A Diet of Worms
Feb. 15th, 2008 02:15 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
hrjSo I recently posted a place-holder that I was "pondering doing a deeply contemplative and self-revealing post" based on a discussion on a friend’s journal (which I’ve noticed was friends-locked, so I’m not going to be too specific on that end). The metaphor used there was "eating worms" (as in "nobody loves me, everybody hates me, I think I’ll go eat worms"). My personal image is "taking a vacation in nobody-loves-me-land". And the specific version I wanted to talk about is that vicious spiral where the experience or memory of an unpleasant (usually alienating) social event leads one to rehearse a litany of past similar experiences that in turn make it difficult for the mind to occupy itself with anything outside of this negative emotional recycling process.
The last time I contemplated an introspective post on this topic, I had to drop it because the immediate impulse to write about it was a brief relapse and I was still a bit too hung-over (metaphorically hung-over, that is) to do it dispassionately. Because, you see, several years ago I took a personal vow to give up the diet of worms. (More on that later.) And mostly I’ve been quite successful, which brings me to a necessary disclaimer. This essay is, and can only be, about my personal experiences. I have reason to believe that there is enough common ground in my experiences that it’s worth blogging about, but the last thing I want to imply is that anyone else will have exactly the same experience of this phenomenon as me. And I particularly want to acknowledge that while I’m talking about a phenomenon that exists within the larger definition of “depression”, I’m quite aware that many types of depression, and especially the more severe forms, are not “self-inflicted” and are not susceptible to the sort of mental control that I’m eventually going to talk about here.
One of the reasons I wanted to blog about this is – as I mentioned in that previous discussion elsewhere – that I’ve found one of the best antidotes to the diet of worms is to drag the issue out kicking and screaming into the light of day. To make mock of it, not in a way that denies its validity, but in a way that takes away its power to isolate me further in a prison of the fear of vulnerability. Few things make me more emotionally invulnerable than a willingness to parade my psyche naked down the street. Does it require strength to do so? Or does doing so make me strong? I dunno. All I know is that when I’ve been the most tied up in knots over something, the fastest and most efficient way of getting out has been to tell the people around me what’s going on in my head. In a calm, analytical, non-whiny, but completely honest fashion. “Speak truth to neurosis” and it begins to loosen its grip a little. And I’ve found that the most unexpected people have also partaken of the Diet of Worms – and are surprised to find that I have, which leads me to believe that there may be a useful value in standing up and shouting, “I am Spartacus and I eat worms!”
Well, enough of the rambling intro.
This discussion isn’t about me being shy and introverted – although those things have contributed to the specific cuisine in which my worms have been served – because I know from talking to others that the diet of worms is not consumed only by the shy or the introverted. As far back as I can remember, I’ve had a very clear notion (on which we will suspend judgments of validity) that I’ve had very few friends, that I’ve had no really close friends, and that my peers in general found me to be socially invisible and irrelevant. This is the compost on which my worms feed and I, in turn, feed on them, confirming to myself the truth of all these observations by the loving and detailed recollection of every piece of evidence for their validity.
And that evidence exists – of course it does. I didn’t make this all up out of my imagination. I could provide a detailed and documented list of The Wrong What The World Has Done Me – but that, of course, would be breaking my vow and it isn’t what this little essay is about. The essay is about what happens next.
So something happens, and I recollect a Wrong. And in lingering over that Wrong, my mind sets foot on the path to nobodylovesmeland. And I wander along the path, noting the sights and vistas along the way. Which – funny thing – all remind me of other Wrongs. Next thing I know, I’m deep inside the borders and the entire landscape around me is Wrong. The path has disappeared and I’m wandering over hill and dale immersed in Wrong and confirming to myself that the entire world is full of nothing but Wrong.
Well, it’s a nice metaphor, but not a terribly useful description of a mechanism. IANAD (I am not a doctor – well, no, I am a doctor – IANAMD) but what I perceive going on in my head is that the memory of a negative emotional experience induces my body to produce biochemical changes in response similar to those produced at the original experience, and just as the aroma of cinnamon and caramel brings back all the delicious sticky-buns of my life, the perception of negative-biochemical-stuff by my brain stimulates and activates the recollection of other memories that produced that same biochemical soup in the past. So the negative memories produce brain changes that stimulate further negative memories that produce further brain changes …. (I’m quite certain that there must be studies on the phenomenon already, but this is my blog about my subjective experience, so I don’t really care.)
So the question is: why do it? I don’t have to eat a sticky-bun every time I smell cinnamon; I don’t have to eat worms every time I remember something bad. Well, for me, part of the answer is that eating worms is a richly intense emotional and physical experience. And in the absence of the experience of (or access to) any similarly intense positive experiences, it can be quite delicious. It’s like craving chocolate with a heroin-like craving and the only chocolate available is unsweetened fudge. It’s like having one of those dreams where you dream you’re thirsty because you’re sleeping with your mouth open and it’s gotten all dry, and in your dream you keep drinking glass after glass of water, but you only get thirstier because not only are you not drinking real water, but you’re sucking up air and drying your mouth out even more. And while I’m in the moment I stop caring that I’m giving myself a splitting headache and avoiding human contact because I’m likely to start crying spontaneously … and, of course, that I’m making it even less likely that I’ll have an opportunity to experience any events that would contradict what the worms are whispering in my stomach. Because in the moment I’m enjoying it. And I have control over the ability to enjoy it. And it’s available to me any time I want it. It’s reliable and dependable. And it’s mine … all mine … my precioussssssss.
*ahem* Where was I?
So why not do it? Well, quite frankly, because it gives me a hangover. Seriously. A visit to nobodylovesmeland can make me less productive for days on end and will literally give me a splitting headache. And – this is the kicker – my rational brain understands that in order to maintain the whole “nobody loves me, I have no friends, nobody wants to hang out with me, I’m invisible” thing I need to deny the existence of any contradictory events or experiences. Which means that, even if they don’t know about it, I’m metaphorically kicking in the teeth of anyone who ever did notice me and hang out with me and be my friend.
And, in the end, it was the cognitive dissonance that made me decide to give it up. Back several years ago there had been a small string of SCA anniversary-type parties for people who had been active for a similar time-depth as me that got a lot of attention as being Major Social Events. And I’d been thinking and talking idly about maybe throwing a little party to commemorate the 25th anniversary of my Laurel. But when I started mentally comparing my plans and their likelihood of success with what I saw other people doing around me, the worms started whispering that there wasn’t any point. Nobody would come to my party. They’d be too busy flossing the cat. (Ok, gotta veer away quick now, something’s wiggling just out of the corner of my eye.) And just when I’d convinced myself to not even bother, I got presented with an invitation to an anniversary party in my honor, put on by a bunch of incredibly cool people (some of whom I didn’t even realize knew who I was). And I realized that even if none of those people ever knew about my trips to nobodylovesmeland, any minute I spent there from now on would be a kick in the teeth to them. (The reasoning is just as invalid as its converse, but it made a useful tool.) Could I have made the decision without the party? Sure. Probably. Eventually. I certainly hope so. But it helped.
I haven’t been perfect. I’ve backslid a couple of times (including the previous time when I tried to write this essay). And the World hasn’t stopped Doing Me Wrong. But having done the analysis and made the decision, I’ve found that I can walk away from the worms if I choose to. I may have to distract myself with something bright and shiny for a couple days until the brain chemistry sorts itself out again. It’s sort of like trying to take an extremely large and boisterous dog for a walk in a park with lots of squirrels. Keep it on the path; don’t get pulled off balance; if it gets off-leash you’ll have a hell of a time getting it back under control. And I’ve found that there are a few topics and situations that I think I’m just going to have to avoid entirely because for some unknown reason they overwhelm my strategies. This is the reason I’m 99% decided to stop going to Consonance or other filk conventions. I don’t know why, but filking has become a major worm-pit for me and there simply isn’t enough positive stuff there for me to balance it out.
I have to work at it. But so far it seems to be succeeding for the most part. And I only occasionally miss the taste of worms.
The last time I contemplated an introspective post on this topic, I had to drop it because the immediate impulse to write about it was a brief relapse and I was still a bit too hung-over (metaphorically hung-over, that is) to do it dispassionately. Because, you see, several years ago I took a personal vow to give up the diet of worms. (More on that later.) And mostly I’ve been quite successful, which brings me to a necessary disclaimer. This essay is, and can only be, about my personal experiences. I have reason to believe that there is enough common ground in my experiences that it’s worth blogging about, but the last thing I want to imply is that anyone else will have exactly the same experience of this phenomenon as me. And I particularly want to acknowledge that while I’m talking about a phenomenon that exists within the larger definition of “depression”, I’m quite aware that many types of depression, and especially the more severe forms, are not “self-inflicted” and are not susceptible to the sort of mental control that I’m eventually going to talk about here.
One of the reasons I wanted to blog about this is – as I mentioned in that previous discussion elsewhere – that I’ve found one of the best antidotes to the diet of worms is to drag the issue out kicking and screaming into the light of day. To make mock of it, not in a way that denies its validity, but in a way that takes away its power to isolate me further in a prison of the fear of vulnerability. Few things make me more emotionally invulnerable than a willingness to parade my psyche naked down the street. Does it require strength to do so? Or does doing so make me strong? I dunno. All I know is that when I’ve been the most tied up in knots over something, the fastest and most efficient way of getting out has been to tell the people around me what’s going on in my head. In a calm, analytical, non-whiny, but completely honest fashion. “Speak truth to neurosis” and it begins to loosen its grip a little. And I’ve found that the most unexpected people have also partaken of the Diet of Worms – and are surprised to find that I have, which leads me to believe that there may be a useful value in standing up and shouting, “I am Spartacus and I eat worms!”
Well, enough of the rambling intro.
This discussion isn’t about me being shy and introverted – although those things have contributed to the specific cuisine in which my worms have been served – because I know from talking to others that the diet of worms is not consumed only by the shy or the introverted. As far back as I can remember, I’ve had a very clear notion (on which we will suspend judgments of validity) that I’ve had very few friends, that I’ve had no really close friends, and that my peers in general found me to be socially invisible and irrelevant. This is the compost on which my worms feed and I, in turn, feed on them, confirming to myself the truth of all these observations by the loving and detailed recollection of every piece of evidence for their validity.
And that evidence exists – of course it does. I didn’t make this all up out of my imagination. I could provide a detailed and documented list of The Wrong What The World Has Done Me – but that, of course, would be breaking my vow and it isn’t what this little essay is about. The essay is about what happens next.
So something happens, and I recollect a Wrong. And in lingering over that Wrong, my mind sets foot on the path to nobodylovesmeland. And I wander along the path, noting the sights and vistas along the way. Which – funny thing – all remind me of other Wrongs. Next thing I know, I’m deep inside the borders and the entire landscape around me is Wrong. The path has disappeared and I’m wandering over hill and dale immersed in Wrong and confirming to myself that the entire world is full of nothing but Wrong.
Well, it’s a nice metaphor, but not a terribly useful description of a mechanism. IANAD (I am not a doctor – well, no, I am a doctor – IANAMD) but what I perceive going on in my head is that the memory of a negative emotional experience induces my body to produce biochemical changes in response similar to those produced at the original experience, and just as the aroma of cinnamon and caramel brings back all the delicious sticky-buns of my life, the perception of negative-biochemical-stuff by my brain stimulates and activates the recollection of other memories that produced that same biochemical soup in the past. So the negative memories produce brain changes that stimulate further negative memories that produce further brain changes …. (I’m quite certain that there must be studies on the phenomenon already, but this is my blog about my subjective experience, so I don’t really care.)
So the question is: why do it? I don’t have to eat a sticky-bun every time I smell cinnamon; I don’t have to eat worms every time I remember something bad. Well, for me, part of the answer is that eating worms is a richly intense emotional and physical experience. And in the absence of the experience of (or access to) any similarly intense positive experiences, it can be quite delicious. It’s like craving chocolate with a heroin-like craving and the only chocolate available is unsweetened fudge. It’s like having one of those dreams where you dream you’re thirsty because you’re sleeping with your mouth open and it’s gotten all dry, and in your dream you keep drinking glass after glass of water, but you only get thirstier because not only are you not drinking real water, but you’re sucking up air and drying your mouth out even more. And while I’m in the moment I stop caring that I’m giving myself a splitting headache and avoiding human contact because I’m likely to start crying spontaneously … and, of course, that I’m making it even less likely that I’ll have an opportunity to experience any events that would contradict what the worms are whispering in my stomach. Because in the moment I’m enjoying it. And I have control over the ability to enjoy it. And it’s available to me any time I want it. It’s reliable and dependable. And it’s mine … all mine … my precioussssssss.
*ahem* Where was I?
So why not do it? Well, quite frankly, because it gives me a hangover. Seriously. A visit to nobodylovesmeland can make me less productive for days on end and will literally give me a splitting headache. And – this is the kicker – my rational brain understands that in order to maintain the whole “nobody loves me, I have no friends, nobody wants to hang out with me, I’m invisible” thing I need to deny the existence of any contradictory events or experiences. Which means that, even if they don’t know about it, I’m metaphorically kicking in the teeth of anyone who ever did notice me and hang out with me and be my friend.
And, in the end, it was the cognitive dissonance that made me decide to give it up. Back several years ago there had been a small string of SCA anniversary-type parties for people who had been active for a similar time-depth as me that got a lot of attention as being Major Social Events. And I’d been thinking and talking idly about maybe throwing a little party to commemorate the 25th anniversary of my Laurel. But when I started mentally comparing my plans and their likelihood of success with what I saw other people doing around me, the worms started whispering that there wasn’t any point. Nobody would come to my party. They’d be too busy flossing the cat. (Ok, gotta veer away quick now, something’s wiggling just out of the corner of my eye.) And just when I’d convinced myself to not even bother, I got presented with an invitation to an anniversary party in my honor, put on by a bunch of incredibly cool people (some of whom I didn’t even realize knew who I was). And I realized that even if none of those people ever knew about my trips to nobodylovesmeland, any minute I spent there from now on would be a kick in the teeth to them. (The reasoning is just as invalid as its converse, but it made a useful tool.) Could I have made the decision without the party? Sure. Probably. Eventually. I certainly hope so. But it helped.
I haven’t been perfect. I’ve backslid a couple of times (including the previous time when I tried to write this essay). And the World hasn’t stopped Doing Me Wrong. But having done the analysis and made the decision, I’ve found that I can walk away from the worms if I choose to. I may have to distract myself with something bright and shiny for a couple days until the brain chemistry sorts itself out again. It’s sort of like trying to take an extremely large and boisterous dog for a walk in a park with lots of squirrels. Keep it on the path; don’t get pulled off balance; if it gets off-leash you’ll have a hell of a time getting it back under control. And I’ve found that there are a few topics and situations that I think I’m just going to have to avoid entirely because for some unknown reason they overwhelm my strategies. This is the reason I’m 99% decided to stop going to Consonance or other filk conventions. I don’t know why, but filking has become a major worm-pit for me and there simply isn’t enough positive stuff there for me to balance it out.
I have to work at it. But so far it seems to be succeeding for the most part. And I only occasionally miss the taste of worms.
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Date: 2008-02-18 11:37 am (UTC)