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Monday, May 17, 2004


I'm going to plagairize a bit. Okay, a lot. I'm feeling a bit down and in need of some help in a couple areas of my life and can't find the motivation nor the strength to ask for the help I may need. It all comes down to feeling powerless, or at least not being in control. I like being in control, I like calling the shots, I like being self-sufficient. When I don't have that control, calling the shots, actually needing someone's help, I feel ashamed.

Shame is a very powerful tool, and it sticks with us. I actually believe that shame triggers an endogenous hormonal cocktail that is chemically addictive. I think we can get high off shame. The clammy hands, the anxiety, the heart pounding sweat. Like stage fright or a roller-coaster, I think the thrill of shame is something we dig into on a very base biological level, and it just so happens to be self-destructive to seek out those experiences. I don't think many in the BDSM scene would refute this, and people with eating disorders might nod a bit too.

So the fact that I know I need to rely on others, for whatever reason, fills me with both a sense of dread and yet, at the same time, the slow quiet thrill of not knowing what may happen next or if I can actually survive. From shame comes the schism. The sense that my body is bad; it does not contain the 90-degree "right" angles of "pure" rational thought. The sense that I am stupid; I cannot grasp the concepts of how to effectively function in our society. We are taught from day one not to let our emotions out as freely as we wish. In school we memorize facts, multiplication tables, names and dates; and spend next to no time on sex, and no time whatsoever on death. The two most fundamental biological drives. By the time we're angry teens, we've come to suspect the futility of the battle. Following the plan, once we're aging pencil-pushers (or shit-shovelers; it works for all the socioeconomic strata), we're lucky to have any impulses left.

I need to think on this, but it makes sense for now