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.

This Is For The Fat Lazy CEO's and Their Drone-Like Worshippers

Who are you to sit on your fat lazy ass watching TV and eating Mickey D's? Do you care if you wreck the forest, putting species yet to be discovered in their graves? This is said way too much. Way, way too much. Why hasn't much been done about it? Orangutans, for example, are critically endangered! Many are housed in orphanages and can't go back to the wild because there's nothing to go back to. They'd get killed anyway out there. Oil Palm plantation workers get paid for each orangutan slaughtered. They get doused with patrol and set aflame! They get butchered by machetes! They get buried alive!

 Not a pretty sight, right? Yet you'll probably forget this in a few weeks...

                                                               Out of sight, out of mind...

Why? Because some rich guy at the top wants more zeros at the end of his digital bank acount. Why? To get the next model of private airplane? To ensure his spoiled offspring doesn't have to work a day in his life? To get the next size up in mansion? I don't know.

What hope do we have if peaceful protesters who try to protect forests, animal rights, and their families health (even from whereever you live) get attacked by the very protectors of their country (the police). Protesters fight back and they get life sentences as "terrorists".

We could quietly protest with our purchases, our planting, and our reusing. Buy local, organic food we can't afford until Monsanto decides to plant a plantation right by our sources, stop spraying chamicals on our lawns until we have to pay a fine (we also can't afford), walk instead of driving (unless you live 20 miles from the store you want to get to), start homesteading until you get fined for your loud chickens, forage for food in the least polluted piece of forest (illegal), and reuse old, patched clothes until people look at you funny. Even this Wouldn't be enough! Majority of the damage comes from major cooparations anyway.

Damn hippie. That's what I am, just because I care. Just because I have a brain and am not a damn robot. Somehow caring is a negative thing. It is often said, but we're afraid of actually doing it. Because we'll fail. Because we'll be hurt. Because we don't want to feel hopeless, which, ironically enough, is a familiar, everyday emotion. Because we wallow in shame we prefer to forget through the tube, many species, including our own, is at risk. Does my word count? No. I'm writing (before I typed this to my blog) with a plastic pen on a bleached notebook. At least it claims "Sustainable Forestry Initiative", whatever that means. Compare that to how much damage we've done, what does that really do? Gone goes Borneo, gone goes the Amazon, gone goes your backyard.

Well, if you find me in prison, you know why. Among the murderers and drug trafficers would be me, the hippie.

The First DreaMonday!

Yay! Since this is a "psychology blog", I get to tell you my dreams each monday! Dreams are mix-up info stored in you subconscious relaying entertaining stories just for you! I have dreams so often I have a few to spare. I can have a dream every night. Sometimes a few times in one night.

Anyway, I rarely have decent dreams, so the other day I had a relatively decent dream, so I'll tell you that one first:
I lived in a house with a Washington-like forest (the state, not capital) next to it. One of my best friends from Washington was my neighbor (I live in Oregon now) and mom let me walk over to see if she could spend the night. I went through the forest besides the side of the road. Following my intuition, I was in time to save an elderly handicapped man from falling down a hill/drop-off. My friend got her stuff to go. On the way back, there were drawers lined up with popcorn and salad in them that I had to clean. Then my mom went to me and had a serious conversation about me insulting my uncle. I didn't remember doing that. My uncle showed me a pin in my Pinterest page with a conspiracy theory on it. It warned that no woman should pin that pin and I did anyway. By the time my friend and I actually got back to my house, it was dark.
The dream changed. I went to an event at the library where you could have a conversation with old Jane Goodall (my hero) and ask her questions. Not many people came. We sat at a dinner table that had exotic looking fruit and french toast (but I couldn't have the french toast because I'm on the paleo diet). I munched on the fruit. Everyone was having a conversation about the second Harry Potter (the dream flashed to the part before he found he couldn't go through platform 9 3/4 and when he almost fell out of the flying car while looking for the train). They were sharing stories about misuse of muggle items (bewitched muggle items) and the Ministry of Magic. At one point I said something and Jane playfully hit me with a long strand of dry grass. I picked up one of the fruits and broke it open to try and find the seeds so we could plant it at home (no luck). Jane showed us a song with her guitar and someone else showed us their song. I also remember wearing my Jane Goodall shirt.
That dream probably occured because my suconscious took pitty that I felt lost (see first post), and tried to remind me of the stuff I like.

I then had this weird dream last night.
I was dressed in my sock monkey pjamas and underneath I had on a colorful one-piece swimsuit. Part of my bathingsuit revealed my breast. I was in the bathroom staring at myself in the mirror. My breast had several raise lumps like extra nipples. They eventually got bigger and rectangular and grew grey (mold-like) fuzz making grey fuzzy balls on my breasts. My mom came in the bathroom to look at it, and my step-dad was peeking in with her. She said they wouldn't do anything about it and I'm fine. I was suprised she said that, but figured I could scratch the fuzzballs off my breast.
Interpretation: Oh my god! I have breast cancer! (Kidding) Actually, I have weird dreams like this around the time my period starts. I think it is because of hormonal imbalance (I have excess estrogen, I try to stay away from all things with soy to lessen the dysmenorrhea). One time I had a dream I was filling out a questionaire that asked if I had ever had prostate cancer. I wrote: "No. That would be awkward because I'm a girl."

Winter Reflection: Good and Evil

Winter is a weird time for reflection. It seems to bring you back to about this time last year.

Sophomore year, English literature theme seemed to be: good and evil, death, suicide. Animal Farm fit the good and evil, and death theme. Beowulf died in the end the another book. Julius Caesar died in the beginning of Shakespeare's play and his murderers commited suicide in the end. All the good charaters in Lord of the Flies died and the spoiled children got rescued. Antigone broke the law and died. Her fiance and his mom committed suicide. The king wanted to die. I know Antigone was being loyal and the king was a jerk, but all this trouble for burying a brother? Three characters would be alive if Antigone had just left it. I think some of my fellow classmates were disturbed when I explained my reasoning. Our English teacher had even had us read Then They Killed My Father, whick is about the Cambodian genocide. I stopped reading it after I had a nightmare of finding a decapitated woman in the forest. I also had a hard time getting to sleep as I imagined Cambodian zombies at the head of my bed. It wasn't so much the story being scary rather than it feeling real. I imagined the few grains of rice floating in their "soup" as if it were my meal. It was like a deja vu moment.

Another tragedy happened that season. I was in Global Studies when the BBC News informed us about the Sandy Hook massacre. My first reaction was to suppress my pitty and essentially desensitize myself from the news. I'd asked my friend in the halls what she thought of the news. She said it was hard to relate because it was so far away. As a joke I crouched down and held my hands like a gun. She exclaimed "Now it feels real."

Also during this time I was starting to have anxiety attacks (even before the news). I'd be fine singing in choir and then I'd feel one coming on. I excused myself to the bathroom and as soon as I got there I cried. I was scared, but I didn't know why. I felt like my brain was going to escape my head. A girl in choir was there and escorted me to the school counselor.

The first time I ditched school happened to be Challenge Day (a day where Sophomores spend school time trying to learn to accept eachother). I entered school, smelled a propane leak, and walked out. I feared the school would blow up and walked over to the middle school to pick up my brother. I called my mom and explained to the middle school counselor why I was there. He must of thought I was crazy by now. I had never enrolled to the middle school before and already the first time he met me (when my mom was enrolling my brother) he asked my mom if I was autistic. Now I was telling him the high school would blow up. While other kids came back with heart-warming stories of Challenge Day, I admitted I wasn't there because I thought the school would explode. This made me feel further an outsider.

When I complained to my mom my concerns rarely talking to anyone day after day in my school, I instead got a lecture on how petty my worries were compared to all the children who died in NewTown, Connecticut. Unlike I, my mom has the wonderful gift of feeling world problems as if they were her own. She cried when she heard of the news. Naturally, I threw a fit and mom went off on how coldhearted I was being. My mom started crying at my indifference. Instead of feeling bad, I stared at her blankly, wondering what I did wrong. That I was capable of such apathy scared me. I wanted to change that.

I was talking to a long distance friend about my love of Wolverine and X-Men comics. He recommended I read Watchmen and My Friend Dahmer. The first few pages of Watchmen bored me (and a good thing I stopped, my parents stopped watching the movie version because it was nasty, my brother said the comic was no better. Figures). I had no idea who Dahmer was. I didn't know I was reading about a serial killer's teen years. It was eerie to see a serial killer portrayed at a human, almost relatable level in his teen years. What if I the next Dahmer? Or someone I knew?

I meantioned at one point about the Sandy Hook Massacre to said long distance friend. I was horrified when he made a joke about if a preschool shooting accured. After I told my mom about thew conversation, she suggested I go to someone about it. I instead dismissed the conversation as part of his sick humor.

In a future conversation with said friend, he'd mentioned about being voted by his class as most likely to do a school shooting. I didn't take this seriously and told him he had too much of a conscience to do such a thing. He'd sarcastically counter that with that he had the stuff at home to do so and etc. The conversation made me uncomfortable, so I emailed his principal and school counselor about it. I knew he woudn't really do such a thing and worried if I'd ruined his life, but I justified my self with "better safe than sorry". I found out later that the police came to his door and he ended up being suspended. That made me feel more guilty. Despite my fears, he didn't hate me. Did I make things worse? Am I a hypocrite? I can have a sick sense of humor and no one rats me out. He wants to got to Running Start, will it be harder for him to get in? Is "better safe than sorry" a good excuse to make someone else's life harder?... 

Underdog Freaks of America

Before I go on with this post, we must first say the "Plead of Allience":
I plead allience
To the flag
Of the underdog freaks of America
And to the rebels
In which they land
One Nation
Underground
Individual
With poverty, and discusted by all.

Now on with this post!

I have a dream that everyone would find their functional part of society. I don't mean to change people until they do, but to use their weekness as their strength. Take even prisoners, who are you to say they don't deserve to live? Even if they are America's Most Wanted serial killer, that may mean they need to live more. Don't mistake this as sympathy for them, this isn't about them, but us. Everyone is put on this earth to make an impact, whether good or bad. If a Noble Peace Prize awarded saint came here to bring good, he/she would have to even that out with a juvenile delinquent past or having a bitter senior faze. With that said, and evil mastermind needs to balance his mostly bad behavior with... I dunno, community service. If you just kill the criminal off, in a way, he's getting away with his crimes. Does he get time to reflect on his actions? Does he get a chance to redeem for his past? You see, good is not the absence of evil nor vise versa. Evil without good is blah. Good without evil is blah. If we were meant to have one without the other, we would have. It's a balance. I know it sounds like Eastern philosophy crap, but maybe Eastern philosophy crap has a point! I remember a quote from the Tao Te Ching that caught my attention:
"Between Yes and No there is how much difference?
Good and Evil can be compared."

When I said about everyone having a functional part in society, I mean EVERYONE! Even the mentally impaired, even the elderly, even the physically impaired, even your dog. Anyone considered a burden to society. Whether the geek in your classroom or the man living in his mother's basement, they have something to offer. And this is coming, hypocritically, from an awkward teenage girl who is seventeen and cannot drive, has no work, hardly get's out of the house, and recently dropped out of school for homeschool. Yes, I have a place on this planet, too. Not to say this would be easy. I have a step-sister I hate and wouldn't care if she died (thank god I haven't seen her in two years!). She's going down the wrong path. Would hating her make her better? Does that make me a better person? No. She needs help. She has Fetal Alcohol Syndrome and needs counseling. Instead, she ran away to her biological mom's and skips school and does who knows what else. Who knows, by the time we've healed the underdogs, maybe we would have found a cure for the sociopathic Alphas and their mindless droids we call "normal people".