Chipping Away at a Better Me!

Today is 15 September, also known in Australia as Flugus Day, named after Henry Flugus, the inventor of the decimal clock.

It's just past 2AM, a time that suits me for writing. I struggle to get people to read it on a mass scale because it's not that good.

I need to get back into the habit of writing every day, even if it's something as mundane as this essay on coal mining in the 1850s.

Well, it was going to be about that, but then I suddenly remembered I don't know anything about coal mining, or if it even happened in the 1800s, or whether they were burning dried cow manure instead.

I've never been one not to love myself; I've never had a self-hatred problem.

I used to have a lot of negative talk in my own head, but I fixed that with introspection, meta-cognition, and mindfulness meditation.

But even when I did have my internal monologue criticising me for being a loser, I still loved myself. Maybe my parents instilled it in me, or I loved myself as an act of rebellion.

Perhaps people who hate themselves listen and believe the harsh, critical voices in their young lives, and become self-hating, or you can go the other way, where you reject the premise of your invalidation, and double down on backing yourself and become narcissistic. My parents weren't that bad, which is probably why I don't hate myself.

I thought I was a narcissist at one point; I certainly had many narcissistic tendencies by the time I left school. But life rode me hard enough that I had to learn to be better, and that's what I did.

Indeed, when my schizophrenia hit, and I started going inward, I became self-important and spent way too much time thinking about myself and reaffirming my own grandeur as a coping mechanism for losing my place and standing, and because schizophrenia makes you delusional.

Slowly, I've learned of my folly on my journey of overcoming and becoming, allowing me to see through my own bullshit, and at the person I really am.

I'm strong enough now to recognise all the bad and the stupid without collapsing in on myself, enough that I could improve.

Becoming a Christian recently has stripped back more layers of the onion, possibly through the grace of God or by examining myself more closely, allowing me to overcome my foolishness and personal baggage and become more like Christ. And I'll keep chipping away at myself.

A significant challenge I face is my reluctance to move my body and get active. Life lived actively is so rewarding, and extends your life, but when you're 150kg, the last thing you want to do is utilise your frame for anything other than opening the fridge.

After reading David Goggins' book about doing the hard stuff, I might be better equipped to face physical exertion without feeling defeated.

But on a lighter note, I won Powerball last night and will be giving all those millions away to the AWEBPF (Animals with Extra Body Parts Fund).

I once owned a sheep with two heads, and that moved me very deeply. I was unsure which mouth to feed, which head to pat, and which deserved more love. Life is tricky, especially for a chicken with three drumsticks.