On Lichen

Lichens are still awesome. Thinking of my body and mind as a collaborative organism is fascinating. Makes bridging the gap easier. Especially when I now know the extent of my disconnect between the two.

It really does feel like a half-hearted relationship. It is almost as if during my childhood the abuse was too much that the mind just got up and let the body fend for itself. Sounds silly. But it is not entirely wrong? It feels like that. The mind, however, never left. It just stuck around like a petulant child. Which, again, it very well may be. But it has not had quite the environment to allow for a growth into a well integrated adult. Yet, it persists on demanding.

If this were a reciprocal relationship, the mind has been draining the body dry. Unsustainable. Which, of course, I am painfully aware of. Burnout is my middle name. The failures and the self-judgement also make sense, because the Mind expects a lot of things but doesn't really provide to the body. Heck, a few days ago I was paralyzed by the decision of buying replacement shoes. Shoes that are very much not a luxury. Yet, the judgments came out flying. Because the mind is just so used to taking, it does not acknowledge that the body has needs. And it is no sign of weakness to have those met.

I see in myself, a replay of the abusive relationship I had with my parents. They expected much from me, but were not exactly the most attentive. Sure, my necessities were met. But that was effectively it. Don't let the body die. In both of these relationships, part of what made me …me was objectified.

I really try not to think of this, because it makes me feel like a failure. Not in the way you would expect. In another life, before I started therapy, I was massively depressed. That is not the shocker. In 2015, I had just returned from Nepal. I was unlucky enough to have been quite close to the epicenter of the earthquake. The disconnect between what my body was feeling and what my mind dictated I ought to be feeling was severe. Despite being obviously shaken, I threw myself into humanitarian efforts. Being a savior for others felt a lot better than recognizing that I was a victim. But I was. Despite all my efforts, when I returned stateside. My body made it known. I could not sleep well. The slightest termors would send me careening into physical responses I could not quite explain. Movies that featured earthquakes were out. I remember watcing Paddington, and leaving at the first scene to lock myself in a washroom because of a panic attack. I even had to quit riding the metro or public transportation. But the mind was so against recognizing that there was something wrong. And it kept pushing. And the body kept trying to deliver. Until it could no more.

I remember blacking out in my apartment more than once. Or rather, I do not remember. But I awoke on the floor with injuries. My mind didn't like the message. So it never happened.

The pushing never stopped. Outside I looked normal. I had a job. I had a social life. I talked to people.
I did everything my mind thought I ought to be doing. Karen Horner's Tyranny of the shoulds in full effect.

Turns out, PTSD does not like being ignored for too long. Especially when combined with depression and preexisting medical trauma. A few months down the road, I found myself having suicidal thoughts. Few months further still, I bought myself a ticket to Niagra Falls, fully intending to end it. It felt very rational. Until it didn't.

I would like to say that I came to my senses and yadda yadda. But that was not it. My mind became active, yes, but it was judgemental as hell. "Wow look at you, loser, just going to give up?" And many like it. I sat there for what felt like hours. My bus came and went. I wandered around for a good while before returning home. There was no one to notice I was even missing. But I heard the same voice in me "wow, what a loser. Can't even do -suicide- right." - "see I knew you didn't have it in you" et.c I had a feeling that was not good. The mind didn't care. But it was more of a way to act like I tried something. Tyranny of shoulds. Image matters. Of course one of the first question my therapist asked was "do you have thoughts of suicide, harming yourself, or anything like that?" and I responded "Oh yea, everyday. Doesn't everyone" No. As it turns out, dear reader, they do not.

I now look back and see a familiar conversation. Someone screaming, and often acting out physically to get attention, to have their basic needs met…and the other party ignoring it. Because the demands don't matter.

I come back to the lichen, because it too survives in harsh conditions. Ordinarily algae and fungi do not become symbiotic. There is no need. Each can fend for itself. Kimmerer says that in lab experiments, they would only become lichen when resources are scarce. Until I started going to regular therapy, until very recently, I don't think my mind realized just how scarce resources really were. And I think that realization means it is high time that it meets the body's needs as well.