Conserve the Forests of Borneo

Conserve the Forests of Borneo



This is it,

No more being a hypocrite

"Save the forests of Borneo."

You haven't,

So what do you know?



The more forest

Palm oil's been spoiling

The more one's blood

Gets boiling



So I must face the heat

For nature I will greet

From fain forests down to Peat



Maybe I'll hear the howls

Of the proboscis

Or see a red ape get

Promiscuous



But I can only go

If I have money to show

So click the link...

Above, not below.

"The More You Suffer, The More You Show You Really Care. Right? Yeah-hah Yeah!"

That one line from The Offspring strikes a chord about my self-esteem.

What is self-esteem? What does it mean when it's low? Imagine that you're at an auction, the highest bidder get's the prize. You aren't the highest bidder. Someone else get's your life. What are you worth? Will you be the rubbish you throw out as you clean your room, or will you look in the mirror and realize that you aren't just flesh machine and monitor, lagging behind on dial-up. No, you are a living being seeking nurture and care, with sadness in your eyes from beating yourself down. It's as if your own spirit is having an autoimmune response to your body.

I remember being considered mousy, being told to stand up for myself. Wearing hand-me-down clothes with neglect to how I look. I was considered a "Second Kaitlyn" (Kaitlyn being my step-sister, at the time). I remember pathetically writing down all the things my step-sister told me I was with dry erase marker on my arm, when really I was half-temped to cut myself. Who was I? I doubted my memory, admitted to guilt any time it was really another sibling getting in trouble. Thinking it was somehow my fault. My mom got sick of my step-sister and I fighting every night, and if we didn't stop she would disown us both. Mom yelled at me to stand up for myself, egging me on to fight back. I told her I didn't want to.

Low self-esteem is an awful feeling. Imagine a life saving organ transplant suddenly rejected. That, that's your life. The words of someone close saying you're "boring" or "socially retarded" echo through your head, and you confuse subjective value with absolute value. Am I worth getting out of bed today? Am I worth the meals I eat? Am I worthy of happiness? Am I worthy of friendship? Am I? The suffocating burden of existence, taking up space is vulnerable. I remember times when I tried to stay as still as possible, hoping the person I was anxious about would leave me alone. One thing I noticed about low self-esteem is it wasn't necessarily self-centric. Not to say it was in an altruistic way, but in avoidance of negative stimuli like criticism, rejection, aggression, etc. The focus is on the whims of another person, and the resulting self-criticism when you don't meet their expectations.

I have a lot of negative beliefs about myself and the world around me. For the world, I'm chalk full of pessimism. I believe jobs are soul-sucking monsters that will tear you from the very liberty you deserve. That society is narrow-minded and oppressive to the common person. That conventional education is the death of intellect and creativity. That the government is corrupt and shallow, controlling the masses without really understanding our needs. That your vote doesn't count. That corporations are raping us from life and freedom. That cars are destroying the environment. That the concept of gender is putting everyone in little boxes. That romance is selfish, manipulative, and delusional. That sex is predatory and perverse. That my friends have only a superficial connection to me and it will end in abandonment. And for the beliefs about myself: That I am dependent and helpless. That I'm unskilled and boring. That I'm a loser and worthless. That I'm lazy and weak.

What have I got to lose for having low self-esteem? I deserve what I get, right? So far I've found that the consistent attack on myself has lowered my expectations of myself and lead me to underestimate my abilities. And so I don't take risks, don't trust myself to make decisions, and over-analyze my potential actions for fear of making a mistake. I'm learning that I can't live my life this way, the negativity is not working. I think that if I just valued myself more, I'd have more of an excuse to live life to the best of my ability and won't let the opinions of others destroy me. I know I need to practice taking care of myself better.

But what if I were to see myself as a person, what would I see in myself? I am reflective: I can spend hours articulating my thoughts, trying to understand a subject or absorb an experience. I am an autodidact: I can find books at the library, online courses, volunteer opportunities, and even games that will not only educate me on my interest for free, but also in a fun way, too. I am cuddly: I love snuggling with a teddy bear and daydreaming that I have someone to hold onto. I am imaginative: I remember when I'd take breaks learning about a subject to create thought experiments with the new data. I am unconventional: I question most aspects of society and life, I'm determined to live life the way I want even if it goes against what we've learned about life so far.

Three Years Later....

From "Spongebob Time Cards" by MickfromShik3 via YouTube

Well, I'm not so much a teenager any more... Being as I'm twenty. In fact, I had almost forgot this blog existed. So now that the "teenage" part of the title is out of date, let me also tell you that I've even questioned whether I'm really a girl. Like thinking I'm non-binary or something. So I guess that leaves the title with Psychology in the View of an Awkward, which sounds about right.

Nearly a couple years ago, I volunteered at an outpatient mental hospital. Mostly just clerical work. I was told on my first day that one of the volunteers were almost kidnapped from the parking lot the day before. Reassuring. I never really got to interact with any of the patients, which was a shame as I was hopping to make new friends. In fact I think I learned a lot more about mental health just going back to the tent I pitched in the back yard and reading memoirs about people with bipolar disorder.

By the way, in case you were curious what those books were:

Haldol and Hyacinths: A Bipolar Life by Melody Moezzi is about an Iranian American with bipolar disorder- which was a plus because I had a "pen pal" from Iran. I remember Melody's mania would give her a lot of energy to try to be some kind of revolutionary, I think one of her projects had something to do with hula-hooping. Which sounds great until she starts hallucinating or getting worn out from lack of sleep or pacing excessively. The other book was Confessions of a Bi-Polar Mardi Gras Queen by Marie Etienne. While we're talking about bipolar memoirs, might as well add Dark Side of Innocence: Growing Up Bipolar by Terri Cheney which although I haven't read it in several years, I still remember that part where she stabbed her brother with a fork. Sometimes I when I'd read a memoir about bipolar disorder I would think "Wow, that's like me, except without the mania.", then I realize that would just be called depression.

I got the idea to volunteer at a mental hospital as I was curious and fascinated by Elahan Place, the inpatient rehabilitation residential area I got an excuse to walk past on my loop that I walked several times a day. Besides the fact I liked the name, the sign was just as cozy, and I enjoyed looking at the protruding roots from the wall of trees by the entrance... I was curious by the place itself. What was it like? Who lived there? Were there anyone like me? Lost and confused with life, suffering because they haven't found their niche?

I kinda wondered whether I should have been volunteering at the mental hospital, or be a patient there, but I figured as a volunteer at least I'd make myself feel useful and maybe I had more to give than I had to gain. Yet, I remember one day fresh from the hospital, with the badge still on me, I haphazardly decided to run away. Sort of. On my way home, I was brooding over the unrequited limerence I had for a failing friendship so I got this idea to walk to their place, which would've taken a couple days assuming I wasn't going to sleep. I ducked through a large hole in the fence a homeless person must've incorporated into a makeshift shelter and crossed I-205 to the island between the lanes of traffic where there was a thin strip of vegetation. I figured if I walked north enough, I'd eventually hit Olympia or so. My trek was cut very short when a police officer stopped me. I am surprised he didn't check me for drugs as I didn't remember where I lived and I gave a vague reason for walking along the freeway (specifically, that I was taking a walk). That was the first time I was handcuffed and had ridden in a police car, but luckily I wasn't fined. He just dropped me off at my grandma's house because that was the address on my ID. This wasn't the only time I tried to run away. The next time, at least I brought a backpack and wrote down directions, but I only got as far as Ridgefield before I realized I was too afraid to sleep outside. A woman working at a convenience store brought me home at past midnight. I had walked at least 12 to 14 miles that day.

I went to my first counselling session a couple days ago, after my application got turned down by AmeriCorps NCCC for untreated depression and anxiety. Bet you didn't see that coming, HA-HA-HA. Both my parents had advised me not to mention in the AmeriCorps Medical Screening that I have a history of depression and anxiety since it was never diagnosed. In which I not only mentioned that, but also admitted to SI over a year ago. A counselor called me and I was supposed to have professional documentation stating that I was mentally stable enough to go into NCCC, which I'd barely even had a counselor in my life. I had my mom fill out one of the forms, which helped a little but not a whole lot. As a last ditch effort, I wrote a 9 page "Mental Self-Evaluation" to hopefully answer all their questions about the incident where I considered suicide, my depression and anxiety symptoms, why I didn't seek treatment, healthy coping mechanisms, how I've improved, and strengths I have to overcome my weaknesses. Although they were impressed by my insightfulness and writing skills, of course, I was still declined. I was in San Francisco during Spring Break when I got the email telling me the board probably won't accept me. I just barely cheered up enough by the time I watched sea lions make a fool of themselves. Back at the hotel, I had texted a friend I had initially asked for advice because they had been in FEMA Corps to let them know I wasn't going to get accepted. My friend called for the first time in nine months, in which they told me a story about one creepy guy they had met in AmeriCorps and the stupid bureaucracy there. So I guess there's one good thing out of it.

After all these years, what lessons have I learned about mental health? I don't know for sure because learning is a continual process, and lessons can be nebulous and transitional. The answers I have now could be debunked later, or maybe just fuel for more questions. What really do I know? Can I know? Sometimes I pick up patterns. I've learned that focusing on education can temporarily alleviate rumination and relieve loneliness. Yet I know from before I dropped out of high school that it can also worsen anxiety and depression. I've learned how to limit self-criticism and focus on the positive, yet I couldn't live without my full range of emotions and I also need to know that I have a problem to fix it. My fixation on abnormal psychology has subsided a little to focus on other interests. I still don't have all the answers, I still don't have my life together, and I still have some of the same problems from three years ago. It's all a process.