The little hater = MY polar opposite

I am my own little hater. I’m stealing the terminology from Jay Smooth, hip-hop DJ and video blogger who have a shout-out to his little hater, the little voice inside your head that makes you doubt yourself and gets in the way of you doing stuff. Let’s just say that I’m totally feeling him right now since I haven’t blogged yet this month and I’m generally being unproductive in the rest of my life as well.

Not to be hard on myself, but its my own fault. I’m scared, frightened, worried about a bunch of things which, as Jay correctly identified, leads to procrastination. But I’ve had a lifetime nurturing my own neuroses so my procrastination takes on a different shade than most. Naps always work: if I’m having strange dreams about running into an ex-boyfriend at my high school (really happened), then I don’t know I’m avoiding anything. Sure I spend lots of time on Facebook, as do cubicle-dwellers everywhere when they’re pretending to work. I even procrastinate by doing useful things, like exercising or cleaning, so I’m not just sitting around like a bump on a log. In actuality, though, the housework and bodywork can usually wait; what I need is to find a paying job, or continue to entertain thoughts of writing for a living, and both those things require attention and focus and effort. . .hold on a minute, be right back. . .

Sorry folks, just got a new e-mail and thought it was maybe job-related, but it was just a comment on my Facebook status. I should probably change those settings. Anyway, like I was saying, I’m a champion procrastinator, or multitasker depending on your perspective. My chosen career in corporate America taught me to believe that you could only be doing a good job if you were juggling lots of things at once while managing to get them all done. Of course it doesn’t always work that way and people either burn themselves out from the intensity or the duration of corporate multitasking. Since I’ve been there, done that, I should have learned that I do better when I can focus. But here I am, in self-imposed limbo between pursuing a job I’m good at that I enjoy (writing), a job I’m good at that’s no good for me (corporate marketing), and a job that I have no idea about (non-profit marketing).

Hold on, another e-mail. . .darn, its just from Gilt Groupe. They have a new offshoot, Gilt Fuse with the cutest stuff. I love those lotus flower earrings, only $30. They’ve been expanded, wonder if they need any marketing people? A-ha! “Director, Relationship Marketing”, I’ll have to bookmark that. Maybe Sandra can get me the inside track since she works there. And the earrings too…3 more e-mails. Tanya may be in labor and she’s posting on Facebook? That means she’s at home, so where’s my phone? Ok, left a voicemail. Maybe I’ll go see her soon. . .

Wait a minute, I was getting to something really important before I got interrupted again. Oh, yeah. I’m getting in my own way, accidentally on purpose. Years of therapy have taught me that I’m the queen of self-sabotage, a master of self-fulfilling prophecy. You’re probably thinking that I wouldn’t get interrupted by e-mail if I just closed the browser, right? But the last time I was off e-mail for a day, the New York Times sent me something, so I’m not risking that again. And since my iPhone was dead all day yesterday, I need some contact with the outside world. The average person rationalizes in very much the same way, maintaining intermittent distractions – like e-mail – under the guise of importance. But I’ve always been above-average, even at the bad stuff. Therefore my proficiency with denial is, like that with most other things, quite high and vastly superior. To that end, I’ve apparently created a fool-proof manner of wrecking my life that even I couldn’t feel guilty about. I stopped taking my meds.

No, that’s not new and they even made a House episode about it. I never said I was unique for going off meds, but I’ve got to give myself credit for all the work it took to pull it off without actual culpability. You see, I take two kind of medication. One is new-fangled, hence very expensive and has wicked physical withdrawal symptoms, the likes of which I’d never wish on my worst enemy. I’ve been on it for about 4 years and no matter what, and I always take it, even if it means buying one pill at a time. If I’m late with a dose it I get weird, nauseous headaches where my eyes hurt and my brain feels like its short-circuiting. Horrible stuff to be avoided at all costs. The other medication is old-school, generic, very inexpensive, and I’ve only been on it since February. It is my miracle drug, if there can be such a thing. The medication whose success diagnosed me with bipolar disorder, which has made the biggest difference in my recovery. And that’s the one I’ve been without for almost two months.

It started because of a mistake. When I went to get a refill, I couldn’t find my scrips (not really my fault). I must’ve changed purses, so I went through my stuff for a while and finally thought I’d located the missing documents. At that point, I realized that my doctor accidentally wrote me 2 scrips for the other med and none for my miracle pills (again, I’m blameless). Fortuitously, this occurred at the same time I was haggling with COBRA over my recently-canceled health insurance (a little bit my fault, I was late with the payment) They’d neglected to approve $500 worth of visits to the very same doctor I needed for a new scrip, rightly so, he wouldn’t see me with an outstanding balance (his policy). With no insurance, I couldn’t afford to pay the doctor and COBRA and out-of-pocket for the sick-withdrawal meds at the same time (okay maybe I could if I cashed in my 401(k), the only savings I have). So I my not-so-little hater started running things and convinced me that I’d be able to handle it without the meds.

Turns out that my little hater, LH, is as smart as me. She knows that even though I’ll have some really days, I’ll fall into old patterns and stop asking for help. She also knows that I’m smart enough to do things that lots of people can’t do on their best days, like get a random byline in the Times or write 1200 words to submit to The New Yorker, or crank out enough cover letters to get two job interviews in one week. And those things will make me feel good, simultaneously bolstering my confidence and my ignorance. But LH is not just smart, she’s sneaky: she knows that I’ll eventually feel like crap and give up. Sometimes my body gives up for me and I get physically ill, fever, sore throat, the whole works. Then I have to reschedule an interview because I’m too sick to leave the house. Or if she’s really having her way with me, she makes me apathetic to everyone and everything. It is then that I blow off an interview with no phone call, no e-mail, because I didn’t really want the job anyway.

How can I feel guilty? I think, “I’ve got swollen glands, and I’ve cried just about every day this week. Also I can’t focus, and I feel as I did right before I checked myself into the hospital. Maybe I need to go back again. Obviously I’m in no condition to interview, or anything else for that matter, so its not my fault.” But it is my fault, because even though I’d rather be well than sick, prefer employment to the dole line, what I most want is to do nothing and have someone else take care of me. Not because I’m lazy, but because I’m spoiled. And I’m not just spoiled but a coddled only child – except for my illness, everything in my life has been pretty easy. And comparatively, my illness has been easy because I still managed to go to school and feed myself and keep a roof over my head while handling it. And I’m blessed with the intellectual capacity to work through my problems in therapy, or in print, without mortally wounding anyone else. But my big brain, a.k.a. “LH”, a.k.a. my very own little hater, uses all those smarts to rationalize my immaturity into behavior that hurts only me, like making me stop meds so I literally can’t work. The truth is that no matter how smart my little hater is, she’s an infant who just doesn’t want to work. See? She just threw down her sippy cup and is working on a good pout and tantrum.

So what do I do now? The real me, the one who is the polar opposite of that bratty little hater inside me, saw a little video while she was procrastinating on Facebook. Then she made a doctors appointment for tomorrow, worked it all out on this blog, and is just gonna suck it up today.

Oh, and here’s the link to Jay Smooth’s You Tube video that called me on my inner hater. Sometimes good things can come from a little avoidance, and a little social networking. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0TpmJgSfZ_8