Posted by fxckfeelings on May 20, 2010
Writing looks easy; after all all you need is pen, paper, and maybe a table at Starbucks. Then there’s inspiration and an interesting topic. Plus a fully functioning brain, a supportive audience, and, of course, shitloads of luck. Oh, and a trust fund. It’s no wonder then that writing and depression dance a delicate pas de deux with one another, and that torturing yourself for not “succeeding” as a creative mind is a pretty useless, uncreative punishment.
–Dr. Lastname
I’m an older woman with two advanced degrees in creative writing (one from Iowa, la di da). My career, on the other hand, hasn’t risen beyond doing commercial writing, be it technical or ad copy. I get published in small journals here and there, but after my first novel got a handful of rejections, my agent dropped me, and I haven’t been able to finish another novel in order to get a new agent and sell the first. My limited number of published pieces has also made it hard to get a teaching job, even though I got degree number 2 specifically to enter academia. So now I’m stuck working in advertising, and while it’s a good steady job that pays well, it still kills me a bit inside. Nevermind that I’ve absolutely struggled with depression my whole life, and while I take a handful of medications to control it, it’s just an added level of difficulty. Nonetheless, with my illness under control but my dream still very much out of control, my goal is to make this job work so I can settle and maybe even be happy.
You could say writing is a stupid career choice, given the unlikelihood of making money, and that academia isn’t much better, given the current job market. It’s as stupid as counting on a career in the NBA because you’re good at basketball.
The truth is, a large part of being a writer isn’t a matter of choice; it’s who you are, and trying to find a life that fits. It’s not so much a bad choice as a bum calling, with inspiration necessary but never promising to come when called.
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Posted by fxckfeelings on May 10, 2010
Everyone wants a feel-good, look-good family, but most of us relate to the more familiar feel-bad families on TV (which look good, and feel better by the end of the show). Still, there’s a difference between your average dysfunctional family unit and your genetic/step-parent clusterfuck. When your family situation is in truly bad shape, you’ve got to be tough enough to accept what you’ve got, then focus on making the best of those impossible relationships, outsider opinions be damned. Unlike those TV families, real problems don’t get solved after a half-hour, not everybody’s pretty, and you have to ignore your ratings with the audience.
–Dr. Lastname
I need to stay married because, while I work a pretty demanding job, my wife stays at home and watches our two kids, whom she adores. The problems are, however, (and there are many): she doesn’t work because of a migraine disorder that’s so debilitating that she’s on disability, and she takes too many non-prescription pain pills for those headaches, and, while they don’t make her a bad parent (I know the kids are safe), they often make her, in your words, a really needy, grumpy asshole and an impossible woman to be married to. I never know when she’s going to kick me out of the bedroom, scream at me in front of friends, or nod off after dinner. Needless to say, she won’t try marriage counseling or cutting back on the pills and thinks I’m bullying her if I suggest we have a problem. I can’t leave her, because it’d break the kids’ hearts, plus, like I said, she provides childcare, which is not something I could afford on my salary, and if I lost custody of the kids, I’d be in a worse hell than I am now. I know I can’t leave, but I don’t think I can live like this much longer. My goal is to find a better way to survive.
You’ve got good marital reasons for staying vs. leaving (the kids, the kids, the kids, and money, but also, the kids). There’s no escaping the fact, however, that her headache is infectious, and you’ve got it, too.
You’ve obviously built up a good, solid tolerance for living with your wife’s problems without fighting all the time, and your values and perspective are great. Which is why you probably already know that your goal is impossible.
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Posted by fxckfeelings on May 3, 2010
Poor, well-meaning, dedicated therapists and the patients who love/destroy them. After all, it’s enticing to let someone persuade you that you’re their guardian angel and the only therapist that can help. It’s a fun ride for everyone, at least until you realize that you’re responsible for something you don’t control, and they’re even less responsible than before for dealing with reality as it is. While this is a shrink-based site, we are the first to admit that therapists are not perfect people, especially when they get in in their heads that they actually are.
–Dr. Lastname
I have a 30-year-old patient whom I’ve been seeing in weekly psychotherapy for 6 months and he had a terrible history of sexual and physical abuse and years in state care. Amazingly, despite all his trauma and several prior failed treatments, he settled into a trusting relationship with me. He tells me I’m the first person he’s bonded with, and he’s been able to stop using cocaine, and, for the first time, sees some hope for himself. The problem is that he just got a new job, and I’m not covered by his new insurance plan. He wrote me a letter telling me how much he feels his recovery depends on continuing the treatment we’ve started and I feel professionally obliged to put his welfare ahead of my financial needs, but I’d like to get paid. My goal is to do right by my patient, and not trigger the feelings of abandonment that underlie much of his negative behavior, but I’m not sure how long I can afford to see him for nothing.
There are many therapists who believe the best thing you can do for a troubled patient like this is to “be there,” providing the steady acceptance and secure relationship that they need for healing. I’m not one of them.
The sad fact is that the healing power of currently available treatments is vastly over-rated and a good example of false hope and the harm it can cause.
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Posted by fxckfeelings on April 19, 2010
Many of us have nasty sides that can do lots of damage if they get out. In psychiatry, we call them “demons” or, to be less judgmental/more technical, “inner assholes.” They’re helpful if we’re cornered by Moonies and need to escape, and they certainly make us less boring. On the other hand, they’re dangerous, particularly since it feels so good to let them fly. Unfortunately, anything that flies has to land, usually on those you actually care about.
–Dr. Lastname
When my husband and I first got married (and married young, over 20 years ago), his job was physically intensive, but he enjoyed it and it paid well. Not too long ago he got injured, and it was bad enough that he can’t go back to that line of work, so he’s collected disability and taken over the childcare, which he does well. I found a good job, so we’re making enough money, but I don’t like working and miss spending time with the kids, so I push him to find a desk-job, but he obviously hates that kind of work and can’t seem to find anything that suits him. The whole thing is so unfair, I can’t help but dig into him sometimes, in a way that I know, even as I’m talking to him, is just nasty and inappropriate. It’s really putting our marriage through the ringer, but as hard as I try, I can’t control my temper. My goal is to get through this problem without getting divorced.
You clearly value your partnership with your husband…even if you hate your new role as breadwinner so much that it awakens the asshole within.
It leaves you with a big lump of anger and disappointment that you can’t get over and won’t go away. The expression might be “like it or lump it,” but sometimes, you have to do both.
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Posted by fxckfeelings on April 15, 2010
While Shut Up! Week began with us doing the up-shutting, it concludes with the more fun exercise of instructing others when they can utilize their own “shut up!” skills. After all, a friend might want to help you, or you might want to help a friend yourself, but sometimes the best thing you can do to help someone is get them to keep their mouth closed. And with that, Shut Up! week shuts down.
–Dr. Lastname
For years, I’ve talked to a friend of mine about my problems who’s also a counselor, and during that time, he’s urged me to seek professional help. I used to brush off that advice, mostly because this friend lives in another city and only ever really talks to me on the phone when I have problems, but in the last few months, I’ve begun to consider taking his advice. I don’t know what to say when I call to make the appointment, however, because I haven’t the faintest how to explain the unknown in my head (which is the main issue that frustrates me). I want to scream, but don’t know why or what. Do you have any advice as far as how to ask for help when I’m not sure what I’m really asking help for?
Remember, funny feelings in your head cause fear, which causes funny feelings, which cause fear, which create a spiral that will flush you down the toilet of needless worry. The first thing to do then is shut up and think about whether you need help.
If you’ve had funny feelings in your head for years, they’re not about to kill you; they’re not telling you to kill yourself or anyone else, and they’re not annoying you to death. WAIT! There is more to read… read on »
Posted by fxckfeelings on April 8, 2010
Many jobs, especially those involving leadership or sales, depend on making a good impression with the public. The risk is becoming so focused on public reaction that you end up like Ed Koch, asking “How’m I doin?” with such frequency that you lose track of exactly what you’re supposed to do (aside from getting people to curb their dogs). Most public jobs, however, involve lots of duties that only make an impression when done very poorly, so success can’t be defined by accolades, and you’re the only one who knows best. It’s up to you to be your own best judge before you end up so hungry for approval that you get stuck in deep dog shit.
–Dr. Lastname
As rabbi of a medium-sized temple for 10 years, I’ve enjoyed a good relationship with my congregation and I love the work. My problem is that I rely on the temple Board to decide whether I get a raise, and, during the last recession, there wasn’t one because everyone felt too poor to pay more dues. When, recently, I began looking at what rabbis of comparable congregations are making, however, I found that my salary is well below the mean, so I’ve been wondering how to become more active without appearing to be greedy, selfish or unresponsive to the problems of the congregation. One way that occurred to me was to do a “360 degree review” and ask everyone to give me feedback on how I’m doing, including the congregation, the board, and people who work for me. My goal is to get a high approval rating and use that to get a raise.
Unlike the woman earlier this week who was too afraid to rock the boat by asking for a raise (until anger made her want to torpedo the ship), you’re inhibited by guilt, empathy, and that certain Jewish ne sais quoi.
Still, no matter how tempting it is, don’t ask the congregation to clap if they think the rabbi deserves a raise. You’re a scholar and a leader, not Tinkerbell.
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Posted by fxckfeelings on April 5, 2010
Despite all that Hillary, Michelle, and Jóhanna have done to break glass ceilings for women (the latter being the first female Prime Minister of Iceland, no small shakes), we still get letters from ladies with workplace issues caused not by performance, but by gender. Ironically, our answers are far more gender-neutral; workplace disagreements should always be professional and unemotional, whether you’re a man or a woman, or in or outside of the Arctic Circle.
–Dr. Lastname
My boss has never really been supportive of my work, but we get along well, and it’s partly because I haven’t asked for a raise in over 20 years. Recently, however, he began to give me a hard time about leaving early, and it’s really pissed me off because I work a lot at home on the computer (my husband and I have trouble getting reliable after-school childcare) and I take pride in working hard. (It’s particularly unfair and infuriating because I’ve had an unusually good year and everyone, including my boss’s boss, the big boss, knows it and I was even thinking now, finally, I would get a raise. Certainly not a reprimand. I’m reaching my breaking point here, because it’s one thing to work your ass off for poor pay because you like the work and the people on your team, but another to be bullied over nothing on top of that. I’m meeting with the big boss tomorrow and my goal is to get the credit I deserve and maybe give him a piece of my mind.
Reassuring women about their feelings instead of giving them a raise is something guys have done to girls (and communication-sensitive people of all genders) since the glass ceiling was made out of quills.
This is not to say that men are entirely at fault; women make it easy for guys to do this by bringing up their feelings as a reason/using them to push for a raise, instead of letting facts and economics do the pushing for them.
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Posted by fxckfeelings on March 29, 2010
For our 100th post, we address a problem that causes loads of people useless worry, and that is…useless worry. Just because horrible things may happen to you or someone you love (or because of someone you love), life shouldn’t end. Prepare yourself the best you can for whatever trouble you think you see coming, and then continue your regularly scheduled, useful life.
–Dr. Lastname
Living with my mentally ill 30-year-old daughter is wearing me out. My wife and I can never leave her alone, but we also can’t take her with us because she gets uncomfortable when she’s around people she doesn’t know and says inappropriate things in a loud voice and has to get up and leave. The problem isn’t her, though, it’s my wife, who is so worried about what will happen if we put her in a half-way house with other sick people that she can’t think clearly about it. We’ve got some money, but if we paid for my daughter to have her own condo and a nurse to keep an eye on her, the money wouldn’t last long. Then again, if she continues to live with us, we won’t last long. My goal is to get my wife to see that we have to get her into a state-supported program, for her sake and ours.
You hope to get your wife to see that your mentally ill daughter needs to live independently, but if you were making any progress in that direction, you wouldn’t be writing.
Let’s assume then, at least for the moment, that your hopes are false and your wife can’t let go, and if she can’t let go, she’ll always be thinking of new ways to make your daughter feel more comfortable and better understood. Which makes your goal a more and more distant dream.
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Posted by fxckfeelings on March 11, 2010
Virtually all mammals resent being told what to do (don’t think your cat doesn’t understand you, he just doesn’t care what you think). Unfortunately, most of us with opposable thumbs have to earn a living and/or share a roof, which means learning to live with authority. You might not like your given overlord’s opinion, but, while both parents and bosses are often full of shit, your role remains the same; be respectful, mind your boundaries, and take their words just seriously enough so you don’t get fired. And, like any good, domesticated mammal, don’t pee on the floor.
–Dr. Lastname
My father’s always been a heavy drinker (if he is an alcoholic, he’s “high functioning”), but I love him, and I’ve always tried to make him proud. When he’s really sloshed, however, he tends to go on a lot about how much he loves my older brother, who’s a lawyer, and how impressed he is with him, and how great that brother is, and on and on until everyone else around him feels awkward (and any siblings that are around are pissed). It really gets under my skin, particularly when we’ve been matching one another drink for drink, but then I just feel guilty for being angry at my father when, after all, I’m a grown up who should be too old for this kind of thing, and, really, he’s a nice guy. My goal is to get myself to be less sensitive to the fact that I’m not Dad’s favorite.
There’s good news and bad news here; you’re right not to let fly with your resentment, but you’re wrong to expect your hurt feelings to go away.
If you’re a sensitive person, then you can’t stop the hurt, but you can stop it from hurting yourself or others. The trick is to shut your mouth, because, that way, you don’t let anger out, or alcohol in.
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Posted by fxckfeelings on March 8, 2010
In my practice, I give patients with ADD a special appointment option. Instead of their taking responsibility for keeping a regularly scheduled appointment (which means they’re obliged to pay full freight, with no insurance support, if they don’t show up), I encourage them to line up for a walk-in appointment which may keep them waiting longer, but won’t cost them a cent if they forget to come. It’s not that I discriminate, I’m just trying to make the best of things. That, to me, exemplifies the best way to deal with Attention Deficit Disorder, both for my patients and as a third party; keep your expectations reasonable, your appetite for shit bottomless, and your shrink understanding.
–Dr. Lastname
My roommate calls me the Ritalin vampire, because once my meds run out around 5, I become a different person (or really just a depressed, anxious mess). My mood drops so low so fast, and my nerves become so raw, that I have to drink just to get through the evening and get some sleep. It’s obviously driving my roommate crazy, but more than that, it’s messing up my life—I wake up hung-over, my boss is pissed, I feel sick all the time, so even when I’m not anxious and wired when I’m on my meds, I still feel like shit. My goal is to figure out how to get my ADD under control when the sun is down.
Most Ritalin users don’t have a terrible comedown with severe anxiety every time their meds wear off—what you have isn’t normal ADD, but ADD plus anxiety, plus, probably, alcohol dependence.
The medical term for your three-pronged disorder is a trifuckedta. Surprise, the prognosis ain’t so hot.
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