I admire Commander Data. It must be nice to think clearly no matter the situation, to remain unswayed by emotional tempests.
Unless your evil twin implants an evil chip.
Thinking clearly is a cherished goal of mine. I’d love to be able to logic my way through the mental chaos that’s inside me all too often.
Applying logic to thoughts is part of philosophy. It’s part of therapy too. Think about your thoughts and feelings. Don’t react. Choose what you’re going to attend to. Choose what you’re going to do.
I’m a fairly straightforward thinker. It frustrates me that I find it hard to apply logic to my emotional reactions.
It’s not that logic doesn’t work. I just don’t always pay attention to what logic has to say. My inside voice doesn’t always care about the sensible solution or behaviour. Logic is treated as irrelevant; my neuroses laugh and proceed merrily on their self-destructive way.
I find not being able to attend to valid arguments frustrating. The trains of thought I’m trying to jump on make sense.
I simply don’t leap.
The ability to pull the trigger on eminently sensible behaviour is often absent.
Unfortunately, the consequences of doing the wrong things can be dire. Not being logical in recovery is problematic.
I’m starting to suspect my neuroses and I aren’t on the same team.
I’m starting to think we have different end goals.
If neuroses even have end goals. Perhaps they don’t. Maybe they’re like toddlers, living entirely in the now, only concerned with their immediate gratification. Uncaring that the long-term consequences of their demands might be fatal.
Maybe neuroses are all id.
Sigmund Freud came up with the idea of the id. According to his psychoanalytic theory, people’s psyches are made up of three basic parts: the id, the ego, and the superego. The id is primitive, instinctive, and impulsive. It wants what it wants when it wants it. The id is unconcerned with mitigation. The id is unconcerned with logic.
It’s hard to debate the id. The id doesn’t engage in sophisticated, critical, and analytical thought.
How then, does one go about convincing one’s neuroses to grow up and move away from being thoughtless impulses and action? How do you convince them to let you live your best life if they won’t even have a discussion?
What do you do to help a child grow and mature away from only following thoughtless impulse?
You make them feel safe enough to not give in to the instinctive urges.
I rarely feel safe.
Sometimes, when my depression is acting up, when I’m anxious and eating disorder thoughts are pounding my brain, I want to throw a temper tantrum. I want to, a lot. I want to scream. I want to destroy things and bang my head against the wall. It’s all feeling, fatigue, and rage.
I feel like a fractious child.
The battle between logic and impulse is a challenging one. I often lose in the area of self-harm. It would be interesting to observe the expression on the faces of whoever happens to witness it should I one day lose it in an outward direction.
Should I one day let that temper-tantrum urge have free reign.
I read a suggestion in a book about recovery that posited thanking your neuroses as a way to heal.
It goes on. It’s more than a simple “thank you”. You’re supposed to tell them you love them. You’re supposed to be specific. Tell them you appreciate the work they did in keeping you safe. Tell them you’re grateful they helped you survive.
Soothe the id.
Maybe if the neuroses mellowed out, logic will be able to make its voice heard.
I don’t do that; soothe myself, act in kind ways toward the things I consider to be defects. I don’t throw love at my neuroticisms. I don’t thank them for helping me survive. I’m too busy blaming them for pain and havoc.
I can appreciate, in my head, that coping behaviours kept me here. They kept me safe. But gratitude is not forthcoming. I don’t feel it. I’m not inclined to the warm and fluffy especially since they are still stomping around, refusing to listen to sense.
I want the solution to be rational. I don’t want needy neuroses (though I supposed neediness is part of the definition).
But what if neuroses are like children? What if they really are mostly id?
What if, on those occasions where logic fails, instead of throwing up my hands and giving up, I reached out to the neuroses instead, made them feel safe, made them feel heard. Took a moment to acknowledge the feelings, memories, and echoes of pain.
What if I did the same thing I did with my kids when they were having difficulties; when they were fractious and a pain in my ass?
Though I’m not sure how to hug a neurosis.
There’s probably something in the book.