"But how we survive is what makes us who we are."
(From the song "Survive," by Rise Against)
I have possessed an entire repertoire of survival modes over the course of my life.
*There's the Cave, a quiet and withdrawn place for when I feel like I'm going crazy.
*There's the Angry Action, when I'd just as soon throw or hit things, so I channel my pique into productivity -- often intensive cleaning.
*There's Self-Flagellation, for when I feel I've done something irresponsible or gotten more than a little out of hand; this usually involves deprivation of some kind, of food or of human contact (anything nurturing), as well as frequently paired with some kind of physical duress -- hard work outs, blanking out on body awareness, or in the past, intentionally grinding my nails into my palms or pinching up a huge bruise to focus my attention.
*There's Vocally Verbal, which is usually swearing and screaming, sometimes more than one or the other, but both leave my throat raw and my body spent, often with a pounding headache.
There are and were more, but already a theme should be readily visible -- my "survival" modes were as much about withdrawal and distancing as they were about honest "protection" attempts. And for me, withdrawal was closely tied to "punishment." I used to suppose this was just me limiting stimuli. Surely, the Cave fits that paradigm. But really, so does Self-Flagellation. And Vocally Verbal. They *all* force me to focus. And all force me to focus via some kind of pain, coupled with a loss -- ergo, physical pain and mental pain.
Pain is nothing but a message -- albeit an almost-impossible-to-ignore one. (It can be ignored; there is a wealth of scientific evidence supporting the control of pain by mental decision, but that's not what I'm writing about today.) Ben Franklin said, "That which hurts, instructs." And it's no irony to me that there is a robust history of using self-inflicted pain to direct the mind -- there are scads of books on it; it's mired in ancient cultures and religions.
However, I like to fancy myself as evolving, not devolving -- move forward, not back. And as logic became my religion, replacing hysteria and mythology, I realized how backwards it was to inflict these isolations and mortifications on myself. It placed me in "lock down," rigored mode, not "coping" mode. So through trial and error, I found more enriching ways of dealing with chaos. I began to meditate; journaling; taking extended moments of quiet time outside. I tried to find coping mechanisms that were proactive, and had Me in control, instead of reaction, that put me in the control of The Other -- other circumstances, other people, other outcomes.
The other troubling thing about so many of my previous strategies -- they were rooted in fear and blaming. Goethe said when we are confident about our motives, we can retreat or advance. I was always scrambling away, trying to avoid being crushed or mauled, like a hermit crab lurching up an exposed beach. There was nothing graceful or confident in my getaway -- the point was strictly to get away. No strategy.
I had to break my addiction to running away. To stop believing that the only way I could survive was to escape. I realized the only way to win anything for myself was to stay present and fight. I can pick how I fight, if I'm there, assigning myself battlefield duty. And it allows me freedom to not be beholden to one mechanism. In krav maga, in any security situation, relying on just one solution is a weakness.
Oh, I still have meltdowns. They just aren't frequent or as protracted. And I carry a metaphorical Big Stick more frequently, to enforce my boundaries in the immediacy, instead of allowing my stressors to build up and drive me backwards. Now, I am the Decider and Enforcer, in one, and I'm doing the dictating. I'm not hiding. I'm not reacting. I'm conserving. I'm managing. I'm owning my pique.
And I still sit in my Cave, but I do it for pleasure, not out of distress.
