jackysherwood

Well, not that anyone reads this thing, but sometimes it's cathartic to write down a few thoughts. So, since January I've been going to counselling. I decided I really had to do something about my social anxiety problems, which were seriously limiting my life. Well, I say "were"...they still are, but thing are much improved now.

At first, I didn't think I was getting any benefit. I just didn't believe that I could be any better; that I was fundamentally socially incapable, and since that was part of my character, it wouldn't change. I never attended a session without taking valium beforehand, and I would dread it. I even suggested we stop the sessions at around my 6th visit. Fortunately, my wise counsellor convinced me to stay, and for the last two, I've gone unaided, and the sense of dread is much diminished.

I can walk down the street, standing up straight, and look ahead of me instead of down at the floor. I can visit my parents without feeling like a hopeless, unwelcome failure. I've even grown a pair and worked out how to post on forums without itching to delete or edit my posts. There's much to be done, but believe me, these things were a big deal to me only a few months ago. Since then I've gained some perspective, and these are the most important thoughts I have used to get me here:

1) The situation isn't dangerous

2) So what if a social interaction doesn't go how I want it? It doesn't really matter. It's of such little importance relative to life in general.

3) There's no "right" way to socialise, and I can't tell what people are thinking so it doesn't make sense to jump to a negative conclusion.

4) Post-analysis of social situations is bad. If I replay an event in my mind enough, I always come up with something I did "wrong." How about - it's not important.

5) My voice and appearance are not terrible, and I don't actually talk rubbish (at least, not exclusively).

6) I need to look at others' behaviour more objectively. I'm sensitive to criticism and perceive insults that perhaps weren't intended; and even if they were, I fail to look at other possible explanations. Were they tired? Having a bad day? Is it as much a result of their bad mood as my bad socialising?

Basically, social situations only hurt me because I perceive that I have failed. If I remove this judgement, then I remove the "danger" of socialising. When the danger is gone, I'm not so anxious. And if I'm not anxious and I don't care about doing it "right", then it ceases to be a cause of depression.

I use the points above almost like mantras for when I feel myself getting tense. At this point, anxiety is somewhat involuntary, but it's lessening, and I can keep moving upward so long as I don't forget to rationalise.

To my counsellor, who will never read this - thanks. I didn't believe in you, but it seems you believed in me.

Ever since I was 17, I've liked going to the gym. I've pretty much always had a gym membership somewhere, even if I took long breaks from it to focus on my running.

That is, until last year. 2011 was my least active year ever, and I have the padding and slight out-of-puffability to prove it. It definitely does not take long to happen, especially if you like your food and drink as much as I do.

I love running, but I think my body is just not built for it; I'm always getting injured. I hardly ran at all in 2011 because of this. I don't know what else to do but give it up. *sighs* I will miss you, half marathons, 10Ks, cheery crowds, goody bags, PBs, wind in my hair, bugs in my teeth and yes, even obnoxious white van drivers with open windows.

So what's left? Walking? Nope, boring. Keep fit videos? They work, I'll admit, but I can't be bothered to do it often enough, realistically. Sports? Well, they involve other people, and I don't do that very well.

So it has to be gym. The trouble is, the older I get, the worse my social anxiety gets. Well, some things improve while others worsen. But if there's one thing that made me quit my last gym, it was that the people there started to get to know me. It may sound antisocial, but I don't want that. I want to be an anonymous gym user to whom no-one pays any attention. The stress of knowing that there are people who half-know me and might say hello to me is enough to put me off going to the gym at all.

But with this new gym, I have new hope, and a new strategy. By being as bland and humourless as possible to all who speak to me, I will discourage the development of any social ties. They might recognise me, but they won't say hello. And I'll be able to work out in safety.

Ever felt like writing about something, but had nothing to write about? Could it be a sign that something is lacking in your life? Can one be too safe and sheltered from stress, so that if nothing untoward ever happens, there's nothing to learn from? Nothing to stimulate the mind?

I sometimes think that wanting for nothing more than you already have is to be free of disappointment, but if you want for nothing, where will the force of change come from?

I've read a number of Haruki Murakami's novels now. Wild Sheep Chase was my first, and I loved it for the way it played with perception and reality. For the same reason I was quite fond of After Dark. Norwegian Wood was his best seller, but I found that one heavy going. Full of melancholy and nostalgia, but rather intense.

I get that same sense with South of the Border, West of the Sun. The story follows a man, Hajime, through childhood until middle age, as he struggles to come to terms with himself and his love for his childhood sweetheart, Shimamoto.

What I liked about this book was the honesty in it. The main character struggles to reinvent himself, to be someone better. But in the end he has to admit, he'd do the same again. There are parts of him that won't change, even if it means hurting those he loves.

The mysterious Shimamoto is the only woman Hajime has ever truly connected with, and when she turns up again after he's married and with kids, he realises he'd give everything up for her. He can't have her however, for she won't tell him anything about herself or when she can and cannot visit. She disappears for long periods, and his life and marriage descend into chaos because he can think of nothing else.

When they do meet, they talk about the past, and about wishing things had been different, whilst knowing that they couldn't be. The novel is permeated with this kind of "it can't be helped" feeling.

"[...]But there is one thing I am certain about: I never, ever would have been bored with you. That, at least makes me different from other people you knew. In that sense I am indeed a special person for you."

[...]

"Hajime," she began, "the sad truth is that some things can't go backwards. Once they start going forward, no matter what you do, they can't go back to the way they were. If even one little thing goes awry, then that's how it will stay forever."

That rung rather true for me. No matter how much you wish you could control your life, it takes only the smallest error and your plans are derailed forever.

However, for as much as I got out of the book, I found it ultimately a bit disappointing. Some of the conversations sounded a little contrived (I'll give it the benefit of the doubt through translation to English), and Shimamoto was so mysterious that I didn't really care about her.

There's a reality disconnect near the end, where the question of whether Hajime ever met Shimamoto hangs in the air, but for my taste, not enough weird stuff happened. I'll confess, I love it when weird stuff happens. My next Murakami novel will definitely be one of the weird ones.

Why? Because I'm still proud of my new home!

So I was inspired to post a picture of my new abode. Just in case anyone was interested. This was springtime this year. After 10 years of city living, this feels like the first place I can really call home.