Posted by fxckfeelings on October 29, 2009
When people feel most powerless, they instinctively attempt to exert as much control as they can; even—especially—when they have less control than ever. In those situations, they go to the one thing over which they feel they’ll always have control, which is their own life, or the lives of those closest to them, but the more they discuss whether or not to continue life, the more they make that life difficult. Ultimately, it’s best not to ask “should I live,” but to admit—you guessed it—”I am fucked.”
–Dr. Lastname
I can’t seem to make a decision about the life/death issue. I want to want to live, or have the balls to call it quits. Shit or get off the pot. It takes too much damn energy vacillating.
“To be or not to be”—that’s still the question, right? Well, it’s also a question I never like to answer or hear.
Shakespeare or no, it’s a bad question to ask, because most people who ask it don’t really want an answer; they want an antidote to their hurt or someone to blame for not providing it.
It’s similar to the way Boston taxi drivers ask the passenger whether to take the Pike or Storrow to Logan airport — to have someone else to blame when, either way, they inevitably run into heavy traffic.
I know, the question expresses your deepest feelings. It also wears out friends, drives them away/proves that no one can help, and confirms your right to be very, very unhappy. The whole cycle sucks and it’s unhealthy. Keep asking it, and somebody will go ahead and hurt you more.
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Posted by fxckfeelings on October 26, 2009
Like the injured gazelle at the watering hole, human beings also have an instinct to conceal their weakened status; often, our worst fear isn’t being set upon by unknown predators, but by those close to us, who will be disappointed when our wounds impair our usual performance. Even a gazelle, however, would realize that, when wounded, putting pride and other people’s needs first is ridiculous.
–Dr. Lastname
I’m an early middle-aged woman, lucky enough to have the problems that come with getting saner and older. I grew up in one of those sad alcoholic homes from which I never gave up working to extricate myself. I screwed life up at first but have been recovered from alcoholism over twenty years, similarly recovered from eating disorders (bulimia, anorexia, binge eating), returned to the school I had ditched to finally graduate with honors, kept jobs (now retired) and, a real miracle, I have been married to a terrific guy in my sobriety and am (for real) happily married. I have solid loving friends. I’ve seen therapists for the depression, which intermittently interferes but even found a half-assed but useful medication. A good life…except for the real problems that come with age. That wonderful husband has a couple of chronic diseases, my best friend died of the cancer I survived, and everyone is dead in my small original family. I am experiencing that trapped childhood feeling of being in a world in which I am helpless and those I love are hopeless and going away. I realize I must just feel the hurt and keep on anyway, but I am tired, and my stamina is more fragile now. I disappoint those I love and make mistakes more. Goal in writing you: To get a better grip on myself and accept more deeply that I cannot change the pain of life. I would like to not keep blaming myself, a old bad habit that lingers. Sorry I’ve gone on so long but I guess I wanted to show that I have really tried to help others and myself even if I’m whining now.
You see your goal as rising above the pain of aging, but you can’t fool me (remember, I went to Harvard): your deeper goal is to help people, to the point that their aging has worn you down and caused you to forget that you have other goals. For example, not getting worn down unless it’s really necessary.
So it’s not aging that’s your problem, but what aging has done to your ability to help others while keeping your priorities straight. That’s what I think is causing you the most grief. After all, if you were old but weren’t as responsive to the needs of others, all you’d have to worry about is your bad back and Tivo’ing NCIS.
On top of ascertaining your real goal, I can also guess you’re not from Samaria, so you don’t have a Samaritan license (funny, you don’t look Samaritan). That’s the first thing that’s wrong with your initial goal—wanting too much to help others.
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Posted by fxckfeelings on October 13, 2009
Sometimes, knowing is indeed half the battle, at least if you’re talking about where you left your car keys or the answers to a math test. When it comes to tracing the origins of your behavior, however, pinning your temper on dad or your bad taste in men on bad boys isn’t going to lead you to a nicer, smarter you. Knowing why you’re a prick won’t make you better; not being a prick will, regardless of where the fault for your prickish genes lies.
–Dr. Lastname
It’s been a tough year (surprise), and so I’ve been a little more quick to anger than I usually am, and I tend to have a few more beers after work than I would normally have. Things with my wife were kind of rough because of all of this, so she told me to see a therapist, and for the sake of my marriage, I agreed, because losing my wife would be the worst thing that could happen. Six months or so ago, my therapist started asking me about my childhood, and it finally clicked that my dad also had a really bad temper, and was also a pretty lousy drunk, but I’d never really thought of him that way, and I’d never really made the connection to my own behavior. My therapist was really pleased at my breakthrough, but here I am, six months later, and I don’t feel any better, and my wife is ready to leave if I don’t stop yelling at her. My goal is to use what I’ve learned in therapy to solve my problems, but what is it I haven’t figured out, why do I keep acting this way, and why am I spending money on therapy if I’m getting nowhere?
Once psychotherapy helps you figure out where your mean streak comes from, you can write an interesting book about it and, usually, blame it on a brutal ancestor and tell Oprah all about it.
What all that hard-earned knowledge probably won’t help you much with is keeping you in check the next time you get irritable and/or drunk. Bad daddy or no, what will help you a lot more is to get sober and learn how to shut the fuck up.
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Posted by fxckfeelings on July 16, 2009
After our last post’s fun foray into terlet humor, we return to the more somber world of family dynamics. In this cases, two people learn that, while it’s always hard for parents to set limits for their kids, it’s even harder for kids to set limits for their parents.
–Dr. Lastname
I didn’t have a lot of money growing up, so I got a job at the local coffee chain when I was in high school so I didn’t have to rely on them. But I needed their help to go to college, so my dad sold some property to pay my tuition, and told me he was sure I’d succeed and he would expect me to help him out someday. After college, I went back to the coffee shop and became manager, and since then, I’ve actually moved up to a fairly high position in our regional office. I used to make lattes, and now I have a corner office and a car I paid for outright. At the same time, I became aware of how poorly my parents manage their money. They buy things they can’t afford and never say “no” to the other kids, no matter how stupid their requests. Then my father comes to me for money, always for specific bills he can’t pay, like the mortgage, or car insurance. But at the same time, he’s spending money he can’t afford, so I feel like I’m bailing out a sinking ship and my efforts are a total waste. My goal is to get my dad to understand that he has to budget his money and learn to say “no” and that I can’t continue to support him like this without going broke myself. But I can’t stop feeling responsible for saving my family from the mess they’re in.
If your dad could understand and accept the need for budgetary controls, it would have happened three major impulse buys/maxed out credit cards ago, so your goal as it stands now is useless.
Worse than that, even suggesting a budget to him will bite you in the ass, because he probably blames his problems on bad luck, not getting enough help, being too nice a guy, etc. So when you suggest, in the kindest way possible, that he’s a financial fuck-up, you’ll become the scapegoat. You’ll go from being the solution to being the problem so quickly, you’ll get whiplash.
He’ll see you as the ungrateful son who benefited most from his generosity, and now is too selfish to give back. You’ll get angry and pull away, which will unite the rest of family behind him, and leave you shunned, alone, and unable to give them help when they really need it. Your goal isn’t just useless, it’s the perfect shit-storm.
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Posted by fxckfeelings on June 28, 2009
A lot of readers, either with amusement or anger, like to challenge the “fuck feelings” mentality; surely, they respond, not everyone’s just a big baby, and there must be some legitimacy to some feelings, given the right circumstances. Those readers might try to use these two cases—the feelings within, and/or the situations that have spawned them—to find the exception to the rule. But if you really think we assign some feelings more value than others, then you misunderstand the rule entirely.
–Dr. Lastname
I know this site has fun with people who whine because the truth hurts, but I want to know whether you can apply that philosophy in situations like mine. My son died in a car accident a year ago—he was just a little guy, bad weather…total freak accident. One day he was fine, the next day, he was gone. My wife was driving, and while I know it wasn’t her fault, I’ve pulled away from her, and she doesn’t really talk to me, either. It’s possible that I’m drinking too much, because I am drinking to numb the pain. Would you honestly tell someone in my position, “fuck feelings”? What would you tell me? I know this is short, but my goal isn’t complicated. I just want to get over the pain of my grief.
From your first question, it seems you think this site confuses whining with real pain, which isn’t our intended message. Pain is what it is—all questions posed on this site involve real pain—and grief over the loss of a child happens to be the worst. At least, we can’t imagine anything worse.
But pain becomes dangerous when you expect to control it, because you then hope for things that simply aren’t going to happen and avoid dealing with what you’ve got, which is a life that can dump terrible suffering on you, for no reason, at a moment’s notice.
Here, your pain is telling you that you need to drink, there’s no point in not numbing the pain of your loss, there’s nothing left in your marriage because your wife isn’t talking to you, you were unable to protect your son, you’ll have nothing to give other kids, and things are just going to get worse. You pain is real, but what its telling you is fucking bullshit.
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Posted by fxckfeelings on June 8, 2009
These two cases are based on feedback we got from our sibling-related post a week ago. Thanks to the anonymous readers who took the time to write in, and we hope these respond to your concerns.
–Dr. Lastname
Last week, someone wrote in asking how to react to his younger brother’s claim that their father had molested him, and you told the older brother, essentially, to tell his younger brother to move on. I find myself in a similar position to that younger brother—my step-father molested me for years—but A, there is no doubt as to my claims, I assure you, and B, I have yet to tell my family (my step-father just died). If and when I do tell my family, if they react the way you instructed that guy to react, I’d be pretty furious, and frankly, I can’t believe you’d give anyone that advice. It’s taken me years to come to terms with what happened, and I couldn’t tell anyone what happened, let alone my family, until several years after the abuse stopped/I got away. I don’t think I’m wrong in expecting my family to support me, and besides, isn’t advising the older brother to tell his abused sibling just to “move on” just a way of excusing the father’s behavior for the sake of the family reputation while letting his younger brother suffer yet more humiliation? I’m not writing in for advice—my goal is to get you to admit your advice was deeply flawed.
One very tough part of disclosing long-ago sexual abuse is that you have so little control over how members of your family, or anyone, will react. In some families, you will be embraced by people who believe in you, validate your experience, and are grateful that you spoke out. Your courage in doing so will be well rewarded.
But in many families, there are people who can’t believe the abuse happened or who aren’t strong enough to face what they know (even though they’ve otherwise proven themselves to be very loving and supportive while you were growing up.). Your courage will not be rewarded, or even appreciated in the slightest.
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Posted by fxckfeelings on May 31, 2009
The concept of being one’s “brother’s keeper” has never been a very good one; from the Bible to the Clinton boys, older siblings taking responsibility for their youngers has rarely had good results. In these two cases, older siblings feel obliged to get their little brother/sister back on track, but being related to someone by blood doesn’t make them any easier to control. You can’t “keep” your siblings, but you can keep trying to do the right thing.
–Dr. Lastname
I’m one of seven kids, standard big Irish family, fairly standard/normal childhood, everybody seems to get along. My youngest brother, however, has always been a quiet kid (and I’m the oldest, so he’s much younger than me), and while he’s not the black sheep exactly, he’s always been a little bit different and maybe something of a misfit in general. One of my uncles died recently, and at the wake, my brother took me and all of our siblings aside to tell us that he’s been going to therapy and has recently recovered memories of being molested by our late father. Now, I’d never describe my dad as being a warm or lovable guy, but he wasn’t a monster– never raised a hand to me or anyone else in the house that I saw, and certainly never tried to touch me in a sexual way (or any of the other kids as far as I know). And, like I said, I’m not that close with my younger brother because I was in high school when he was born, so basically, to put it nicely, I just don’t think he’s remembering things right. None of the other siblings do, either, but ever since he made his little announcement, he’s been pushing us to support him and getting angry when we try to calm him down/kindly and tell him he should back off. Since I’m the oldest, my other brothers and sisters are looking to me to handle the situation, but I really have no idea what I can say to make this go away. My goal is to figure out what the hell is going on and get him to stop.
You might not know your brother that well, but I’ve dealt with his type many times: certain people go through life feeling different, cut off, ultra-sensitive, and constantly unhappy. They are troubled as much by not knowing why they’re suffering as by the suffering itself.
In their isolation and misery, they are constantly wondering what went wrong, if they did it to themselves, and what they should be doing about it. If they can believe that someone bad did something horrible to mess up their minds, whether it happened or not, it makes sense of their suffering and gives them something concrete to do about it.
Sure, something bad may have happened to them, or their reaction to constant suffering may have exposed them to additional harm at the hands of people they would otherwise have stayed away from. The sad thing is that no one has a solution to their suffering: not friends, not therapists, not older brothers.
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Posted by fxckfeelings on May 10, 2009
How do you help people fix the way they help other people? The easy answer is, you don’t, but if the answer was easy, we’d be out of work. Here are two cases of helpers’ helpers in need of help themselves.
-Dr. Lastname
My wife is a good woman, but she can’t say no to people close to her or control her giving. Her mother has Alzheimer’s and often gets hysterical over aches and pains, or has paranoid ideas about being sexually molested by nurses, and my wife confronts the staff at the home at the drop of a hat to straighten things out. That just gets the staff upset because my mother-in-law is almost brain-dead and the complaints aren’t real, so now everybody’s mad at my wife because they think she’s blaming them. I’m not happy with her always being unhappy, and she blames me for not being supportive, and I’m worried she’s getting depressed. My goal is to get her to be less involved with her mother and less unhappy.
It’s hard to feel that you’ve done your best to help someone when they don’t get better, and they’re not satisfied with what you’ve done. Your wife can never feel she’s done enough for her mother; and you can’t feel you’ve done enough for your wife. And there’s no way to stop those feelings.
If you try to help her, you will probably make things worse. If you use a therapy session to confront your wife about her negativity and its bad effect on you and her mother’s care—if you suggest that she’s bending over backwards because her mother was really a jerk who always made her feel guilty–the more you’ll regret it.
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Posted by fxckfeelings on April 22, 2009
Admitting you have a drinking problem is the first of the 12 steps, but what if you aren’t really sure you have a problem, despite what people close to you say? Today’s cases show how seeking treatment for your addictions and seeking the approval of others are two things that don’t necessarily go hand in hand.
—Dr. Lastname
I’m a little frustrated with my job right now, so every night after work, I like to have a few beers with dinner to relax. Problem is, I’m a skinny Indian guy, so a few beers is enough to make me pretty tipsy (which means I get loud, maybe a little annoying, sloppy, whatever). My roommate has joked that it’s time for an intervention for my alcoholism, but he’s joked about it enough that I’m not sure he’s joking anymore. I’ve always thought an alcoholic is someone who drinks constantly, blacks out, can’t be trusted, and I’m none of those things. I mean, I go out to bars on weekends sometimes and drink ‘til tipsy (or further), but I don’t sneak beers at the office or anything, and I don’t think I need my nightly beer-o (beer trio), although I haven’t tried to go without it, because I really don’t want to. So my goal is to figure out what to do with my drinking problem, which I think is more my roommate’s problem than mine.
Your goal with drinking isn’t to avoid meeting someone’s definition of alcoholism: it’s to have a good time without screwing up your priorities. Sure, those priorities include keeping your job and fulfilling other important obligations—which you claim to have no problem with—but they also include keeping good friends and not limiting your friendship circle to those who like being tipsy, sloppy and annoying.
If you’re driving away good people who don’t enjoy alcohol as much as you do, i.e., if your roommate’s really saying that he likes you but would rather spend his evenings with someone who is quieter and less jolly, then you’ve got a problem that needs management whether you call it alcoholism or not. The longer you argue about whether your drinking is medically dangerous or gives your roommate the right to be critical, the longer you’re putting off the management job. Call it alcoholism or call it lice, either way, you drinking habits are messing up your life and need to be addressed.
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