The pursuit of holiness; how to train your brain

What is procrastination anyway? Most of us assume it's a moral failing. This is probably a bit true, but it's certainly mixed with a bunch of other psychological brain-trickery.

As a good friend recently reminded me, a big theme of my writing over the years is that "your brain is not your friend." In simplest terms, we have habits of thought - often deeply engrained - that do not correspond to reality. This messes us up.

There's a whole huge deal of stuff that psychologists are just now starting to get hold of - the ideas behind Cognitive/Behavioural Therapy (it's been a long day trudging around in the blistering summer heat, so I won't go into it right now - Google it) and all of it corresponds beautifully with Thomist thinking on how the path to holiness is through the subordination of the passions to the intellect and will - the right ordering of the human faculties.

In other words, procrastination, fear, anxiety, depression - all of these are mental habits that involve us indulging in things that are not in keeping with reality. Procrastination especially is a way of avoiding reality. The method of overcoming it is to exercise the will to choose The Real over Fantasy - defined as adherence to a personal preference in conflict with observable reality. This is the way to overcoming poor self-discipline (endemic in our culture), procrastination, fear, anxiety and depression - but much more crucially of rooting out our habitual sins and faults. The saints and theologians all talk about the methodology of sanctification, the "purgative way," and this, in essence, is it.

This is the work of the interior life that has to be done before we can start advancing in holiness. This is what the whole thing is about, getting yourself under control.

No idea what any of it means...

Strange religious guilt dreams.

I dreamt that I had been told by a priest to bring Holy Communion to a sick person. He had given me two Hosts, and just shoved me out the door. I had no pyx and nothing to carry It in, so I went back into the sacristy by another door. The priest was busy with some other work and didn’t see me rummaging around in drawers and cupboards with one hand, the Hosts held between two fingers in the other, looking for something to use as a pyx.

Then two other parishioners came in and I became frightened that they would catch me carrying the Eucharist around, so I took a paper envelope out of my bag and popped them in, wrapped in an American dollar bill, and then hid the envelope, in the bottom of a drawer. The other parishioners came over and made some polite chitchat, and I was distracted wondering how I was going to smuggle the Hosts back into the tabernacle, since I couldn’t just open it and reach in.

I fretted over the possible options, thinking at this point that I should just wait until the sacristy was empty again and sneak back in and consume the Hosts, but then I remembered that you were only allowed to receive once a day, and I didn’t think I could get back the next day. I figured I should also conduct some kind of Holy Hour before consuming them, and I couldn’t figure out how I could do that without anyone seeing.

I woke up quite anxious about it and it took me a few moments to let go and realise that I hadn’t actually hidden Hosts in a paper envelope, and didn’t have to solve this terrible problem. The cat was sitting next to the pillow staring down at my head, willing me to wake up and feed her.



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Allie explains what depression is like

"...

as I grew older, it became harder and harder to access that expansive imaginary space that made my toys fun. I remember looking at them and feeling sort of frustrated and confused that things weren't the same.

"I played out all the same story lines that had been fun before, but the meaning had disappeared. Horse's Big Space Adventure transformed into holding a plastic horse in the air, hoping it would somehow be enjoyable for me. Prehistoric Crazy-Bus Death Ride was just smashing a toy bus full of dinosaurs into the wall while feeling sort of bored and unfulfilled. I could no longer connect to my toys in a way that allowed me to participate in the experience."

Depression feels almost exactly like that, except about everything.

Welcome back, btw. We've all missed you.

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I don't have brain cancer

I didn't realise the other day when I put up a post about my anxiety-dreams that it could be mis-read. When I wrote that I have "cancer-brain" it was lazy writer-shorthand for "I'm experiencing post-cancer anxiety about it returning and it's giving me nightmares".

For those who mis-read or misinterpreted, sorry about that. Didn't mean to cause a panic.

This problem is apparently hugely common, like the post-treatment depression that came out of nowhere when it was all over. But of course, no one told me anything about it. Like every. single. symptom I had from the chemo and other treatments, I found out about it by experiencing it first hand.

And I guess it's more or less unavoidable because of the sneaky nature of the disease. Once you've had it, no matter how slim the statistical chance of recurrence (in my case around 5%) you just don't know whether you're going to be one of that small unlucky number. Once again, statistics say that if you get through five years you're more or less in the clear. But statistics are just that; they're not your own personal case history.

So the thought torments you more or less constantly and if you don't get philosophical about it, it can ruin your day. Sometimes it just ruins your day no matter what.

The problem with cancer is that the individual cells are indetectable by any current technology, and can quietly travel around your body, settle in and start to grow and spread long before you have any notion there's anything going on. Once it's been in there the first time, you just have to keep checking and keep your fingers crossed.

I'm more or less OK, brain-wise, most of the time, but sometimes it just kind of jumps out at you unexpectedly. I had another dream that I was on holiday with a friend and we got lost in the woods and I suddenly felt all chemo-sick again and my hair fell out. When I woke up, I was momentarily surprised and confused to have a full head of hair and not be sick, it was so real and so familiar.

No matter how well-adjusted you are, the anxiety sometimes gets to your brain in subconscious ways. Hence, bad dreams. The kind that stick with you for the rest of the day. I'm also the sort of person who fights depression and anxiety all the time anyway. My brain has been my mortal enemy most of my life.

What annoys me is that all these things are the sort of thing that, in a first world nation, cancer patients get told about and can prepare for. You get given pamphlets and things and doctors normally offer help and support services. But this is Italy, and as a culture, they don't volunteer information, even when you ask direct questions. You have to be very specific, which more or less means that you have to already know about the thing you're asking about and they pretty much just leave you to deal on your own.

But who needs a doctor to tell you things when you've got the internet, right? The internet knows everything.



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My brain hates me and wants to kill me

Got cancer-brain today.

~ Dreamed cancer was back and I owed 5000 Euros to oncologists... thanks brain.

~ Spent two hours last night on the internet looking up Classical Realist painters in Pennsylvania...looking at pretty paintings of Pennsylvania in the winter...thinking about how much I miss Winter, then Cancer-brain whispers... "And you might never see it again..."

~ The January is almost over, started thinking about tidying up, leaving the house every day, getting a hair cut, sweeping up the pine needles and getting on with the rest of life... then, "Remember, cancer! Hahahahaaa"

~ Am now torturing self by looking up what they do to you when cervical cancer recurs...

Cancercancercancercancer... fuckoff Brain.



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Your brain is not your friend

It's a funny thing about depression. One of the things it does to you is make you think you don't want to feel better. Or maybe just can't be bothered.



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