, and I enjoyed, but didn’t tell her nearly enough. One of those things you miss when its gone.
I’m a very aural person — for all the gaps and holes in my memory, and the struggles of remembering things.. music takes me back. So when I hear one of the songs on my playlist.. I experience the most amazing flood of emotion. A memory of how things used to be, taken back, I can see and hear it all. And then I open my eyes, and find myself still standing alone, and the feeling recedes, leaving me eroded and bare. Blinking in the disappearing light, as the vision fades.
There are signs I look for.. watching over her like a Guardian Angel, with burned wings and a tarnished halo..and I can’t see them anymore.. I’m fighting my nature, fighting the urge to reach out, and make sure shes in one piece.. breathing. Our anniversary is upon us. It’s.. right here, and it feels so strange to not celebrate it. Granted, I never really did. She used to remind me, every month, that it was here. After a while, she stopped, because I didn’t seem to care. Another fool thing I did. I did care. I just never knew how to show it. Hell, I still don’t, but at least I recognize that fact.
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Pain
Posted on November 17, 2010 by John O. Burns
The Lady of Pain is my Matriarch. She, the Queen of Blades, holds me in her embrace, and though you cannot see her, and you cannot see the steel piercing my flesh, look into my eyes, today… you’ll know all you need to know.
I originally intended to write a post a week, or so. It’s strange, now that I’ve started, that this stream of consciousness wants to pour out of me, like a dam with a crack in it. The pressure has been building for years and years, and now that it has found the slightest hole, the slightest path of lessened resistance, it wants to surge out of me. I don’t let it. I resist that urge — I realize now that I could, quite literally, spend my entireday writing. About the things I’ve seen, and the things I’ve done. The things I’ve felt, and the things I’ve said.
What I find most interesting about this, is the pain. It is fresh. Almost as if the motion itself has caused it to reawaken … it swirls around, and surges toward my fingers, all of it, old and new, and that movement feels… unpleasant. One of my coping mechanisms, overridden and overruled.I wish my pain tolerance was stronger than my confusion tolerance. I wish I had chosen the right choices,from the start, so that I wouldn’t have to feel this. This — this is a selfish wish, and I know it cannot be.I wish I could be held, and told it will pass. I wish I could welcome the soothing touch of someone who cares. I wonder, if I hadn’t experienced it, twice before, if I would miss it so much, now?Is this depression? I don’t think so. At least.. I don’t know.
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Telephones
Posted on November 16, 2010 by John O. Burns
Sometimes, the act of answering the phone, means more than anything that could be said.
Sometimes, all you need to find a little peace, is to know that someone is willing to listen, even if you have nothing to say.
Sometimes, I love you is better said after the line goes dead.
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Anxiety
Posted on November 16, 2010 by John O. Burns
“Take one pill, as needed” for anxiety.
Somewhere in the background of my mind, The Rolling Stones are playing “Mother’s Little Helper”. I detest this.I have a chemical solution — but is it a chemical problem? Does the fact that I pace back and forth, wearing a hole in the floor, mean that my neurochemistry; my biomechanical processes that make up “me” are flawed?Or am I more than biomechanical processes? Have I created my own Frankenstein, within my own self? My own Mr. Hyde, pacing the walls of his cage, dragging me with him. Can I calm the tempest by will, belief, and hope? Or should I just swallow the pill, and be content?
Have I mentioned that I hate the internet? I got an email from Samantha, telling me to be brave, to let go of everything, and do what it takes to get better. Truly heartening words. At the same time, in another medium, the exact opposite message goes out.. I’ve said this, but it won’t happen. The only thing let go is me.…. it’s so strange, hearing two opposite things, from the same person, about the same person.This contradiction over something this important… my anxiety is through the roof. I didn’t medicate today.In hindsight, that was a bad choice — but I make a thousand of those, a day. I guess it’s a good thing I have high Confusion Tolerance, right?
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Confusion Tolerance
Posted on November 16, 2010 by John O. Burns
Confusion Tolerance. It’s a great term. It is something that everyone needs, but far fewer of us have it than wewould like to think.
The world doesn’t make sense, and we struggle to piece together the facts that we see and feel, with what we’re told by those we’re supposed to trust.It’s very confusing, being told one thing, and then seeing another. Which to believe? Are they both, in their own ways, true? We’re inundated with the belief that everything is fine on one channel, but change the channel and we’re told that we’re in a state of moral, social, and financial decline. We’re told we have the best of all possible worlds — but then we step outside and see with our own eyes, and it overwhelms us.
I am as much a victim of this as the next, even though I recognize it. I am living proof that having knowledge does not always equate to having power; power over self, power to set ones own course.More profoundly, I have been caught in a tsunami of emotion, thoughts, and things said.
We know the kind of person I am. What I haven’t explicitly said, is the kind of person I want to be. I want to be whole, I want to be someone worthy of my own respect, and of others, if I can manage it.
A woman I once loved, gone now to me, still aching, still in pain, telling me that I have the slightest of chances— renounce it all, and try. But I do not deserve her. I long for it, but I must resist the urge.
So, rather than tell her yes, or tell her no, I wait. I strive to better myself. I set myself a deadline, a timer.I know that I risk losing her, for good, by doing this. But I already lost her, for good. It’s so confusing. Do I reach out and grab hold in a iron grip and never let go? Do I risk crushing the light from her? They say if you love something, you let it go. I’ve been told I don’t understand what that means. I’ve been told I don’t understand people. But I disagree. I need time, to find myself, to shake free of the pain and suffering and damage I’ve caused… even if this means goodbye. But life is terribly confusing, isn’t it?
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Lies, Damn Lies, and the Internet
Posted on November 15, 2010 by John O. Burns
Editor’s Note: For the most part, this is all going to be in reverse chronological order. I hope you enjoyed Memento.
I lie. It’s what I do. Rather than sucking it up, and telling the God’s Honest Truth, I lie. Most everyone does. The subtle, the whitewash lie.. everyone glosses over the truth now and again, I think. I, however, take this to an extreme.
Lies are a tool. I recently called myself manipulative, to my social worker. She disagreed. That was enough to bring me to fire her — someone who is unwilling to acknowledge their clients faults, is not someone who is capable of assisting.
But back to my story. When I first re-met Samantha (She and I were an on again, off again thing, in our youth), I swore to myself, that I wouldn’t lie to her. I did good, for me.. I didn’t lie. For a while. A few months,I think, I was able to fight my demons, and didn’t lie in any way that I recall, and surely not in any“meaningful” way. I’m sure there were a few white lies, here and there. But it was a distance relationship, and after a while, I decided rather than watch her be sad because of a choice I made, I would lie. It made life so much easier. She was happier, most of the time, and because of that, I was happier, most of the time.
But for as much a useful tool that lies are, I’m not perfect, and there were inconsistencies – I should have known better. Samantha was too smart — we were too equal, on that playing field, for me to be able to keep facades going without making her wonder. And wonder she did. And I was caught.Every time I was caught — there was never any solid proof — just enough incidental evidence to make her sure that something was up — but she trusted me. She trusted me, and I abused that trust. I was able to cajole,berate, and convince her, that what she was seeing was nothing but a trick of light and shadow. I still maintain that some of the requests, and some of the things I felt compelled to lie about, I shouldn’t have felt that way. But I should have handled them differently. I should have stood up for what I believed in, rather than just using a lie to cover it.
Needless to say, each time this happened, she grew more suspicious, and eventually she began to distrust me as a matter of course. Years, this happened. The amount of damage was massive, and the evidence became more damning. A few weeks ago, it happened again. A few weeks ago, Samantha saw something on Flickr, posted by my wife, that challenged a major tenet of what I had been saying.
I did what I always did. I got angry, I berated her choices for sleuthing out the truth, rather than giving me the slightest amount of unearned trust. Needless to say, her fears and suspicions were right. It took.. a day, we’ll say, for me to think it over, and to come to the realization that I couldn’t live like this. I couldn’t keep doing this to everyone. So, I sat down with her, and told her the truth. I answered every question, with my truth.Once all was told, she left me; heartbroken and angry. Understandably so. It’s why I never told the truth, once I started to lie.What is my truth? Why do I feel the need to quantify it in such a way? Because there is no such thing as truth.There are three truths, each equally valid. Your truth, my truth, and the truth. As humans, we are unable to see the truth uncolored by perception and experience, we have our own individual truth.Clearly, it is my actions, that I felt the need to hide, that led to the lies. But that is another day.
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Thanksgiving
Posted on November 15, 2010 by John O. Burns
It’s that time of the year. Everyone who cares about each other gathers around a giant genetically modifiedbird, and gets drunk and angry at each other.. the classic “Family home for Thanksgiving” shtick. Wonderful.But let me tell you what Thanksgiving is really about…
A few years ago, though I had a wife, and a child on the way, I was alone, and miserable. I didn’t have anythingto be thankful for. I had a shitty job, which I realize that a lot of people would kill for in this day and age, but this was before it all went to shit. I lived with a woman that I couldn’t stand, and felt trapped in my situation because I had to do “the right thing”. Luckily for me, an Angel from my past came down, and gave me something to be thankful for.
She was visiting her grandparents, and we struck it off. It was simple. It was… pedestrian. Friendly chat, relaxation, and letting our hair down. And it was wonderful. I fell head over heels in love with her. Samantha was amazing to me, in every sense of the word. She was funny, she was sweet. She enjoyed my company, and I enjoyed hers. Every moment I spent with her was a reprieve, a moment of salvation, and a gift from on high.
Her smile.. her eyes.. these things were like drugs. They overwhelmed my senses, and made me feel content with the world — something that I was unaccustomed to feeling.This blog is our story. Of her determination, and my failure. Of how, even in the face of something that I can only describe as true love, I managed to destroy it, and leave in its wake nothing but anger, sadness, and fury.
Once upon a time, Samantha made a post about me.. a list of things that she found endearing, that I did. Inever was able to return the favor, but today I’ll try.
Samantha,The glint of sunlight in your eyes, even in the darkness, is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. I find myselflost in them, and I want nothing more than to hold you, and lose myself in them. They are truly beautiful.
You revel in the “small things”… a gesture, a touch, a smile.. you find happiness in the subtle, and in the large.It’s something I have learned from you, slowly but surely — that every gesture, big or small, has meaning.
You are exuberant. To someone like me… repressed, rejected, depressive and pessimistic, your entiredemeanor is like lightning to me.. it energizes me, fills me full of hope, and sets my soul alight.
I’d never gotten a card that meant anything to me, before you. I abhor hallmark holidays. They underscoreeverything thats wrong with society, and everything thats wrong with my life. But I miss them. I miss gettinglittle cards from you. Those little “meaningless gestures” mean more than I ever knew. The last I got —congratulating me on my new job.. I look at it daily, and I fight to keep myself in check, and keep myselftogether.
Friends. I can’t imagine this makes sense, to you, to anyone. But you know how frail and weak my friendshipsreally are — to the point that the people I considered my best friends barely recognized your existence. I knowthat my lies make you think that this was my fault — and perhaps on some level it was, but it was never meantto be this way. The people that mattered, knew.
Your laugh. I can’t even tell you how much that mattered to me, and how much I miss it now that it is gone.Your laugh was like a constant, a calming breeze. It was infectious, and it was pervasive. And I miss it morethan you will ever know.
You are determined. You put up with so much. For so long. Years, you waited for me to get my shit together,and years, I failed you. I wish I could convey my feelings, but thats another post, in another time.
You put your heart on your sleeve. Your feelings are there, for me and the world to see. And they are strong.Overwhelmingly so.
You are beautiful. I know at times you argued with me, but I can’t imagine a more beautiful creature. You are, in my mind, the standard to beat, and none has any hope of doing so.
Caring. To a fault, perhaps. You give to so many causes — all they need to do is tug on your heartstrings. The time you and I spent, giving to the needy, is nothing compared to the time you’ve given to your own needy —the sick children, the homeless. I wish I could have joined you.
Your kisses are like fire. I once told you that I was not a fan of kissing, until I kissed you. I know you don’tbelieve me — such a silly thing — just another lie, in your eyes; but I swear to God it is true. Your emotion,your passion.. it burns through you in a heat that I can’t even describe, though you know I’ve tried.
Someone is going to be very lucky. I wish I hadn’t made it so that someone couldn’t have been me.This is what I’m thankful for. All these traits, qualities and quirks… they add up to an amazing woman. I spent a short handful of years, in the tender, albeit distant, embrace of an amazing woman. The distance was my fault — as was everything else that destroyed us. Our anniversary would have been in a few days, had I not lied and cheated and destroyed every good thing we had. I am thankful for the time I spent with you, Samantha. Thank you for sharing your life with me. It will always be a shining point in my life – the brightest, and I will never forget.
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|I can’t quite put my finger on it..
Posted on November 14, 2010 by John O. Burns
But something about the auto-generated post “Hello World” doesn’t seem to fit the mood, theme, concept, or anything of this place. Myriad thoughts are swirling through my brain, and I fully understand that this is just one more depressive rant on a sea of depressive rants; just one more lost soul looking to find their way. But for right or for wrong,this is for me. My sounding board, even if the only voice that dares be heard is mine.
For now, I have but one rule in my life — and that is no more lies.
I have lived in lies my entire life — mine,others. I’ve been raised that way — give and get, its easier to smother things in lies. They’re woven like the threads of a sadistic tapistry through my life; woven so tightly that it feels like trying to undo them undoes it all. So, everything here will be the truth.Except the names. Changed to protect Her. Changed to protect the innocent — everyone else, and the guilty— myself.
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