Skip to main content

Intervene, 2.

So I didn't want to go out the other day. I had off and told myself I wanted to do laundry, as I've done I now realize so many times before. It's a tempting fantasy, you know? The intention of doing right, of being responsible. There's a weak but still gratifying sense of accomplishment in saying "I'm going to do ____" or "I'm going to be responsible today...". Even if you don't end up doing it at all. Even when you don't end up doing anything at all.

Part of why my friends held an intervention for me was they wanted me to know I'm not alone; that I have people and resources to help me. Lord knows I have spent more than enough time trying to do or change things wholly on my own and never gotten anywhere nor even learned from that. I just keep going at it as self-sufficiently as I can and not getting anywhere by it.

So when Parker asked me to go see our therapist yesterday, I realized what I'd done the day before. I'd taken the impetus of my friends' intervention alone and used it to guilt me into feeling responsible without having changed anything. Without asking for help. So I went with Parker; I tried using some of my resources to make change. I didn't get to see my therapist (I did schedule a time to, though), but I did get out of the house. And although I went home promising myself I'd work on laundry and still ended up not doing anything of the sort, at least I can say I tried a bit harder to move forward than I likely otherwise would have done.

Asking for help, in a way, is asking for accountability. Asking "help me do this" is in a way also asking "help me make sure I do this". Doing everything on my own--or trying--as I have done most of my life has left me only accountable to myself in most situations and with most challenges. It's as easy to "forgive" myself of what I was accountable for as it is to make an excuse for myself or promise to do it later. And thus little progress is made.

My friends, I gather, held that intervention because they saw someone they cared about very much have so much ambition and so much potential but letting it all get away from him instead of working towards his dreams. They saw me withdrawing, avoiding responsibilities and goals, and otherwise not exactly being the kind of person they know I want to be, the kind of person I'd value being.

Just reaching out, as they did, has done a lot to make make me conscious of that, even if I'm not entirely sure at all how to go forward. How to use what they've given me--their love--to make lasting change in this vague, confusing period in my life. But I do feel less alone about it, less helpless and listless. I've got friends--beautiful people who care about me enough to take time outta their lives to sit me down and tell me that--and that feels pretty good.

Comments

Other things that might interest you...

This moment: A tattoo.

So I read Mrs. Dalloway in high school, and it was perhaps the most beautiful thing I'd ever read. One passage in particular, very early in the book, hit me hard with my first experience of the sublime, and stayed with me—and led at last to my first tattoo.
In people’s eyes, in the swing, tramp, and trudge; in the bellow and the uproar; the carriages, motor cars, omnibuses, vans, sandwich men shuffling and swinging; brass bands; barrel organs; in the triumph and the jingle and the strange high singing of some aeroplane overhead was what she loved; life; London; this moment of June.  (Emphasis added; full paragraph included below. From the full text of the novel as made available by the University of Adelaide.)

The paragraph this is from, the 4th paragraph of the novel, is the 1st passage with the stream of consciousness the book is famous for; although self-limited here, the flow is no less gorgeous. In the passage, Clarissa is walking on a street to get those famous flowers herse…

Losing Doolittle.

I recently got to spend a few days at the lake house my family used to visit through most of my childhood; we no longer own it, and it turns out I missed it more deeply than I realized.

Anthony and I both got the week before NYC Pride off this year, so I contrived to get us a little time there. The cousins who own Greenshore gave Anthony and me permission to relax there for several days rather than just the 1 or 2 I had expected. Good god, I'm grateful for that.

I missed this place. Standing on the balcony, the porch, or the dock and looking out over the lake, I was reminded of the beauty and tranquility this lake represents for me. The meaning and memories, too.

This was always a place of solace and stability for me. We moved around a lot when I was a kid, but we always came back to this place. It had been in our family for generations before I was even born—if we'd been able to keep it, it would have been a solid 4 generations including mine. This was where I figured out I w…

Gardenzia carnivorus.

I recently got back into horticulture after a bad moment of burnout, and wouldn't ya know it, I'm back at it with carnivorous plants! Despite tweeting about it endlessly, I haven't actually explained how or why this started.

Back in middle school, I helped my science teacher set up a carnivorous plant display. Nothing elaborate, mind you; a terrarium with a bunch of sphagnum moss and some pitcher plants, a sundew or two, maybe a Venus flytrap? Didn't leave much of an impression, except maybe that they died and that sucked. shrug.
A couple years later, I was in a bog near my grandmother's lake house, when things changed forever. I was in the back end of the canoe, and as my dad pulled the front end out of the water, I glanced to my right and spied, on a stump with some moss, sundews (Drosera rotundifolia, to be precise).
Of course I recognized therm instantly—they're hard to mistake, with those the sparkling tentacles and all. I gathered 3 or so of them (I know