This post is about revealing a list of my secrets as a blogger, and was inspired by Lauren from Filing Jointly...finally and is an attempt to address #B1 (or B#1? #1B? Or should it be HL#1? Whatever...I think I am stalling...hey, did I ever tell you about the time I broke my foot playing frisbee?)
Okay. I am going to do an easy list first, and then try and work up to a list of more challenging secrets. Deep breath. Here we go...
First the super easy list:
1. Methodique Boisson is not my real name. She is a persona (both in the virtual world and the real world) that I adopt to express a part of myself that cannot be associated with my professional life. (Though I would add the caveat that this is really me—the me I am with friends and family and even complete strangers—just not a me that I can have a google-able record of floating around for professional adversaries to have. I feel slightly embarrassed about the use of a pseudonym, because I am a pretty open person—but pragmatism dictates I pretend to be more inhibited than I am. But I suppose that is more affecting a level of inhibition that is more stringent than I am comfortable with, rather than pretending. Hmmmm. This wasn’t as easy as I thought.)
2. Redacted. In it's place I will confess this: I ruin stuff all the time. It isn't "intentional," exactly, but in hind sight it sure looks like I did it on purpose. I am not sure if this is the clarity of hindsight, denial about my culpability, or a combination of the two.
3. I am simultaneously convinced that I am “too much” and “not enough.” I am too loud, too smart, too needy, too distant, too independent, too intense, too emotional, too vibrant, too complicated, and too strange. (Holy shit the word “too” looks dumb after you use it that many times.) I am not smart enough, pretty enough, thin enough, strong enough, fun enough, kind enough, friendly enough, a good enough daughter, a good enough friend, a good enough employee, a good enough professional, or a good enough partner. And the fact of the matter is, I have a lot of objective data to dispute all of that. But sometimes, I believe it anyway. I used to believe them all at once (as amazing and contradictory as that is—the brain can pull off some amazing contortions), and I have gotten to the place where that only happens once in a very great while. But they are sneaky, these thoughts, and they have split up so as to better infiltrate my defenses. They pop up just one or a few at a time now. But I am calling that progress.
4. I have really horrible nightmares. Some of them are just scary in the normal sort of way. Some of them are really gruesome. Really. The other night I spent the entire night sinking in and out of sleep, and every time I fell asleep I was in the middle of being stabbed and tortured. Sometimes I just have to watch the gruesome stuff happen to others. My brain has come up with some bizarre terrible things. How terrible you ask? Meat hook roller coaster. That is all I have to say about that. As a result, I do not like horror movies or really gory films (unless it is intentionally campy—then I sort of like those). I see enough of that crap in my nightmares. Plus, I think I am afraid of making it worse. I have had these nightmares in some form or another since I was a kid. When I was in high school, I had dreams about any person I was dating killing me. Fortunately, those have stopped. Other than me, (nearly) everyone in these dreams is a stranger now. I have started writing some of them down with the notion of trying to flesh them out into short stories or a horror novel. Maybe putting that shit on paper will get it out of my brain.
5. Related to #4 (as well as some stuff from my past), I suspect, I hate going to bed. When I was a baby, I apparently slept 8-12 hours a night and napped as well. When I was a kid I was a serious insomniac, I remember not sleeping at night as far back as about 5 or 6. Sometimes I just couldn’t sleep, the rest of the nights it was really difficult. In my teens, 4 hours of sleep was a good night. This came in handy in college, as a 20 hour day was old news to me.
Then, in my mid-20’s, I got really sick. I actually got a couple of kinds of really sick at once. As in, aside from doctor’s visits I didn’t get out of bed for 3 months (except to use the bathroom) or leave the house for 6 months. As in, my family started taking pictures of me in my sleep because they thought I might be dying. As in, doctors sent me to the ER several times a week, and no one knew what was wrong for months but everyone agreed it was serious. It sucked. I slept 20+ hours a day and was in constant pain. Even my dreams were about how tired I was and how much pain I was in. Dreaming of being gruelingly exhausted is one of the cruelest experiences I have had. Eventually I got better. I had to sleep more for a long time, but I learned to respect my body better. I slept better. Then I went to grad school, and apparently forgot every last damn thing I had learned about my body. I worked as many as 12-16 hours in a day and then read/studied at night. Sleep has been a problem again ever since. I can’t fall asleep. I can’t stay asleep. A few years ago I went 2 ½ months without sleeping more than 2 hours in a night, and most nights I got no sleep. I was hallucinating and had trouble functioning. I was barely able to scrape by at work.*
So all of this background is to say, between the nightmares and the insomnia, laying down to go to sleep is a daunting task. As a result it is difficult to get me to go to bed. (This in turn likely contributes to why I so enjoy sex that is anywhere but bed.) There is an extent to which the more tired I am, the more I need to go to bed, the harder it is to get me to go. Any number of friends and relatives can attest to this. It is not conscious avoidance, though. In the moment it just feels like I am having too much fun or I am too busy to be bothered with sleep. I just keep going…and then I collapse. I wake up on the sofa sometimes because I refuse to go to bed, but then just pass out.
I think it is getting better, though. I have a great DRP (pronounced “derp,” and standing for domestic romantic partner**), and he actually holds me all night long. That all but eliminates the nightmares, and the few I have are milder and I don’t feel scared when I wake up. It is also a really great time when we talk and connect, so I love going to bed with him. It is far from resolved, though. I am still working. Writing about it has given me some new ideas…so, I guess, thank you.
Well fuck. That was supposed to be the easy list. That was not easy. And I had a hard list and everything! How about this: Because that wasn’t easy, I’ll only post the hard list, but not explain. Deal? Deal. (Is this emotional exhibitionism? Is emotional exhibitionism a thing? I think I just like to really tackle a challenge if I am going to take it.)
The hard list:
1. I really want to be a writer and want people to read this blog, but also am embarrassed to share it with anyone.
2. I sometimes throw temper tantrums. Not as many as I used to, but I do.
3. I reflexively eavesdrop.
4. I used to use a lot of drugs.
5. I have been assaulted multiple times and by multiple people, and secretly (irrationally) worry it is something about me that caused this.
Just like ripping off a band-aid.
*Interestingly, this episode was resolved by my first visit to an acupuncturist. She said it was no wonder I could not sleep, I had flaming bucket loads too much yang (as in the component of yin and yang associated with speed, fire, masculinity, and aggression). I don’t know if it was the acupuncture or not. That night I had a huge bonfire (not recommended—seemingly coincidental), and it was just so appealing. I stood so close my face was stinging from the heat. That night I fell straight to sleep and woke 9 hours later. The streak was broken.
**There is no good word for this. We settled on derp because it is short and easy to say…and just god awful. If it can’t be good, embrace the crapiness.