It does go without saying that it has been a while since I've written anything on this blog. My last post doesn't count because I was reposting something I originally wrote for Facebook. But, it was something that should have been posted here.
Things in life have a way of changing. I haven't been all that busy, but I have been remarkably lost in activities of distraction, which fed my writer's block. Not that my writer's block was a problem per say, but that I was allowing my distractions to take over, not letting myself mediate on anything long enough to develop something to write about. In essence, I've been coasting and not doing much with myself. Letting my job any my living situation be an excuse for not participating in life, depressed mostly. It's been like that pretty much since July.
The beginning of 2012 right up through June was intense and left me somewhat numb. Aside from a few outings such as Dragon*Con, hurricane Sandy, which I chose to spend with a friend in North Carolina instead of suffering through the intense anxiety I went through with hurricane Irene the previous year, and a Christmas holiday in Seattle with some friends, I basically coasted on that numbness. But all during that time, I noticed that I have been markedly feeling and thinking differently about things. And I've been feeling the need to get back to writing as the dawning of this new year has given me a sense of allowance for renewal and awakening.
It's been a few weeks since MAL 2013 and yet I still find that I'm decompressing. It was, as always, a remarkable experience for me as all socially intensive situations are. And with that I've been able to measure how far I've come in the last few years as well and get a sense for how far I still have to go. And the results are, I've come along way, and I've got a long way to go. And with that, I would like to put this out there as a way to say thank you to the universe and the people involved, even though I've already thanked them in person.
It's embarrassing to admit that I walk into these social situations with a tremendous amount of anxiety that paralyzes me and overwhelms my senses. I'm quite often frozen, inhibited and shut off during these moments. The social anxiety is often all consuming and takes away my ability to be engaging and cheerful. It's all driven by my fear of judgment, rejection, and dismissal, for being imperfect and lacking in knowledge and experience, and unworthy of love. And for the most part, I think I hide it pretty wall, except from the most astute observers. But in the end, I just end up angry at myself for putting myself in social situations that creates more anxiety. I literally shut down emotionally from that anxiety leaving me in a state of mind that I was afraid of being in in the first place. Last year at MAL that's pretty much how it went. Even though I left there a changed person with some new found awareness about what it meant to be authentic, I was still stuck in not accepting that I deserved a place there.
This year at MAL, I had a very different type of experience that gave me some new and profound perspectives. I learned some amazing things about myself and what it means to be a person of love, worth and value which is allowing me to feel much more gratitude than I ever have before. I'm feeling a shift in my outlook and in my inward look, that is permissive of myself to be myself, whatever state that may look like, in whatever amount of stress I might be under, in whatever might be holding me back from expressing my wants and desires.
I'm allowing myself to be OK with the person I become when I don't know what to say, the person I become when I feel vulnerable and scared or when I'm calm and funny. I'm allowing that person that I am at that time, and not judging him with expectations of what he should be doing or could be doing. I'm allowing myself to be what I am and only what I am in the moment and state that I am, which is now.
I can't say that I did all this on my own. Sure, it took a large amount of self awareness and willingness and book knowledge, but it took some education and wisdom that many wonderful friends have been able to give me, and some select moments of trust with some other friends at MAL as they literally, and figuratively, held my leash through the process without judgment, criticism and rejection, giving me the permission I needed to be who I am during all those states. The simple act of going through the motions of all these states, practicing within a safe environment, which I have all the book knowledge of but I don't have the actual practical experience, in order to start that process of deprogramming decades of self doubt and self hatred.
What happened was a profound healing experience that lifted me to a higher plane of self love.
Sometimes, it really does take someone to help. To literally be there with me and give me the permission, safety, and respect that I need for that healing experience to happen. I've always been taught I can only do it on my own. But I know now that's not true and in some cases, not possible. I'm now more willing to not only ask for that help, but more importantly, allow myself to receive that help when it is offered.
But most importantly, I've learned that I can trust again.
Thank you all. I hope that I can carry this with me as long as possible.
Monday, January 28, 2013
Tuesday, January 22, 2013
My New New Year
I originally posted this on Facebook on December 21, 2012.
Happy Winter Solstice everyone.
Today marks the dawning of a new year. For me, it's a time to re-evaluate what is important to me and work toward better awareness and alignment of what I believe vs. what I truly value.
Each day is a step in a direction. Not necessarily forward, but a step nonetheless. And when each step is taken, it is unknown the direction I have taken until well after the footprint has settled.
Looking back, it has been an excruciatingly difficult year. I've had many profound experiences which have permanently and profoundly changed me. For the good or bad? That's not a judgement that can be made with much clarity any more, nor could it be. When such things happen, they challenge and change beliefs and perspectives. What once had been called good is now called bad, and what had been called bad is now called good. Each item settling into a place where it best belongs. And in the end, the labels of good and bad fade into meaninglessness until it all just exists as experience. What I take from it is a new or expanded awareness. And not to be too ironic in my dismissal of the labels of good and bad, awareness is a good thing.
I may be remiss in not sharing the deeper parts of my life with people but, somewhere along the way, I had found that such openness wasn't always welcome. So, out of a sense of self protection, I keep things to myself for the most part. However, this is changing. To what extent, I can't say. Future awareness might further level my caution. Wait and see. I'm just going to take it one day at a time.
This year I look forward with anticipation, wonder, and unfortunately, a great deal of anxiety, to what is coming. But with that, I'm working to not look forward so much that I miss what I'm doing right now. One day at a time, one hour at a time, one minute at a time, one second at a time.
At the risk of sounding saccharine, I want to thank the many people in my life who have, over the past year, made a difference to me in profound and long lasting ways. Some of you may not even realize it as we have never met in person, but your presence here and the things you've shared with me publicly and in private messages have meant a great deal to me. Don't take my silence as lack of gratitude. It's there; I just don't always express it.
Happy Winter Solstice everyone.
Today marks the dawning of a new year. For me, it's a time to re-evaluate what is important to me and work toward better awareness and alignment of what I believe vs. what I truly value.
Each day is a step in a direction. Not necessarily forward, but a step nonetheless. And when each step is taken, it is unknown the direction I have taken until well after the footprint has settled.
Looking back, it has been an excruciatingly difficult year. I've had many profound experiences which have permanently and profoundly changed me. For the good or bad? That's not a judgement that can be made with much clarity any more, nor could it be. When such things happen, they challenge and change beliefs and perspectives. What once had been called good is now called bad, and what had been called bad is now called good. Each item settling into a place where it best belongs. And in the end, the labels of good and bad fade into meaninglessness until it all just exists as experience. What I take from it is a new or expanded awareness. And not to be too ironic in my dismissal of the labels of good and bad, awareness is a good thing.
I may be remiss in not sharing the deeper parts of my life with people but, somewhere along the way, I had found that such openness wasn't always welcome. So, out of a sense of self protection, I keep things to myself for the most part. However, this is changing. To what extent, I can't say. Future awareness might further level my caution. Wait and see. I'm just going to take it one day at a time.
This year I look forward with anticipation, wonder, and unfortunately, a great deal of anxiety, to what is coming. But with that, I'm working to not look forward so much that I miss what I'm doing right now. One day at a time, one hour at a time, one minute at a time, one second at a time.
At the risk of sounding saccharine, I want to thank the many people in my life who have, over the past year, made a difference to me in profound and long lasting ways. Some of you may not even realize it as we have never met in person, but your presence here and the things you've shared with me publicly and in private messages have meant a great deal to me. Don't take my silence as lack of gratitude. It's there; I just don't always express it.
 |
| Winter of 2012 Assateague Island, VA |
Friday, January 11, 2013
Saturday, July 14, 2012
Wednesday, June 27, 2012
But I Was Only 5
2012 has been kicking my ass. And yet, I feel stronger now. At least I feel strong when I'm not actually feeling hopeless.
I started off 2012 just diving right in to some of the most intense social situations I've ever had. I wanted to push myself to get out there, overcome my shyness, meet people, and make new friends, get connected to others and be part of something.
The first situation was by choice. But the second one was not. The third one was. The fourth was not. And so on and so forth. Back and forth it went and continues on that way. Each event, situation, trial, confrontation, mistake, was/is pushing me through, in what appears in my dreams as, mountains of rushing water, a metaphor for my emotions. Sometimes I come out of it with a new grounded sense of who I am, but other times I'm left wondering what in the fuck is left of me. What have I learned? What am I getting out of this? I'm still working on it. I'm still trying to sort it out.
But here is what hit me lately:
A new found awareness of what it feels like when I leave authenticity. I've started to notice the twinges of emotion, pangs of anxiety, eagerness to please while concealing my resentment. All of these signal to me that I've stepped out of authenticity. Awareness of where I stop loving the people around me, stop loving what is happening around me, and I start to judge the situation not as it actually is but as my suffering ego imagines it to be. It's paranoid, hurt, afraid, and it tells me stories about what it thinks is going on. Stories that have nothing to do with reality but I'm lost in my emotions, I'm not acknowledging them for what they are, and I'm feeding them these stories. I don't know why, but it keeps the pain alive. Leaving authenticity is something I do more often that staying in authenticity.
It's pretty fucked up.
I've been jumping into things too fast, too eager, too afraid that if I don't do it right now, I may never get to do it ever. I'm not realizing that I have not fully accepted myself so I still put on a mask, I still try too hard to play a role that I think is expected of me. And I fail. I fuck it up. My sense of confidence, that confidence that I think others are looking for, is not real. I conjured it up and pretended to be something I'm not, something that I know I can be but I'm not ready to be. I'm not ready because I'm not doing it from my own personal center and awareness. I'm doing it as a mirror of how I see it in others.
This time it put me in a situation where I hurt someone. I unintentionally inflicted serious physical injury. And I've destroyed, permanently, a trust that I had just started to earn. The ripple of that is not only losing his trust, but the trust of an entire social circle because of how he will warn others; spread the word that I am a bad person.
What was I thinking? I don't know. I wanted to be perfect. I wanted to be what that other people expected of me. I only wanted to please.
Later that night, as I was making the long drive home from my disastrous weekend, I was talking to my mom about what had happened. I was already feeling out of place from things going on all month but this weekend pushed me over the edge. My body, thoughts, emotions, were all exploding. I was feeling fear, frustration, anger, worthlessness, rejection, guilt, shame, regret. I had hurt someone. Seriously hurt them.
I was reminded of an indecent that happened when I was 5 years old of a little boy, struggling, one step at a time, heaving a heavy stroller carrying the crying baby of my baby sister up onto the front porch, trying desperately to get her in the house. She was crying; I was trying to comfort her. I had no idea what to do but get her in the house so that mom could make it right. But I was afraid that I would be punished for making her cry; after all it was my fault that she was crying.
I was spraying the lawn with the water hose, playing, pretending to be the little Rainbird sprinkler, as I smacked at the water stream with a plastic spatula. And she, for whatever reason I don't know, was alone with me, sitting out in the sun. Was I supposed to be watching her? I feel like I was. But why would a 5 year old be responsible for a tiny baby just barely a few months old? I don't remember but I do felt like I had been given the responsibility to tend just because we were alone together. I don't recall being told to do it though, but it was common for my dad to tell me to do such things. So, there I was, just hoping nothing happened and that mom or dad would come and get her soon before she started crying. But then I slipped, I turned too far and a blast of cold water hit her face, startling her and she screamed.
I was ashamed, I had accidently hurt her, I got her wet, and now I was going to get yelled at, punished, whipped with the belt or whatever, I don't know. She needed comfort, she needed to be held, and she needed to stop crying so that I wouldn't be blamed for causing it. But I was too small to pick her up. And I didn't know where mom or dad where. I didn't call for mom because I knew she couldn't hear me. If she hadn't come by now from my sister screaming, she couldn't hear; she had no idea anything had happened.
I'm sure mom was in the house somewhere but I didn't dare leave her alone. If anything were to happen to her because I left her alone, I would surely be punished. So I did the only thing that made sense to me at the time, get her in the house so that mom could hear.
The stroller was heavy, it was awkward, and the handles were as high as my shoulders. The best I could do was tilt it back and drag it backwards, heaving the back wheels one step at a time up the concrete stairway, one, two, three, steps, then pausing to rest for a moment and regain my grip. Each step hit her with a profound jerk and bump, each one seemed to make her cry worse. Four, five, six, I was at the top. Tilted the stroller back on all fours and then turned my attention to opening the door. Once I managed to get the door open I turned just in time to notice the stroller had rolled toward the stairs, out of my reach and the front wheels had already hit the first step.
I was literally frozen as I watched the stroller tumble down the stairs. Each jostle of the wheels as they dropping down onto each step sent shards of adrenaline through me and amplified the sound of terror I was hearing in her crying. When the front wheels hit the bottom the stroller flipped forward, head over heels, landing upside down, smashing my sister's face into the concrete.
I no longer heard any crying, it had all gone silent.
I rushed down the stairs; I was shaking, and muttering to myself, "Oh my god! Oh my god!" I was so weak; I was trembling; I could barely turn the stroller on to its side. "Oh my god!" I kept muttering trying to unfasten the seat belt. But I was shaking too much; I could barely grasp the buckles. Her face was contorted as if she was trying to cry but couldn't catch her breath, she just shook, trembled and twitched. There was a bit of rocky dirt on her chin and forehead and blood was starting to drip from the edges of her mouth. "Oh my god! Oh my god!"
When she finally caught her breath, in what seemed like a lifetime, she let out the most disturbing cry I had ever heard and don't want to ever hear in my lifetime again, a frantic screaming cry of terror, panic, pain, trauma.
This was bad, this was serious, this was my fault, she was hurt, really hurt bad and I couldn't do anything, I didn't know what to do, and I had caused this.
It was shortly after this when mom finally heard the screaming and came rushing outside to see what was going on, all the while screaming at me in panic, and demanding answers. "What's going on?! What happened?! Why is she bleeding?! What in the hell were you doing?! What have you done?! Get away! Don't touch her!" I don't remember what I said or if I was even able to say anything.
Mom took her in the house, at which point the details of my memory have faded to images of her trying to get my sister to suck on popsicles or bottles but she couldn't do it. Images of streaks of blood on anything her mouth had touched, the unending crying that seemed to last for days, and then I have no more memory.
But this memory of my baby sister has been with me, haunting me my whole life, playing over in my mind from time to time, but only as a bad dream, disconnected and disassociated from it. But now, I was suddenly reliving it all over again while driving home that night.
I had to stop the car, before I passed out and crashed. I was convulsing with intense wailing, soaking my clothing in sweat, releasing emotion it seemed from every pour of my body. Even now, as I retell this story here, even rereading it as I proof read, I crumble in fits of sobbing.
I had found out a few years ago that I had actually broken her jaw. I had broken the jaw of a baby only a few months old. She is now in her mid 30's and has had to cope with problems as a result of that her entire life.
And now, out of some twisted turn of events, I'm still paying for my mistake. And continue to do so as I keep replaying my history. Doing it all over again; hurting people while trying to play a role that I am not ready to play. Just like when I was 5 years old. But then, I was also forced into that role. It's no wonder I feel such intense anxiety when I'm forced into roles, jobs, obligations, commitments, that I'm not willing to do or I'm not ready for.
That is why I hated being in the Mormon church so much. It was an obligation, a commitment, a role, that I couldn't fill. No matter what I did, I was never good enough. But I did it anyway to keep the piece. To protect myself from the anger and wrath of those who had authority and control over me. But I'm not there anymore, and yet, I have been continuing to force myself into a roles I'm not ready for today. Why? To please others in hopes of earning their respect?
Respect that I can't ever earn? Am I doing it to try to redeem myself for the harm I've caused? That seems ridiculous, as I'll just keep causing more harm. I don't know.
I started off 2012 just diving right in to some of the most intense social situations I've ever had. I wanted to push myself to get out there, overcome my shyness, meet people, and make new friends, get connected to others and be part of something.
The first situation was by choice. But the second one was not. The third one was. The fourth was not. And so on and so forth. Back and forth it went and continues on that way. Each event, situation, trial, confrontation, mistake, was/is pushing me through, in what appears in my dreams as, mountains of rushing water, a metaphor for my emotions. Sometimes I come out of it with a new grounded sense of who I am, but other times I'm left wondering what in the fuck is left of me. What have I learned? What am I getting out of this? I'm still working on it. I'm still trying to sort it out.
But here is what hit me lately:
A new found awareness of what it feels like when I leave authenticity. I've started to notice the twinges of emotion, pangs of anxiety, eagerness to please while concealing my resentment. All of these signal to me that I've stepped out of authenticity. Awareness of where I stop loving the people around me, stop loving what is happening around me, and I start to judge the situation not as it actually is but as my suffering ego imagines it to be. It's paranoid, hurt, afraid, and it tells me stories about what it thinks is going on. Stories that have nothing to do with reality but I'm lost in my emotions, I'm not acknowledging them for what they are, and I'm feeding them these stories. I don't know why, but it keeps the pain alive. Leaving authenticity is something I do more often that staying in authenticity.
It's pretty fucked up.
I've been jumping into things too fast, too eager, too afraid that if I don't do it right now, I may never get to do it ever. I'm not realizing that I have not fully accepted myself so I still put on a mask, I still try too hard to play a role that I think is expected of me. And I fail. I fuck it up. My sense of confidence, that confidence that I think others are looking for, is not real. I conjured it up and pretended to be something I'm not, something that I know I can be but I'm not ready to be. I'm not ready because I'm not doing it from my own personal center and awareness. I'm doing it as a mirror of how I see it in others.
This time it put me in a situation where I hurt someone. I unintentionally inflicted serious physical injury. And I've destroyed, permanently, a trust that I had just started to earn. The ripple of that is not only losing his trust, but the trust of an entire social circle because of how he will warn others; spread the word that I am a bad person.
What was I thinking? I don't know. I wanted to be perfect. I wanted to be what that other people expected of me. I only wanted to please.
Later that night, as I was making the long drive home from my disastrous weekend, I was talking to my mom about what had happened. I was already feeling out of place from things going on all month but this weekend pushed me over the edge. My body, thoughts, emotions, were all exploding. I was feeling fear, frustration, anger, worthlessness, rejection, guilt, shame, regret. I had hurt someone. Seriously hurt them.
I was reminded of an indecent that happened when I was 5 years old of a little boy, struggling, one step at a time, heaving a heavy stroller carrying the crying baby of my baby sister up onto the front porch, trying desperately to get her in the house. She was crying; I was trying to comfort her. I had no idea what to do but get her in the house so that mom could make it right. But I was afraid that I would be punished for making her cry; after all it was my fault that she was crying.
I was spraying the lawn with the water hose, playing, pretending to be the little Rainbird sprinkler, as I smacked at the water stream with a plastic spatula. And she, for whatever reason I don't know, was alone with me, sitting out in the sun. Was I supposed to be watching her? I feel like I was. But why would a 5 year old be responsible for a tiny baby just barely a few months old? I don't remember but I do felt like I had been given the responsibility to tend just because we were alone together. I don't recall being told to do it though, but it was common for my dad to tell me to do such things. So, there I was, just hoping nothing happened and that mom or dad would come and get her soon before she started crying. But then I slipped, I turned too far and a blast of cold water hit her face, startling her and she screamed.
I was ashamed, I had accidently hurt her, I got her wet, and now I was going to get yelled at, punished, whipped with the belt or whatever, I don't know. She needed comfort, she needed to be held, and she needed to stop crying so that I wouldn't be blamed for causing it. But I was too small to pick her up. And I didn't know where mom or dad where. I didn't call for mom because I knew she couldn't hear me. If she hadn't come by now from my sister screaming, she couldn't hear; she had no idea anything had happened.
I'm sure mom was in the house somewhere but I didn't dare leave her alone. If anything were to happen to her because I left her alone, I would surely be punished. So I did the only thing that made sense to me at the time, get her in the house so that mom could hear.
The stroller was heavy, it was awkward, and the handles were as high as my shoulders. The best I could do was tilt it back and drag it backwards, heaving the back wheels one step at a time up the concrete stairway, one, two, three, steps, then pausing to rest for a moment and regain my grip. Each step hit her with a profound jerk and bump, each one seemed to make her cry worse. Four, five, six, I was at the top. Tilted the stroller back on all fours and then turned my attention to opening the door. Once I managed to get the door open I turned just in time to notice the stroller had rolled toward the stairs, out of my reach and the front wheels had already hit the first step.
I was literally frozen as I watched the stroller tumble down the stairs. Each jostle of the wheels as they dropping down onto each step sent shards of adrenaline through me and amplified the sound of terror I was hearing in her crying. When the front wheels hit the bottom the stroller flipped forward, head over heels, landing upside down, smashing my sister's face into the concrete.
I no longer heard any crying, it had all gone silent.
I rushed down the stairs; I was shaking, and muttering to myself, "Oh my god! Oh my god!" I was so weak; I was trembling; I could barely turn the stroller on to its side. "Oh my god!" I kept muttering trying to unfasten the seat belt. But I was shaking too much; I could barely grasp the buckles. Her face was contorted as if she was trying to cry but couldn't catch her breath, she just shook, trembled and twitched. There was a bit of rocky dirt on her chin and forehead and blood was starting to drip from the edges of her mouth. "Oh my god! Oh my god!"
When she finally caught her breath, in what seemed like a lifetime, she let out the most disturbing cry I had ever heard and don't want to ever hear in my lifetime again, a frantic screaming cry of terror, panic, pain, trauma.
This was bad, this was serious, this was my fault, she was hurt, really hurt bad and I couldn't do anything, I didn't know what to do, and I had caused this.
It was shortly after this when mom finally heard the screaming and came rushing outside to see what was going on, all the while screaming at me in panic, and demanding answers. "What's going on?! What happened?! Why is she bleeding?! What in the hell were you doing?! What have you done?! Get away! Don't touch her!" I don't remember what I said or if I was even able to say anything.
Mom took her in the house, at which point the details of my memory have faded to images of her trying to get my sister to suck on popsicles or bottles but she couldn't do it. Images of streaks of blood on anything her mouth had touched, the unending crying that seemed to last for days, and then I have no more memory.
But this memory of my baby sister has been with me, haunting me my whole life, playing over in my mind from time to time, but only as a bad dream, disconnected and disassociated from it. But now, I was suddenly reliving it all over again while driving home that night.
I had to stop the car, before I passed out and crashed. I was convulsing with intense wailing, soaking my clothing in sweat, releasing emotion it seemed from every pour of my body. Even now, as I retell this story here, even rereading it as I proof read, I crumble in fits of sobbing.
I had found out a few years ago that I had actually broken her jaw. I had broken the jaw of a baby only a few months old. She is now in her mid 30's and has had to cope with problems as a result of that her entire life.
And now, out of some twisted turn of events, I'm still paying for my mistake. And continue to do so as I keep replaying my history. Doing it all over again; hurting people while trying to play a role that I am not ready to play. Just like when I was 5 years old. But then, I was also forced into that role. It's no wonder I feel such intense anxiety when I'm forced into roles, jobs, obligations, commitments, that I'm not willing to do or I'm not ready for.
That is why I hated being in the Mormon church so much. It was an obligation, a commitment, a role, that I couldn't fill. No matter what I did, I was never good enough. But I did it anyway to keep the piece. To protect myself from the anger and wrath of those who had authority and control over me. But I'm not there anymore, and yet, I have been continuing to force myself into a roles I'm not ready for today. Why? To please others in hopes of earning their respect?
Respect that I can't ever earn? Am I doing it to try to redeem myself for the harm I've caused? That seems ridiculous, as I'll just keep causing more harm. I don't know.
Saturday, May 26, 2012
The Thoughtless Police
Lots of discussion going around on Facebook, on blogs, amongst distant friends in distant cites and elsewhere, all talking about all the great people in their lives, all of the wonderful dates they have been on all the wonderful support and sex they have with their dates, partners and spouses.
The envy, the jealousy, is difficult. I do not like being alone, I do not like going months if not more, with no one to touch. And what makes it all worse is that I have no idea when the next chance will come. And for whatever reason, some of those people are drifting away. And some are now starting to avoid me. I respect their rule of not sticking their dick in crazy. I'm sorry I'm crazy. I don't mean to be.
Every status I see, every post I see, every picture I see setting on the desk of a coworker where they are flaunting their heterosexually, every god damn moment my co-worker has to talk about his fucking girlfriend, is a moment I want to die.
I would really like to be happy for them. I would really love to feel the joy and happiness they have. I would love to be able to have it so that I could share it as well. But then, would I share it? Would I do that so that I would be an insufferable prick to someone else who is dealing with profound isolation and loneliness? Would I be so insensitive that I would thoughtlessly share my happiness with others in ways that taunt, and mock them?
I probably would.
Friday, May 18, 2012
Justice and Mercy
At the second coming of Christ, when all
are resurrected, I imagine there will be great justice when Jesus walks up to Joseph Smith, restored in flesh
and blood, and kicks him in the crotch.
At which point, Christ will show his great love and mercy by allowing the rest of us to do the same.
At which point, Christ will show his great love and mercy by allowing the rest of us to do the same.
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