It's a bathtub from which I write to you, not a bagel shop.
Sorry. Blogs seem to never follow their original intent.
Whoops.
Don't judge the setting. I'm not naked. Im not scrubbing the scruffy off. I'm just sitting with the curtain drawn...in somebody else's bathtub.
Oh, it is definitely not my tub. This tub is clean; thus in it I sit. It's cozy, close, and white. It is easy to sit here and get work done. No distractions. I'm tiled in on three sides and the curtain is thick and dry.
My relationship with this tub is excellent. This Tub doesn't expect me to clean it. This Tub doesn't worry if it finds too much of my hair pasted to its sides. This Tub doesn't hold grudges about its past treatment. We've just met. This Tub doesn't expect anything of me. This Tub is not like my tub at home.
I've a pretty rough relationship with my tub at home. I certainly never sit in THAT tub. I take quick showers every other day just to minimize contact. I'd close my eyes if I weren't so afraid of slipping and cracking my neck open (and I do mean "my neck open" though that is not the correct way to make the gory phrase).
Tubs.
tubs.
Tubs.
Why is the relationship with tubs so stressful, so heart breaking, so...so murderously depressing? I slept all day once for fear of the uncleanliness of my tub.
I sit in THIS Tub partaking of happy with a side of bitter-sadness. The longer I stay in the vicinity of this Tub the sludgier, bacteria-y, and unusable to me it will become. I can't clean it. I can't clean it . It will never be the same. It will despise me. It will resent and spurn me. It will Laugh at me.
I wish I could say that this little tale, this silly-sick game my mind plays with tubs is a satire on misplaced human guilt. Well, if I were some other, non guilt-ridden person it might function very well as some sort of truncated satire. But I struggle, writhe with the weight of misplaced guilt.
I wish I could say that this little tale, this silly-sick game my mind plays with tubs remains weirdly isolated to tubs, but it is not. One day a week or so ago I looked at a shoe and literally thought, "I'm a miserable person deserving the very depths of hell for leaving my shoes out all month and thus not exercising and so permitting severe disorganization which provided the circumstances for losing the shoes' mate--how could I do that to a poor helpless shoe--, and, after all that, I presume to wear it." I promptly decided to go back to bed (at 2pm) feeling unworthy of one pink tennis shoe. After all, why study composition and rhetoric if your own blasted shoe hates you?
Paralysis comes in many different shapes and forms, but it is only the paralysis of the will the cripples both mind and body. I've wanted this quiet half-life, this death. I've desired to sponge the me from this world, suspecting and accusing the Creator for making a mistake in making me. Duh, shoes hate me and tubs resent my existence.
These are all hard things to say, And I apologize for this flasher-like confessional. I do not intend for this to be a habit but an explanation for my blogging absence and my (depending) impending "break" from graduate school. More importantly, I want you to know the following incase you or a friend of yours has such issues.
Because I've learned a lot about dealing with philosophical depression through a little research, friends, the Bible, and personal meditation I'm not as yet providing specific sources. But please, take the following for what it is worth.
Unlike an active guilt ridden person, A passive guilt ridden person fails. The world is a tornado with which they are too frightened to contend. They don't wear those bastard shoes that hate them. They sleep; They sit in someone else's bath tub and let the stank germinate. But they do all these things on purpose, every bit of it. They strip themselves of the ability to respond with "free will" because their decisions can't at all be good, right, or productive. They strip themselves of the memory of their creation and will.
Yet a passive guilt ridden person is thoroughly rational and often very intelligent (score?). They've rationalized themselves into sincerely believing they are incapable of positive action... or action in general. They've rationalized a system of thought that defines themselves in the pejorative: "I'm lazy." "I'm dumb." "I can't spell." "I'm incapable." "I shouldn't of needed help." "I don't care." "I'm afraid". "I hate what I'm doing (school or work)". Or, they've self-deceived in another way to rationalize their non-activity in a positive, guilt producing fashion: "I've always been this way." "I'm fine low achieving, disorganized, overweight, etc and these are socially acceptable".
A passive guilt ridden person tends to be very hopeful even while suffocating in his or her own fear. The hope in this instance is tainted and not healthy. Like so many Shakespearian characters, They hope for an external source to nudge them into taking a shower or cleaning the tub. When the external source comes, the passive guilt ridden person (hereafter known as PGRP) isn't relieved. "why couldn't I do that on my own?" "I am so pathetic I needed help" are recurring thoughts and they hope for the time they can do it on their own...without really thinking that time will come.
Now, there is much more to the psyche of a PGRP but this tub is getting cold and I want to go play in the wind. Such things shouldn't be discouraged. I will be brief and existential: life is what you make it. Note the PGRP psyche is self-stripped of a desire to function. Through the mysterious workings of the holy Trinity, totally-dduh-family, and a couple of spunky friends (you know who you are), I've seen that if a young Christian such as I am may spend all her time and energy defacing everything good and strong created in her, then she can do the opposite as well.
It's not been all candy canes and Lolly pops. I still have a psychology trained to dislike myself. I procrastinated. I forget to proactively deal with my mental state. However, I can see misplaced guilt for what it isn't (it's not a sign of humbleness, not a tool for repentance or sanctification, not a preparation form of repentance, not a way to figure out what is 'truly wrong' with oneself) but for the crippling (unbiblical) socially disastrous, false tool for coping with fear. I've nastier adjectives to use but I didn't close this blog off from children under the age of 17--words as obscene as the affects of misplaced guilt.
Much more could be said, but the day is getting old and this blog is getting too long. thanks for reading all 1,184 words of this blog. You mean a lot to me. (1,195)
Sorry. Blogs seem to never follow their original intent.
Whoops.
Don't judge the setting. I'm not naked. Im not scrubbing the scruffy off. I'm just sitting with the curtain drawn...in somebody else's bathtub.
Oh, it is definitely not my tub. This tub is clean; thus in it I sit. It's cozy, close, and white. It is easy to sit here and get work done. No distractions. I'm tiled in on three sides and the curtain is thick and dry.
My relationship with this tub is excellent. This Tub doesn't expect me to clean it. This Tub doesn't worry if it finds too much of my hair pasted to its sides. This Tub doesn't hold grudges about its past treatment. We've just met. This Tub doesn't expect anything of me. This Tub is not like my tub at home.
I've a pretty rough relationship with my tub at home. I certainly never sit in THAT tub. I take quick showers every other day just to minimize contact. I'd close my eyes if I weren't so afraid of slipping and cracking my neck open (and I do mean "my neck open" though that is not the correct way to make the gory phrase).
Tubs.
tubs.
Tubs.
Why is the relationship with tubs so stressful, so heart breaking, so...so murderously depressing? I slept all day once for fear of the uncleanliness of my tub.
I sit in THIS Tub partaking of happy with a side of bitter-sadness. The longer I stay in the vicinity of this Tub the sludgier, bacteria-y, and unusable to me it will become. I can't clean it. I can't clean it . It will never be the same. It will despise me. It will resent and spurn me. It will Laugh at me.
I wish I could say that this little tale, this silly-sick game my mind plays with tubs is a satire on misplaced human guilt. Well, if I were some other, non guilt-ridden person it might function very well as some sort of truncated satire. But I struggle, writhe with the weight of misplaced guilt.
I wish I could say that this little tale, this silly-sick game my mind plays with tubs remains weirdly isolated to tubs, but it is not. One day a week or so ago I looked at a shoe and literally thought, "I'm a miserable person deserving the very depths of hell for leaving my shoes out all month and thus not exercising and so permitting severe disorganization which provided the circumstances for losing the shoes' mate--how could I do that to a poor helpless shoe--, and, after all that, I presume to wear it." I promptly decided to go back to bed (at 2pm) feeling unworthy of one pink tennis shoe. After all, why study composition and rhetoric if your own blasted shoe hates you?
Paralysis comes in many different shapes and forms, but it is only the paralysis of the will the cripples both mind and body. I've wanted this quiet half-life, this death. I've desired to sponge the me from this world, suspecting and accusing the Creator for making a mistake in making me. Duh, shoes hate me and tubs resent my existence.
These are all hard things to say, And I apologize for this flasher-like confessional. I do not intend for this to be a habit but an explanation for my blogging absence and my (depending) impending "break" from graduate school. More importantly, I want you to know the following incase you or a friend of yours has such issues.
Because I've learned a lot about dealing with philosophical depression through a little research, friends, the Bible, and personal meditation I'm not as yet providing specific sources. But please, take the following for what it is worth.
Unlike an active guilt ridden person, A passive guilt ridden person fails. The world is a tornado with which they are too frightened to contend. They don't wear those bastard shoes that hate them. They sleep; They sit in someone else's bath tub and let the stank germinate. But they do all these things on purpose, every bit of it. They strip themselves of the ability to respond with "free will" because their decisions can't at all be good, right, or productive. They strip themselves of the memory of their creation and will.
Yet a passive guilt ridden person is thoroughly rational and often very intelligent (score?). They've rationalized themselves into sincerely believing they are incapable of positive action... or action in general. They've rationalized a system of thought that defines themselves in the pejorative: "I'm lazy." "I'm dumb." "I can't spell." "I'm incapable." "I shouldn't of needed help." "I don't care." "I'm afraid". "I hate what I'm doing (school or work)". Or, they've self-deceived in another way to rationalize their non-activity in a positive, guilt producing fashion: "I've always been this way." "I'm fine low achieving, disorganized, overweight, etc and these are socially acceptable".
A passive guilt ridden person tends to be very hopeful even while suffocating in his or her own fear. The hope in this instance is tainted and not healthy. Like so many Shakespearian characters, They hope for an external source to nudge them into taking a shower or cleaning the tub. When the external source comes, the passive guilt ridden person (hereafter known as PGRP) isn't relieved. "why couldn't I do that on my own?" "I am so pathetic I needed help" are recurring thoughts and they hope for the time they can do it on their own...without really thinking that time will come.
Now, there is much more to the psyche of a PGRP but this tub is getting cold and I want to go play in the wind. Such things shouldn't be discouraged. I will be brief and existential: life is what you make it. Note the PGRP psyche is self-stripped of a desire to function. Through the mysterious workings of the holy Trinity, totally-dduh-family, and a couple of spunky friends (you know who you are), I've seen that if a young Christian such as I am may spend all her time and energy defacing everything good and strong created in her, then she can do the opposite as well.
It's not been all candy canes and Lolly pops. I still have a psychology trained to dislike myself. I procrastinated. I forget to proactively deal with my mental state. However, I can see misplaced guilt for what it isn't (it's not a sign of humbleness, not a tool for repentance or sanctification, not a preparation form of repentance, not a way to figure out what is 'truly wrong' with oneself) but for the crippling (unbiblical) socially disastrous, false tool for coping with fear. I've nastier adjectives to use but I didn't close this blog off from children under the age of 17--words as obscene as the affects of misplaced guilt.
Much more could be said, but the day is getting old and this blog is getting too long. thanks for reading all 1,184 words of this blog. You mean a lot to me. (1,195)
