Bipolar Information
Here is your Thursday STORY on: ADAPTING TO CHANGE: Do we really know where our values reside and whether they are values and not a hidden selfishness? As I read today's story I was in and out of support for the lady and her tale of emotional turmoil. But why would I swap and be with her one moment then opposing her another? These are the challenges we face every day. It is a case of structuring a formula that sees the dilemma and resolves it. Wisdom and Philosophy being the structure of course. Rather than work out an explanation and determine the ultimate answer, with the intensity and quality that Wisdom can give you; you act from an inner sense and work out the explanation afterwards. The story is entitled 'Change' but ultimately the lady isn't going to change, so it could have easily been called 'Not Changing'. I sense the lady is justifying her decision to go with her thoughts about life, but only she will know if it's the right decision. The story has an immense value as it appears to explain how we approach every daily dilemma. We see it, we act and then if it doesn't follow some major vein of truth we justify it. We do this to satisfy our subconscious mind. Once an action has happened we cannot take it back. We are better for accepting there may have been an error and correct it should the next need arise. This story may not be the full story, and we may find ourselves adding to fill in the gaps, but there is a sense that the bitterness from the emotion involved caused her to pass her view in this manner. Upon reflection, some months later, her view maybe different. The observation however, is that a heightened emotional state of mind confuses our decision making tools. CHANGE I walked into the house and dropped my bag on the floor with a barely concealed sigh of relief. My back was a mass of aching misery, and it was a joy to be home. To the computer to check email, and then a nap. As soon as the monitor lights, there is a message. "I hope you kill yourself." I sighed. At one point in my life, this would have bothered me. Isn't it strange when you get used to such mundane things. But at some level, the journal entries, the harassing phone calls, the instant messages, the bad poetry... they all blended together. Into one sort of amalgamous ball of hatred. It wasn't a comfortable honour to be named someone's "unwilling muse" like that. But what else could I do? Talking to her held gave no leeway. She was so egotistic that any attempts at discussion were simply rebuffed because I couldn't possibly be right because... well... I was me. Not that I considered myself right, granted. In this situation, there's not a right. But I'm not ashamed of the choices I made. I tried to stand by someone I cared about. Granted again, it got me emotionally kicked in the face a few dozen times, drove me into full blown manic depression, and left me disconsolate and disbelieving of love... but sometimes you just had to make choices. Even now, she taunts me. Taunts me that because I've managed to lose everything in a matter of months (including her precious boyfriend, who she won't allow to talk to me) that I was depressed, weak, and filthy. Because the two of us had been involved, I was a "slut". My friend Rachel pointed out once that if her criteria for judging sluts was the people that'd slept with her boyfriend, there must not be any mirrors around. And so, I sort of bumble along. She's hidden her journal, though I won't hide mine. Occasionally a poem pops up, full of loathing and bitterness for the life I continue to ruin by just being in it. And she always claims how I've ruined his life too. Funny, he used to tell me the opposite. Which is why I stayed. But, her little master plan has worked now. Cut off from all the people who loved him and who he loved in return, he's got no choice but to fall back on her now. That's how they imprint baby animals, you know. And so, I sit here. Thinking about the times we had, looking at the gifts he gave me, and wondering if he's ok. Anyone that'd encourage another human being to kill themselves, taunt them for not having the courage to do it, and then define even thinking of it as a cowardly act scares me on a very deep soul level. But yeah, that's my story. There was a boy, and I loved him once. And he moved and got a new girlfriend without telling me. Or her, apparently, that there'd been a me. She found out, she flipped out, and now she hates me because I've ruined her life. Sounds like something from a soap opera, don't it. Some day, I'm going to write a book. And it's going to make lots of money, because, let's face it, people eat stuff like that up. Yet, even so, I resent being called a slut because I loved. I turn off the monitor and head into the bathroom. Tom is coming over in an hour or so, and I'd like to be ready on time for once. Maybe I'm his slut too. Maybe I fall in love too easy. At any rate, I refuse to change. (Jennifer A. Binkley) QUOTE: 'After all it is those who have a deep and real inner life who are best able to deal with the irritating details of outer life.' (Evelyn Underhill)
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