Buddhism and on line dating

07-Sep-2019 16:16

But when you get it, you have no existence except that love; there’s still no you.” ― “Accepting a psychiatric diagnosis is like a religious conversion.It's an adjustment in cosmology, with all its accompanying high priests, sacred texts, and stories of religion.And I am, for better or worse, an instant convert.” ― “But when I look at myself squarely, it’s not just that I have a few difficulties or unresolved issues.Unlike those lucky people for whom therapy or medication delivers them back to themselves, I’ve been suffering from something that was unnamable for most of my life.I'm also getting better at keeping another dialectic in mind: On the one hand, the disorder decimates all relationships and social functions, so you're basically wandering in the wasteland of your own failure, and yet you have to keep walking through it, gathering the small bits of life that can eventually go into creating a life worth living.To be in the desolate badlands while envisioning the lush tropics without being totally triggered again isn't easy, especially when life seems so effortless for everyone else.” ― “I’ve read that, for some borderlines, the flip side of abandonment fear is the fear of engulfment.We start with a deep deficit—a chasm really—when it comes to understanding and being tolerant of ourselves, and that's even before we go forth to do battle with the rest of the world.

He doesn’t berate himself for pain and anger; he howls.

The only music that satisfies me is Nine Inch Nails and Trent Reznor’s voice crying through industrial rhytms.

In the August evenings, I lie on my bed with earphones, letting his laments roll through me like unrepentant thunderstorms.

It’s another one of those “screwed if you do, screwed if you don’t” situations.

All you want is love and belonging, and your very existence depends on it.

He doesn’t berate himself for pain and anger; he howls.

The only music that satisfies me is Nine Inch Nails and Trent Reznor’s voice crying through industrial rhytms.

In the August evenings, I lie on my bed with earphones, letting his laments roll through me like unrepentant thunderstorms.

It’s another one of those “screwed if you do, screwed if you don’t” situations.

All you want is love and belonging, and your very existence depends on it.

And what if you can’t conceive of “normal” or “healthy” because pain and loneliness are all you remember? “If you could have anything in the world, what would it be? He doesn’t turn the radio down like I ask him to, so I decide that means he doesn’t care about me and I spend the rest of the day strangled and stupefied by the emotions from just this one slight.