coping
Life presents variables; learning how to cope in order to master, minimize, or tolerate what has come to pass.
Focus on doing things related to the goal
The pages of "Essentialism" have left an indelible mark on my perspective. It's more than a book; it's a guiding philosophy urging us to discern what truly matters in the cacophony of life. The idea of honing in on tasks intricately connected to personal goals while avoiding the temptation of scattered pursuits resonates deeply.
Volition as Wings, Soaring Against the Wind
In the tremendous and extensive material of the sky, where the purplish blue meets the skyline, birds arise as valiant heroes in a story of flexibility. With relentless assurance, they take part in a hit the dance floor with the breeze, spreading their wings wide as though to oppose the actual quintessence of obstruction. Their rising to the sky turns into a demonstration of the dauntless soul that exists in, filled by a natural resolve that goes about as an impetus for taking off despite everything. This avian expressive dance, where each vacillate is a victory over difficulty, fills in as a significant similitude for the imperative job of tireless self discipline in our own life story.
"Who Are You Going To Be Today, Carol?"
Today, I know who I am. I am 'Carol.' But who is Carol? Well, today she got out of bed, did her hair, and her makeup; and she feels slim, happy, confident, and ready to face her day.
Carol TownendPublished 4 months ago in Psychethe bipolar person
The bipolar person was lonely most of the time and alone when they weren’t. Lonely was a symptom of mania; alone belonged to depression. The bipolar person had not felt at ease while alone for many years; they needed music, drugs, or the distraction of friends. For years they had not felt the security that comes from having spent a necessary day of engagement with the world and its people, looking them in the eye many times, laughing and reacting, noticing things of light and color and volume, and thoroughly exhausting themself in full health as a social animal then to return home and expand in the silence of their moderately sized one-bedroom apartment to restore. The bipolar person didn’t live alone anymore. And lately, this restoration was so fraught with overthinking and condemnation that they wondered if they could still do it right. The moderately sized one-bedroom apartment had become a small –– bordering on efficiency –– two-bedroom. The bipolar person shared this small –– bordering on efficiency –– two-bedroom, complete with a murphy hammock and washer/dryer in the [flexion of two upright fingers to indicate the presence of scrutiny] kitchen, with their ex’s best friend. This person quickly became the bipolar person’s friend, muddying the situation further, as the breakup between the bipolar person and their ex soured. The [finger flexion] kitchen had been a sacred place for the three of them - the bipolar person, the ex, and the roommate who happened to be the ex’s best friend. They made the most incredible things in that [f.f.] kitchen. The bipolar person agonized over remembering the meals made and eaten together: the curries, the soups, the sweet potatoes, the risotto, the rice and beans, the miso eggs, the pomegranates, the apples and peanut butter, the skillets, the mochi. Love was shared in the [f.f.] kitchen, and the bipolar person now struggled to fry an egg, let alone prepare a complete meal for themself. There was little to be done for the wave of depression settling over the bipolar person except to wait it out. Medications did not seem like an option for treatment due to the adverse effects of selective serotonin reuptake inhibitors (SSRIs) on their mood. Without fail, SSRIs sent the bipolar person into fits of mania that usually ended with them balled into the fetal position on the end of their bed, in hysterical fits of laughter and tears, and attempting to open their flesh with a knife or a razor or scissors or a stapler or anything they could get their hands on as if the skin itself were diseased and requiring removal. These breaks would come at the end of an extended episode where the bipolar person felt as though tiny spiders had laid large nests of eggs all over their body, and those eggs were beginning to hatch. At times, the sensation was so intense the bipolar person swore they could see as deep as the dermis move; this movement extended from their flesh into the darkened corners of their room so shadows would climb and dance, taunting an inner child still terrified of the dark. This inner child bared itself to the ex and roommate on more than one occasion, and the bipolar person considered death to end the shame. After being so exposed, they felt there was no way to redeem themself in their own eyes. The bipolar person knew well enough at this point that other people would forgive all sorts of behaviors, and even if they wouldn’t, the only thing that mattered was whether or not the bipolar person could forgive themself. The answer was almost always a resounding no, but ultimately death was not an option. So the small –– bordering on efficiency –– two-bedroom apartment complete with murphy hammock and washer/dryer in the [f.f.] kitchen shrank under the weight of self-hate, blame, and resentment.
Bowing with Courage, Raising with Strength
In the intricate tapestry of life, each individual finds themselves navigating a diverse array of challenges, demanding courage to confront and fortitude to overcome. In this profound journey, the need arises not only for the audacity to bow down in the face of adversity but also for the robust strength to confidently raise one's head, asserting personal capabilities and contributing value to the world. This discourse delves into the nuanced wisdom and empowering dynamics of both humility and assertion.
The Joy of Contentment
In a world that is constantly bombarding us with messages about the importance of material possessions, it's easy to lose sight of what truly brings happiness. We are told that owning the latest gadgets, driving the fanciest cars, and living in the most luxurious houses will make us happy. But is this really true? Is happiness found in the things we own or is it something deeper, something more meaningful?
Perfect Reflection
I like to look at myself. I think I see myself clearly. I see what I want in the glass. My perfect reflection. I am perfect.
Rachel DeemingPublished 4 months ago in PsycheI Talk Out the Ass
I don't know how to write this, my feelings are like a dark cloud inside. Shrouded in doubt and pain. My inner demons won't leave me alone. My only way of coping right now is to write this out. I've been told all my life I'm the probably unwanted always the scape goat.
Louise Blake-MichaelPublished 4 months ago in PsycheMy Battle With Recovery After Eating Disorders: Part Two
The second part of my journey. You can read the first part here: I am getting used to food. Some days I am fine, and on those days I can eat what I love without the guilty feelings that creep up, but on others,
Carol TownendPublished 4 months ago in PsycheThe Broken Smile
Brown, different shades of boring brown are all around me. The carpet; functional, high traffic proof and two different shades of flecked brown on a lighter brown background. At least one of those other colours has hints of orange, and this colour is reflected in the faux wood panelling covering the lower half of the walls. Yellowish lighting pulls out the orange tones. I wonder if comforting warmth was the effect they were going for, because if it was, I’m not feeling it.
Understanding And Managing Conflict In A Relationship
Conflict is inevitable in any relationship, whether it's a romantic partnership, a friendship, or a family group, but when someone seems to like conflict rather than harmony, it is important to understand that at least four things are happening in the relationship:
Elaine SiheraPublished 5 months ago in PsycheA Girl, Autism, and the Great Overtake
Being a young girl with autism wasn’t complex. With friends, I only needed someone to sit on the other end of the seesaw, kick the soccer ball back to me, or hand me their fives in Go Fish. It was easy.
Nikki AbelsonPublished 5 months ago in Psyche