As you know, I exist to enlighten you heathens from the bullshit that lies amid the fucked-up swill that is the New Age and self-help movement. (Doesn’t the phrase “New Age” make you want to throw up a little? I can barely type it without losing my breakfast into my laptop. Ditto “self-help.” Fuck that.) My modus operandi is a little like decorating a golden brick with lotus flowers and then smashing your brains out with it. Whatever works, that’s my motto, even if it requires reconstructive brain surgery afterward. Whatever. It’s your brain, not mine. You asked for enlightenment, right?
Today’s topic: your thoughts create your reality. Change your thoughts, change your life!
If there wasn’t some truth to this, why would you be reading a bitch like me?
But here’s the problem: far more often than creating something empowering from this concept, people use it to punish themselves. They say, “Oh, well, this shitty dumbass thing happened to me, so I must have created it. I am a bad person for creating this bad thing in my life!” Or they say, “I had a desire to slip an overdose of laxatives into that arrogant prick’s morning coffee today, so I must not be a loving person. Oh no! I must control my thoughts!” Or, “I’m feeling shitty, and I had all these bad thoughts about myself, so I need to clench my butt cheeks and think only happy-Oprah* thoughts!”
Notice a thread here? Control. It’s all about control, people.
Yes, your thoughts do have an effect on you and on your life. But you can’t control them. You can’t control your emotions, either. Most of the time we can’t even control our bodies. I know how my body reacts when a spandex-clad** aging crooner starts singing “Feelings.” Can’t control it. And it isn’t pretty. (That sound you’re hearing now? Ever hear a cat about to throw up? ulp.ulp.ulp.ulp. You hear it and you know what’s coming and there’s no way in hell to stop it. Splat! It’s a little like that, times about a thousand.)
Here’s an experiment to show you that you can’t control your thoughts. Ready? Okay: do not think about red monkeys. Do. Not. Think about red monkeys.
You can’t think about anything BUT red monkeys right now, can you? There’s fucking red monkeys ALL OVER THE PLACE. See? And trying to NOT think about something only makes that thing more present. Go play this with someone else and have some fun.
Do you know why you like The Bitch? Because I don’t try to control my thoughts. They are the same thoughts that you have and don’t admit to having—and you laugh because you’re seeing that they’re not so bad after all. (Though hopefully you’re not thinking about spandex men singing “Feelings”. Then you’d really be kind of fucked up and I’m not sure I want to know you.)
This isn’t to say that we’re helpless peons at the unholy mercy of our fucked-up thoughts and feelings. Of course there is choice and free will and all that.
But you want to know a secret? Lean in a little closer.
If someone tells you to control yourself – or your thoughts – they are trying to control you.
Oh fuck, I don’t mean the Vulcan Mind Meld or anything. No one is trying to turn you into a fucking robot. But asking you, expecting you, to change your thoughts is a subtle form of control.
It’s brainwashing, people. Wipe you clean, ma’am? If you can get people to try to do something impossible, like controlling the uncontrollable, of course they’ll come back time and again asking for more help and advice. Side of fries with that brainwash? And you give them your power, willingly, because you feel like a failure. You buy into the idea that you need to put away a part of yourself in order to feel accepted. You try and you try and you try, failing every time (because you’re trying to do the impossible), and every time wondering what more you could have done. You give away more and more of your own power every time you do this.
The bitch does not want your power. I totally deserve your worship, but only because I’m helping you become enlightened. No one deserves your power. No one except you. I help you find your own inner Bitch, and for that I of course have your undying endless gratitude. Also you can send money.
Back to the whole “you create your own reality” thing. Does the Bitch disagree with that concept? Of course not. Look at the reality I’m creating for you right here. No spandex, for one thing. Freedom of thought and expression. Feel how good it is to call me a bitch? Go on, say it. You know you want to. And then say “fuck.” Right out loud. And then say, “I am perfect.” (Because you know I am.)(And more importantly, I know I am.)
But even though my words say something else, the Bitch isn’t about ego. The Bitch is about honesty, about calling things for what they are, and about having fun at the same time. That’s my reality.
*That’s the thin Oprah, obviously.
**Yet another type of control. And while a nice pair of Spanx cures a lot of ills, nothing can make “Feelings” palatable.