I got thinking about something during the bus ride home from work this evening. I constantly hear from mental health professionals and even other people that it's what we do that really matters in the end. Not what we think or what we feel but what we do. On the surface level, this makes sense. To the average person, results mean everything. The overt effect and influence you have in the actual, physical world around you is what really matters in life. But I wholly disagree with that notion. Nothing in life is ever as simple as it appears, so why should this?
I firmly believe that context is everything. Without context, nothing makes any sense. The internal experience of consciously making a decision to behave in a particular manner is just as important as the behaviour itself, if not more. In order to understand anything in this world, you need to investigate the underlying and mediating factors. The five W's: what, who, where, why, and how. These apply to behaviour as much as they do to anything else. Here's an example: you're walking down street and an older gentleman in an expensive looking suit trips and fall down. You have two options. You could help him up or you could keep walking. In either event, there are an infinite number of motivations reinforcing your behaviour. Assume that a person decides to help the man up. One person may help him up because they saw a person fall and it's the prosocial and good thing to help him, regardless of who he may or may not be. Another person may help him in the hopes of receiving some sort of monetary reward. In the former case, the person is simply a good person for helping the man up for its own sake. In the latter, the person's morality and depth of character are shallow as the motivation to help is for an external reward. Had the man have appeared homeless, the person may have simply walked past him without a second glance. Even though the behaviour illustrated is the same in both cases, the internal processes governing the behaviour demonstrate that one of these people is a good person and the other is bad. In another case, the person walking by help the man up simply because of a perceived social pressure to do so. He does not care about the welfare of the fallen man but helps him because of a fear of being judged negatively. This person could be judged by an informed observer, such as ourselves in this example, as being weak and pathetic. If behaviour is all that really matters, then all of this would be irrelevant. It wouldn't matter if the man was being helped up by a genuine good person, a more insidious one with a hidden agenda, or a weak, easily manipulated fool unable to think for themselves. A psychopath could also be considered here. They may help the man up but only do so to appear normal and a normal member of society. The man would obviously have very different reactions if informed of the type of person who helped him up. A poorly thought out and shallow example, but I believe that it's somewhat accurate.
I was once told by a counsellor that it is actually behaviour that precedes emotion and thought and not the other way around. She told me that what I ought to do is to act the way I want to feel and eventually, behaving that way would be become second nature and the thoughts and emotions normally associated with that behaviour would follow naturally. It makes sense on a neurological level. It builds on the concept of neuroplasticity. Continuously acting in a certain manner will activate and maintain new neural connections while simultaneous pruning the old, defunct, and unused connections associated with behaviours that no longer occur through extinction. It's supposed to introduce contradictory responses to maladaptive internal stimuli. I said it makes sense but it is quite different in practice. I tried it out for a while and it simply didn't work. I acted certain ways and pretended to be happy but any person with major depressive disorder will tell you that that does absolutely nothing to improve one's mood or general outlook. In fact, it may make some people feel even worse. Take me for example. I'm a highly egocentric individual, I will openly admit that. For the most part, I don't really care about the thoughts and struggles and lives of the people around me. Conversations are nearly always based on me and what I'm doing and I constantly fail to reciprocate and ask about the other person. I've been making an effort to do so but I only do so if I manage to remember to. The fact that I have to remember to ask how another person is doing really says it all. It shows a callous lack of concern and empathy for those around me. When something bad happens to someone with whom I am acquainted, I act the way I am expected to act by society. I look sad and behave in a way that would suggest that I feel bad. But I know as I'm doing it that it's all a ruse and constantly wonder if other people can tell that I'm faking it. My reactions are based on how those around me are acting, social referencing, and how I am expected to react according to society's standards. I occasionally wonder if I'm really a sociopath and just don't know it. I know I'm not a psychopath; I feel emotions and have a marked lack of control while under their influence. It's just that my emotions are tied entirely to myself. I care only about me. Maybe it's because of my lack of a solid identity. How can I be expected to worry about others when I'm not even clear on who I am?
This brings me to the subject of change and growth. The sheer thought of going to therapy and getting better, feeling better, liking myself, and being a fully functioning member of society scares the living hell out of me. I've always been a person in need of structure, consistency, and predictability. In the absence of those things, I become an anxious wreck of a person. I've felt badly about myself and my life for so long that it's the only thing I know. My low self-esteem, my lack of confidence, my self-hatred, my anxiety, my depression, it's all I know. In a world that is constantly changing, those traits have always been there, waiting for me, defining me when nothing else can. When things in life go to hell, it's sort of comforting to know that I have some semblance of constancy that I can fall back on. It's like my depression is an old friend who has always been there for me. Maybe not the most helpful friend, but the only one I have been able to count on every time. People come and go, they run when I've become too much for them to handle, but my self-hatred is always there for me. Maybe it's that consistency that I find so soothing. I don't know what it's like to be a happy person. I'm certain that I've been happy in the past, but it's like my brain has blocked it out. I can't remember. But I always remember the bad times. Because they have always been there for me. Being a normal person is uncharted territory for me. With my already shaky identity issues, it's like if I get better, I'll end up losing myself in the process. I'll cease to be me. I can't even comprehend what that really means, but it's frightening as all holy hell. What if everything changes? My interests, my goals and aspirations, my idea of my place in the world, my intellect, my soul? I'm not a strong person. I'm easily broken and sway back and forth like a sailcloth in the wind when presented with different perspectives and arguments. My core would be broken by such a change, I'd never be able to keep a grasp of who I believe myself to be. I'm not grounded. My depression is all I have. Without it, I'm nothing. I don't want to change. I'd rather suffer for eternity but have that consistency rather than run the risk of losing myself for something "better". Who's to say what is better, anyway? Normal, healthy, they're all just abstract terms that represent the centre of a bell curve.
I hate normal people. They are bland, have no experience or internal narrative. What drives their behaviour? The pursuit of good and avoidance of bad? How Epicurean of them. That's not interesting, these people are shallow husks that fail to operate on any sort of complex level. Their lives are automatic and ultimately disposable in a manner of speaking. Not that anyone deserves pain or death, but they're all living the same sort of cookie-cutter life with defined start and end points. Similar courses. Similar interests, beliefs, behaviours, everything. When you think about it, pain is the defining factor of who we are. Our negative experiences always leave bigger imprints than positive ones. It's biological. In order to ensure a long life and reproduction, we become very sensitive to the things that hurt us so we know to avoid them. Consequently, it's the negative things that shape our identities, our personalities. A child can be raised in the most loving home imaginable but all it would take it one traumatizing event to disrupt that development and the child grows up into a barely functional, mentally ill adult. Even my own brain appears to be extremely sensitive to anxiety; it forms anxiety-based connections and associations in as little as one trial or exposure, often through nothing more than my own thoughts. I get anxious about one thing and that anxiety quickly spreads and attaches itself to every relatable subject under the sun like a virus. An anxious thought forms an uncontrollable chain that destroys my entire way of thinking about something, occasionally ending in an area entirely unrelated to where the anxiety began. It's like my mind gets compulsions to continue thinking about things related to the anxious thought, I purposely think about certain ways to fuel the anxiety train. And I hate it. But it's beyond my control and it destroys my life and relationships. People who don't know true emotional pain are not people. They're not human. They're ignorant automatons. "But K!", I hear you shout at your screen, "Everyone has their share of pain. It's how they react to that pain that defines who they are, not the pain itself." While that is true in a sense, it still centres around the concept of pain itself. Some people are lucky enough to be born with a high level of resilience, being able to maintain perspective and keep a level head through painful occurrences and life circumstances. I'm not sure what to think of these people. I want to say that they're delusional, lying to themselves and ignoring what's really going on around them and inside them. They ignore how they really feel. Somehow. That part I am less clear on, the mechanisms behind it. People say that ignorance is bliss but I think that that is complete rubbish. What sets us apart from the other animals is our self-awareness, curiosity, and desire to learn. Therefore, it's the logical conclusion that to want to know everything is the most human thing you can do. That means rejecting falsities, refusing to take things at face value, and willing to accept any and all discomfort that stands in the way of the truth. Life is all about the pursuit of truth. It is all that matters. The most noble profession in the world is that of the scientist, one who has dedicated his entire life to the pursuit of truth. Anything less is inhuman. If you reject the truth and choose to live ignorantly, actively deciding not to learn everything you can about everything around you, you are scum. Well, maybe not scum. That's a harsh word. Perhaps puppet or dog would be more appropriate. The truth can be maddening but to accept any less is unacceptable.
I know I likely made a lot of inconsistencies in this post, but I'm nothing if not inconsistent. It's why I'm constantly yearning for constancy and certainty. Just some food for thought, though I'm not entirely certain regarding how deep or thought-provoking these notions are. They're probably entirely nonsense and superficial as you can get. Such is me.
Until next time.
- K
No comments:
Post a Comment