Anxiety

Passages

Every passage tagged with this emotion in the Vela corpus. Search the body text, narrow by source or register, click through to a book’s profile to see how the passage sits with the rest of the work.

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• From The Ice Storm (1994)

  The story of Rudolph was menacing. In Rudolph’s ascendance to lead reindeer, Paul sensed the machinations of thought control and government intrusion. He kept coming out of his hallucination to find the abominable snowman threatening the town. He had tried to cheer himself up by singing along with “Silver and Gold,” but it didn’t do the trick. —Hood, someone said. Hood, something wrong? —Don’t interrupt. Concentrating. Or maybe he was feigning romantic transportation. Suddenly. Because the Bear, Carla Bear, not only a fan of Rudolph and his cousin Frosty the Snowman, but the kind of girl who could quote from Miracle on 34th Street and dance along with the Hallmark Hall of Fame presentation of The Nutcracker, was sitting next to him. And yes, he realized that the Bear was trying to calm him down. Carla Bear, one of the intrepid first women of St. Pete’s. She had enrolled as a third-former in 1971, the first year of coeducation. She was leaning against him on the gray synthetic banquette and comforting him. And during a sequence in which Rudolph was being ridiculed by the other reindeer, or was it later, he encircled her in his arms. It overcame him. He yielded. —It’s okay, kiddo, she said. It’s okay. She had a big maternal heart. —I hate Thanksgiving, too, kiddo, she said. Who wouldn’t? Why would you want to go home? On the other hand, staying here isn’t so great either, y’know? And Paul was sure she was telling the truth. St. Pete’s was where the affluent families of the East unloaded their heirs, where they penned them until college. The Bear knew, because, he had heard, her own mother, her single mother, was ill. Dying. Tumors. Cancer of some kind. There were kids at St. Pete’s whose parents would be removed from this very Thanksgiving table to have their stomachs pumped of sleeping pills. Whose siblings had hanged themselves or gassed themselves or who had driven expensive cars into the ocean. There were kids here whose only relative was a trust-fund officer. These were kids from devastated families. Devastated and wealthy. —Shut up, someone said. Paul couldn’t hear the program. He had his arms around Carla. A little elf cheerfully rode a Norelco cordless razor across a snow-covered landscape. Over a mogul, into the air. Paul wanted this embrace to work magic. He was dimly aware that the common room was full of writhing embraces. He was seized with laughter. Something wasn’t working. So Paul put his hand inside the Bear’s pink button-down shirt and felt the lace margins of her brassiere. There was an overpowering gentleness in the space close to a woman’s heart. He was drawn to it, but at that moment he couldn’t possibly say why. Carla the Bear neither encouraged nor denied. In the next stillness, during the next commercial break, he let his hand stray even further, to her breast—small, serene, and comforting.

• From Lady Chatterley's Lover (1928)

  "Well!" she said. "I had to do a good bit of coaxing, with him too. But he always knew what I was after, I must say that. But he generally gave in to me." "He was never the lord and master thing?" "No! At least there'd be a look in his eyes sometimes, and then I knew _I'd_ got to give in. But usually he gave in to me. No, he was never lord and master. But neither was I. I knew when I could go no further with him, and then I gave in: though it cost me a good bit, sometimes." "And what if you had held out against him?" "Oh, I don't know. I never did. Even when he was in the wrong, if he was fixed, I gave in. You see I never wanted to break what was between us. And if you really set your will against a man, that finishes it. If you care for a man, you have to give in to him once he's really determined; whether you're in the right or not, you have to give in. Else you break something. But I must say, Ted 'ud give in to me sometimes, when I was set on a thing, and in the wrong. So I suppose it cuts both ways." "And that's how you are with all your patients?" asked Connie. "Oh, that's different. I don't care at all, in the same way. I know what's good for them, or I try to, and then I just contrive to manage them for their own good. It's not like anybody as you're really fond of. It's quite different. Once you've been really fond of a man, you can be affectionate to almost any man, if he needs you at all. But it's not the same thing. You don't really _care_. I doubt, once you've _really_ cared, if you can ever really care again." These words frightened Connie. "Do you think one can only care once?" she asked. "Or never. Most women never care, never begin to. They don't know what it means. Nor men either. But when I see a woman as cares, my heart stands still for her." "And do you think men easily take offence?" "Yes! If you wound them on their pride. But aren't women the same? Only our two prides are a bit different." Connie pondered this. She began again to have some misgiving about her going away. After all, was she not giving the man the go-by, if only for a short time? And he knew it. That's why he was so queer and sarcastic. Still! the human existence is a good deal controlled by the machine of external circumstance. She was in the power of this machine. She couldn't extricate herself all in five minutes. She didn't even want to.

• From Under the Banner of Heaven (2003)

  Ron and his four passengers rolled up in the Impala just after Dan left. They stayed in Big Water only overnight, but while they were there Ron shared his removal revelation with Alex Joseph. According to Chip Carnes, who was eavesdropping, “They were discussing Ron coming back to Utah and collecting up his guns and going on a shooting spree.” Joseph, Carnes recalled, tried to talk Ron out of it. Dan, meanwhile, had gone to see his second wife, Ann Randak, in Spanish Fork Canyon. After spending a day and a night with her, on July 23 Dan kissed her good-bye and went to Orem to visit his original wife, Matilda, and their children; it was the first birthday of his youngest child, a son. Dan had scarcely seen the boy in the months since he was born—and although he didn’t realize it at the time, he would never see him again after this encounter. Dan’s visit with Matilda and his kids was brief: that afternoon he bid them farewell and went to his mother’s home in Provo to meet Ron, who had driven there after leaving Big Water. Ron, Dan, Knapp, and Carnes spent the rest of the day at Claudine Lafferty’s house doing laundry and tuning up the Impala’s engine. They also discussed their plans for the following day. The next day, July 24, was Pioneer Day. * Earlier, Dan, Knapp, and Carnes had talked about driving up the freeway to Salt Lake City to watch the parade and participate in the celebrations. But at some point on Monday, July 23, according to Dan, “God spoke to Ron and told him we needed to go somewhere else instead. He told Ron that the next day was ‘The Day.’ ” On Monday evening, the four men sat at Claudine Lafferty’s dining room table while Ron and Dan conferred about the removal revelation. As the brothers talked, Claudine sat on a nearby sofa, knitting. Although she listened intently to their conversation, she said nothing. According to Carnes’s testimony in court, Ron was discussing things from the Bible. He was talking about a revelation that he had received. In that revelation he . . . claimed that he was told that he had to eliminate some people. I heard the name Brenda mentioned once, and I heard something about a baby mentioned once.

• From The Story of My Experiments with Truth (An Autobiography) (1927)

  The question of the rearing of children had been ever before me. I had two sons born in South Africa, and my service in the hospital was useful in solving the question of their upbringing. My independent spirit was a constant source of trial. My wife and I had decided to have the best medical aid at the time of her delivery, but if the doctor and the nurse were to leave us in the lurch at the right moment, what was I to do? Then the nurse had to be an Indian. And the difficulty of getting a trained Indian nurse in South Africa can be easily imagined from the similar difficulty in India. So I studied the things necessary for safe labour. I read Dr. Tribhuvandas’ book, #Ma-ne Shikhaman# – Advice to a mother – and I nursed both my children according to the instructions given in the book, tempered here and there by experience as I had gained elsewhere. The services of a nurse were utilized-not for more than two months each time-chiefly for helping my wife and not for taking care of the babies, which I did myself. The birth of the last child put me to the severest test. The travail came on suddenly. The doctor was not immediately available, and some time was lost in fetching the midwife. Even if she had been on the spot, she could not have helped delivery. I had to see through the safe delivery of the baby. My careful study of the subject in Dr. Tribhuvandas’ work was of inestimable help. I was not nervous. I am convinced that for the proper upbringing of children the parents ought to have a general knowledge of the care and nursing of babies. At every step I have seen the advantages of my careful study of the subject. My children would not have enjoyed the general health that they do today, had I not studied the subject and turned my knowledge to account. We labour under a sort of superstition that a child has nothing to learn during the first five years of its life. On the contrary the fact is that the child never learns in after life what it does in its first five years. The education of the child begins with conception. The physical and

• From The Story of My Experiments with Truth (An Autobiography) (1927)

  TREATMENT OF PLEURISY The persistence of the pleurisy caused some anxiety, but I knew that the cure lay not in taking medicine internally but in dietetic changes assisted by external remedies. I called in Dr. Allinson of vegetarian fame, who treated diseases by dietetic modifications and whom I had met in 1890. He thoroughly overhauled me. I explained to him how I had pledged myself not to take milk. He cheered me up and said: ‘You need not take milk. In fact I want you to do without any fat for some days.’ He then advised me to live on plain brown bread, raw vegetables such as beet, radish, onion and other tubers and greens, and also fresh fruit, mainly oranges. The vegetables were not to be cooked but merely grated fine, if I could not masticate them. I adopted this for about three days, but raw vegetables did not quite suit me. My body was not in a condition to enable me to do full justice to the experiment. I was nervous about taking raw vegetables. Dr. Allinson also advised me to keep all the windows of my room open for the whole twenty-four hours, bathe in tepid water, have an oil massage on the affected parts and a walk in the open for fifteen to thirty minutes. I liked all these suggestions. My room had French windows which, if kept wide open, would let in the rain. The fanlight could not be opened. I therefore got the glass broken, so as to let in fresh air, and I partially opened the windows in a manner not to let in rain. All these measures somewhat improved my health, but did not completely cure me.

• From The Story of My Experiments with Truth (An Autobiography) (1927)

  I saw that brahmacharya, which is so full of wounderful potency, is by no means an easy affair, and certainly not a mere matter of the body. It begins with bodily restraint, but does not end there. The perfection of it precludes even an impure thought. A true brahmachari will not even dream of satisfying the fleshly appetite, and until he is in that condition, he has a great deal of ground to cover. For me the observance of even bodily brahmacharya has been full of difficulties. Today I may say that I feel myself fairly safe, but I had yet to achieve complete mastery over thought, which is so essential. Not that the will or effort is lacking, but it is yet a problem to me wherefrom undersirable thoughts spring their insidious invasions. I have no doubt that there is a key to lock out undersirable thoughts, but every one has to find it out for himself. Saints and seers have left their experiences for us, but they have given us no infallible and universal prescription. For perfection or freedom from error comes only from grace, and so seekers after God have left us mantras, such as Ramanama, hallowed by their own austerities and charged with their purity. Without an unreserved surrender to His grace, complete mastery over thought is impossible. This is the teaching of every great book of religion, and I am realizing the truth of it every moment of my striving after that perfect brahmacharya . But part of the history of that striving and struggle will be told in chapters to follow. I shall conclude this chapter with an indication of how I set about the task. In the first flush of inthusiasm, I found the observance quite easy. The very first change I made in my mode of life was to stop sparing the same bed with my wife or seeking privacy with her. Thus brahmacharya which I had been observing willynilly since 1900, was sealed with a vow in the middle of 1906. 105.

• From The Story of My Experiments with Truth (An Autobiography) (1927)

  HEART SEARCHINGS The Zulu ‘rebellion’ was full of new experiences and gave me much food for thought. The Boer War had not brought home to me the horrors of war with anything like the vividness that the ‘rebellion’ did. This was no war but a man- hunt, not only in my opinion, but also in that of many Englishmen with whom I had occasion to talk. To hear every morning reports of the soldiers’ rifles exploding like crackers in innocent hamlets, and to live in the midst of them was a trial. But I swallowed the bitter draught, especially as the work of my Corps consisted only in nursing the wounded Zulus. I could see that but for us the Zulus would have been uncared for. This work, therefore, eased my conscience. But there was much else to set one thinking. It was a sparsely populated part of the country. Few and far between in hills and dales were the scattered Kraals of the simple and so-called ‘uncivilized’ Zulus. Marching, with or without the wounded, through these solemn solitudes, I often fell into deep thought. I pondered over brahmacharya and its implications, and my convictions took deep root. I discussed it with my co-workers. I had not realized then how indispensable it was for self- realization. But I clearly saw that one aspiring to serve humanity with his whole soul could not do without it. It was borne in upon me that I should have more and more occasions for service of the kind I was rendering, and that I should find myself unequal to my task if I were engaged in the pleasures of family life and in the propagation and rearing of children. In a word, I could not live both after the flesh and the spirit. On the present occasion, for instance, I should not have been able to throw myself into the fray, had my wife been expecting a baby. Without the observance of brahmacharya

• From The Story of My Experiments with Truth (An Autobiography) (1927)

  mine even on occasions like this, and I must therefore take the risk that you say is likely. But I beg of you one thing. As I cannot avail myself of your treatment, I propose to try some hydropathic remedies which I happen to know. But I shall not know how to examine the boy’s pulse, chest, lungs, etc. If you will kindly look in from time to time to examine him and keep me informed of his condition, I shall be grateful to you.’ The good doctor appreciated my difficulty and agreed to my request. Though Manilal could not have made his choice, I told him what had passed between the doctor and myself and asked him his opinion. ‘Do try your hydropathic treatment,’ he said. ‘I will not have eggs or chicken broth.’ This made me glad, though I realized that, if I had given him either of these, he would have taken it. I knew Kuhne’s treatment and had tried it too. I knew as well that fasting also could be tried with profit. So I began to give Manilal hip baths according to Kuhne, never keeping him in the tub for more than three minutes, and kept him on orange juice mixed with water for three days. But the temperature persisted, going up to 104. At night he would be delirious. I began to get anxious. What would people say of me? What would my elder brother think of me? Could we not call in another doctor? Why not have an Ayurvedic physician? What right had the parents to inflict their fads on their children? I was haunted by thoughts like these. Then a contrary current would start. God would surely be pleased to see that I was giving the same treatment to my son as I would give myself. I had faith in hydropathy, and little faith in allopathy. The

• From The Story of My Experiments with Truth (An Autobiography) (1927)

  THE FIRST CASE While in Bombay, I began, on the one hand, my study of Indian law and, on the other, my experiments in dietetics in which Virchand Gandhi, a friend, joined me. My brother, for his part, was trying his best to get me briefs. The study of Indian law was a tedious business. The Civil Procedure Code I could in no way get on with. Not so however, with the Evidence Act. Virchand Gandhi was reading for the Solicitor’s Examination and would tell me all sorts of stories about barristers and vakils. ‘Sir Pherozeshah’s ability,’ he would say, ‘lies in his profound knowledge of law. He has the Evidence Act by heart and knows all the cases on the thirty- second section. Badruddin Tyabji’s wonderful power of argument inspires the judges with awe.’ The stories of stalwarts such as these would unnerve me. ‘It is not unusual,’ he would add, ‘for a barrister to vegetate for five or seven years. That’s why I have signed the articles for solicitorship. You should count yourself luckly if you can paddle your own canoe in three years’ time.’ Expenses were mounting up every month. To have a barister’s board outside the house, whilst still preparing for the barrister’s profession inside, was a thing to which I could not reconcile myself. Hence I could not give undivided attention to my studies. I developed some liking for the Evidence Act and read Mayne’s Hindu Law with deep interest, but I had not the courage to conduct a case. I was helpless beyond words, even as the bride come fresh to her father-in- law’s house! About this time, I took up the case of one Mamibai. It was a ‘small cause.’ ‘You

• From The Story of My Experiments with Truth (An Autobiography) (1927)

  must voluntarily submit themselves to all the regulations that the poor are subject to, and the officials ought to be impartial. My experience is that the officials, instead of looking upon third class passengers as fellowmen, regard them as so many sheep. They talk to them contemptuously, and brook no reply or argument. The third class passenger has to obey the official as though he were his servant, and the letter may with impunity belabour and blackmail him, and book him his ticket only putting him to the greatest possible inconvenience, including often missing the train. All this I have seen with my own eyes. No reform is possible unless some of the educated and the rich voluntarily accept the status of the poor, travel third, refuse to enjoy the amenities denied to the poor and, instead of taking avoidable hardships, discourtesies and injustice as a matter of course, fight for their removal. Wherever I went in Kathiawad I heard complaints about the Viramgam customs hardships. I therefore decided immediately to make use of Lord Willingdon’s offer. I collected and read all the literature available on the subject, convinced myself that the complaints were well founded, and opened correspondence with the Bombay Government. I called on the Private Secretary to Lord Willingdon and waited on His Excellency also. The latter expressed his sympathy but shifted the blame on Delhi. ‘If it had been in our hands, we should have removed the cordon long ago. You should approach the Government of India,’ said the secretary. I communicated with the Government of India, but got no reply beyond an acknowledgment. It was only when I had an occasion to meet Lord Chelmsford later that redress could be had. When I placed the facts before him, he expressed his astonishment. He had known nothing of the matter. He gave me a patient hearing, telephoned that very moment for papers about Viramgam, and promised to remove the cordon if the authorities had no explanation or defence to offer.

• From The Story of My Experiments with Truth (An Autobiography) (1927)

  could get in did so by sheer force, often sneaking through windows if the doors were locked. I had to reach Calcutta on the date fixed for the meeting, and if I missed this train I could not arrive in time. I had almost given up hope of getting in. No one was willing to accept me, when porter discovering my plight came to me and said, ‘Give me twelve annas and I’ll get you a seat.’ ‘Yes,’ said I, ‘you shall have twelve annas if you do procure me a seat.’ The young man went from carriage to carriage entreating passengers but no one heeded him. As the train was about to start, some passengers said, ‘There is no room here, but you can shove him in if you like. He will have to stand.’ ‘Well?’ asked the young porter. I readily agreede, and he shoved me in bodily through the window. Thus I got in and the porter earned his twelve annas. The night was a trial. The other passengers were sitting somehow. I stood two hours, holding the chain of the upper bunk. Meanwhile some of the passengers kept worrying me incessantly. ‘Why will you not sit down?’ they asked. I tried to reason with them saying there was no room, but they could not tolerate my standing, though they were lying full length on the upper bunks. They did not tire of worrying me neither did I tire of gently replying to them. This at last mollified them. Some of them asked me my name, and made room for me. Patience was thus rewarded. I was dead tired, and my head was reeling. God sent help just when it was most needed. In that way I somehow reached Delhi and thence Calcutta. The Maharaja of Cassimbazar, the president of the Calcutta meeting, was my host. Just as in Karachi, here also there was unbounded enthusiasm. The meeting was attended by several Englishmen. Before the 31st July the Government announced that indentured emigration from India was stopped. It was in 1894 that I drafted the first petition protesting against the system, and I had then hoped that this ‘semi-slavery,’ as Sir W. W. Hunter used to call the system, would some day be brought to an end. There were many who aided in the agitation which was started in 1894, but I cannot help saying that potential Satyagraha hastened the end. For further details of that agitation and of those who took part in it, I refer the reader to my Satyagraha in South Africa. 138.

• From The Story of My Experiments with Truth (An Autobiography) (1927)

  operation for fissures. As I recuperated, my desire to live revived, especially because God had kept work in store for me. I had hardly begun to feel my way towards recovery, when I happened casually to read in the papers the Rowlatt Committee’s report which had just been published. Its recommendations startled me. Shankarlal Banker and Umar Sobani approached me with the suggestion that I should take some prompt action in the matter. In about a month I went to Ahmedabad. I mentioned my apprehensions to Vallabhbhai, who used to come to see me almost daily. ‘Something must be done,’ said I to him. ‘But what can we do in the circumstances?’ he asked in reply. I answered, ‘If even a handful of men can be found to sign the pledge of resistance, and the proposed measure is passed into law in defiance of it, we ought to offer Satyagraha at once. If I was not laid up like this, I should give battle against it all alone, and expect others to follow suit. But in my present helpless condition I feel myself to be altogether unequal to the task.’ As a result of this talk, it was decided to call a small meeting of such persons as were in touch with me. The recommendations of the Rowlatt Committee seemed to me to be altogether unwarranted by the evidence published in its report, and were, I felt, such that no self- respecting people could submit to them. The proposed conference was at last held at the Ashram. Hardly a score of persons had been invited to it. So far as I remember, among those who attended were, besides Vallabhbhai, Shrimati Sarojini Naidu, Mr. Horniman, the late Mr. Umar Sobani, Sjt. Shankarlal Banker and Shrimati Anasuyabehn. The Satyagraha pledge was drafted at this meeting, and, as far as I recollect, was signed by all present. I was not editing any journal at that time, but I used occasionally to ventilate my views through the daily press. I followed the practice on this occasion. Shankarlal Banker took up the agitation in right

• From The Story of My Experiments with Truth (An Autobiography) (1927)

  FAITH ON ITS TRIAL Though I had hired chambers in the fort and a house in Girgaum, God would not let me settle down. Scarcely had I moved into my new house when my second son Manilal, who had already been through an acute attack of smallpox some years back, had a severe attack of typhoid, combined with pneumonia and signs of delirium at night. The doctor was called in. He said medicine would have little effect, but eggs and chicken broth might be given with profit. Manilal was only ten years old. To consult his wishes was out of the question. Being his guardian I had to decide. The doctor was a very good Parsi. I told him that we were all vegetarians and that I could not possibly give either of the two things to my son. Would he therefore recommend something else? ‘Your son’s life is in danger,’ said the good doctor. ‘We could give him milk diluted with water, but that will not give him enough nourishment. As you know, I am called in by many Hindu families, and they do not object to anything I prescribe. I think you will be well advised not to be so hard on your son.’ ‘What you say is quite right,’ said I. ‘As a doctor you could not do otherwise. But my responsibility is very great. If the boy had been grown up, I should certainly have tried to ascertain his wishes and respected them. But here I have to think and decide for him. To my mind it is only on such occasions, that a man’s faith is truly tested Rightly or wrongly it is part of my religious conviction that man may not eat meat, eggs, and the like. There should be a limit even means of keeping ourselves alive. Even for itself we may not so certain things. Religion, as I understand it, does not permit me to use meat or eggs for me or

• From Macho Sluts (1988)

  I used big words like magic spells to keep the other fetuses away from me. (That was what we called each other, and we lost dessert or even got smacked if the teachers heard us.) I couldn’t tolerate the kids who were as smart as me because they were my competition. And the faster I learned, the faster I propelled myself into classes full of older kids who resented the smartass mouth on my pint-sized body. So I learned even faster to stay ahead of them, get away from them— which landed me in a one-year, college-prep program at the ripe old age of fifteen. I wasn’t the youngest one there, but I came close. For a while I thought I would be a historian. But there aren’t many gigs in esoteric fields like history, unless you have a minor in political education. Then you wind up writing draft propaganda for the Ministry of Self-Defense or some eagle job like that. Doctors, though, they always need more doctors. I wasn’t too sharp in the hard sciences, but I had a hell of a class consciousness that I hoped would make up for it. See, doctors are part of the elite. They almost never get remanded to rural re-education even if they get caught doing abortions. Sometimes the courts sentence them to learn to take joy in the dignity of labor, but they usually wind up just doctoring the inmates and guards and any farmer within traveling distance. The powers that be (that-aren’t-supposed-to-be) get worried about subversion and intellectualism in such a powerful profession. I tried to make it clear that wouldn’t be a problem with righteous little jargon-spieling me. The college-prep program was a privileged slot no matter where you were headed. I had a room of my own. This was supposed to leave me with lots of peace and quiet to concentrate on my studies. But it also gave me freedom to do other things, things I had wanted to do since childhood. Like masturbate. Sex was problematic in group care. (Not that there’s any place where it ain’t.) Adults are free to form loving, egalitarian relationships. And since you are free to do that, why would anybody want to do anything squalid like fucking strangers? There’s no law against adultery or sodomy, but most people think if you’re not saving it for your mate, you are either exploiting someone, being exploited, or (what’s worse) wasting time. Children are obviously too young to form relationships, but they do have to be protected from sexual abuse by adults or bigger children. The workers and teachers are too busy cleaning up, giving lessons, and reinforcing good work habits and androgyny to tell you about sex, except for routinely discouraging the boys from paying too much attention to their winkies. They don’t touch you because they are all paranoid about being reported for “fondling.” I don’t remember being left alone long enough to fool around with other little kids.

• From Take Back Your Life: Recovering from Cults and Abusive Relationships (2000)

  Former members sometimes believe that depression, worry, or illness is sure to hound them (and their family) forever. Remember such phobias and distortions have nothing to do with reality, but rather have been instilled by the cult. 6. Magnification (catastrophizing) and minimization. Magnifying members' faults and weaknesses while minimizing strengths, assets, and talents is common in cults. The opposite holds true for the leader. This trend has to be reversed in former members in order for them to rebuild selfesteem, although reaching a balanced perspective may take time. Feedback from trustworthy, nonjudgmental friends may be helpful here. 7. Emotional reasoning. In groups that place emphasis on feeling over thinking, members learn to make choices and judge reality based solely on what they feel. This is true of all New Age groups and many transformational and psychotherapy cults. Interpreting reality through feeling is a form of wishful thinking. If it truly worked, we would all be wealthy and the world would be a safe and happy place. When such thinking turns negative, it is a shortcut to depression and withdrawal-"I feel bad and worthless; therefore I am bad and worthless." 8. "Should" statements. Cult beliefs and standards often continue to influence behavior in the form of should, must, have to, and ought to. These words may be directed at others or at yourself; for example, if you think, "I should be more perfect." The result is feeling pressured and resentful. Try to identify the source of those internal commands. Do they come from the former cult leader? Do you truly want to obey him anymore? 9. Labeling and mislabeling. Ex-members put all kinds of negative labels on themselves for having been involved in a cult: stupid, jerk, sinner, crazy, bad, whore, no good, fool. Labeling oneself a failure for making a mistake (in this case, joining the cult) is mental horsewhipping. It is over-generalizing, cruel, and, like the other cognitive distortions, untrue and self-defeating. Labeling others in this way is equally inaccurate and judgmental. If there must be labels, how about some positive ones? For instance, you could see yourself as trusting, idealistic, imaginative, dedicated, or loyal. io. Personalization. A primary weapon of cult indoctrination is to train members to believe that everything bad is their fault. The guilt that accompanies this sort of personalizing is crippling and controlling. You are out of the cult now, so it is important to take responsibility only for what is yours. These ten cognitive errors are all habits of negative thinking deeply ingrained by cultic thought-reform processes and indoctrinations. Tendencies toward these errors may have been in place before cult involvement and may have enhanced vulnerability to recruitment or susceptibility to the cult's practices. When these kinds of destructive thinking patterns are present, it's no wonder that former members sometimes feel depressed. The good news is that, like any habit, these self-loathing patterns of thinking can be discarded through awareness and practice.

• From Tipping the Velvet (1998)

  We said good-night in our usual way, but then we both lay wakeful. I could hear her creaking about in her bed upstairs, and once she went out to the privy. I thought she might have paused on her way, outside my door, to listen for my snores. I didn’t call out to her.Next morning I was too tired to study her terribly hard; but as I set the pan of bacon on the stove, she came to me. She came very close, and then she said, quite low - perhaps so that her brother, who was in the room across the passageway, might not hear: ‘Nance, will you come out with me tonight?’‘Tonight?’ I said, yawning, and frowning at the bacon, which I had put too wet into a too-hot pan, so that it hissed and steamed. ‘Where to? Not collecting subscriptions again, surely?’‘Not subscriptions, no. Not work at all, in fact, but — pleasure.’‘Pleasure!’ I had never heard her say the word before, and it seemed, all of a sudden, a terribly lewd one. Perhaps she thought the same, for now she blushed a little, and took up a spoon and began to fiddle with it.‘There’s a public-house near Cable Street,’ she went on, ‘with a ladies’ room in it. The girls call it “The Boy in the Boat ...”’‘Oh yes?’She looked once at me, and then away again. ‘Yes. Annie will be there, she says, with a new friend of hers; and perhaps Ruth and Nora.’‘Ruth and Nora too!’ I said lightly: they were the two girl-friends who had turned out sweethearts. ‘Is it to be all toms, then?’To my surprise she nodded, quite seriously: ‘Yes.’All toms! The thought sent me into a fever. It was twelve months since I had last passed an evening in a room full of woman-lovers: I was not sure I still possessed the knack. What would I wear? What attitude would I strike? All toms! What would they make of me? And what would they make of Florence?‘Will you still go,’ I asked, ‘if I don’t?’‘I rather thought I might...’‘Then I’ll certainly come,’ I said - and had to look quickly to the pan of smoking bacon, and so didn’t see whether she looked pleased, or satisfied, or indifferent.I passed a fretful day, picking through my few dull frocks and skirts in the hope of finding some forgotten tommish gem amongst them.

• From Lady Chatterley's Lover (1928)

  His relatives treated her quite kindly. She knew that the kindliness indicated a lack of fear, and that these people had no respect for you unless you could frighten them a little. But again she had no contact. She let them be kindly and disdainful, she let them feel they had no need to draw their steel in readiness. She had no real connection with them. Time went on. Whatever happened, nothing happened, because she was so beautifully out of contact. She and Clifford lived in their ideas and his books. She entertained ... there were always people in the house. Time went on as the clock does, half-past eight instead of half-past seven. CHAPTER III Connie was aware, however, of a growing restlessness. Out of her disconnection, a restlessness was taking possession of her like madness. It twitched her limbs when she didn't want to twitch them. It jerked her spine when she didn't want to jerk upright but preferred to rest comfortably. It thrilled inside her body, in her womb, somewhere, till she felt she must jump into water and swim to get away from it; a mad restlessness. It made her heart beat violently for no reason. And she was getting thinner. It was just restlessness. She would rush off across the park, and abandon Clifford, and lie prone in the bracken. To get away from the house ... she must get away from the house and everybody. The wood was her one refuge, her sanctuary. But it was not really a refuge, a sanctuary, because she had no connection with it. It was only a place where she could get away from the rest. She never really touched the spirit of the wood itself ... if it had any such nonsensical thing. Vaguely she knew herself that she was going to pieces in some way. Vaguely she knew she was out of connection: she had lost touch with the substantial and vital world. Only Clifford and his books, which did not exist ... which had nothing in them! Void to void. Vaguely she knew. But it was like beating her head against a stone. Her father warned her again: "Why don't you get yourself a beau, Connie? Do you all the good in the world." That winter Michaelis came for a few days. He was a young Irishman who had already made a large fortune by his plays in America. He had been taken up quite enthusiastically for a time by smart society in London, for he wrote smart society plays. Then gradually smart society realised that it had been made ridiculous at the hands of a down-at-heel Dublin street-rat, and revulsion came. Michaelis was the last word in what was caddish and bounderish. He was discovered to be anti-English, and to the class that made this discovery this was worse than the dirtiest crime. He was cut dead, and his corpse thrown into the refuse-can.

• From The Story of My Experiments with Truth (An Autobiography) (1927)

  It is your mother’s permission which really matters. If she permits you, then godspeed! Tell her I will not interfere. You will go with my blessings.’ ‘I could expect nothing more from you,’ said I. ‘I shall now try to win mother over. But would you not recommend me to Mr. Lely?’ ‘How can I do that?’ said he. ‘But he is a good man. You ask for an appointment telling him how you are connected. He will certainly give you one and may even help you.’ I cannot say why my uncle did not give me a note of recommendation. I have a faint idea that he hesitated to co-operate directly in my going to England, which was in his opinion an irreligious act. I wrote to Mr Lely, who asked me to see him at his residence. He saw me as he was ascending the staircase;and saying curtly, ‘Pass your B.A. fist and then see me. No help can be given you now’, he hurried upstairs. I had made elaborate preparations to meet him. I had carefully learnt up a few sentences and had bowed low and saluted him with both hands. But all to no purpose! I thought of my wife’s ornaments. I thought of my elder brother, in whom I had the utmost faith. He was generous to a fault, and he loved me as his son. I returned to Rajkot from Porbandar and reported all that had happened. I consulted Joshiji, who of course advised even incurring a debt if necessary. I suggested the disposal of my wife’s ornaments, which could fetch about two or three thousand rupees. My brother promised to find the money somehow. My mother, however, was still unwilling. She had begun making minute inquiries. Someone had told her that young men got lost in England. Someone else had said that they took to meat; and yet another that they could not live there

• From Macho Sluts (1988)

  The newcomer did not know why he was telling this plain, unsmiling leatherman about his bizarre, secret fantasies, asking him questions and accepting his suggestions. He did not know he was nervous and needed to be patted on the head and pointed in the right direction. It was easy to confess his lack of experience and his longstanding fascination with leather. Like most other raw recruits, he thought leather was synonymous with S/M, and S/M meant being whipped. He did not know how rare this ritual actually is. The grave stranger was knowledgeable and reassuring. He drew verbal thumbnail sketches of the half-dozen tops who were hunting in the bar that night, and told him which one he needed to meet—an older man, graying at the temples, with the build of a boxer and sad eyes. His name was Roger, and he had a protective instinct toward novices; it was almost a reflex for him to take a courteous one home. Before he could say “whips and chains,” Curt was leaning his head on the master’s chest and whispering, “Sir, may I buy you a beer, sir?” The gesture was too touching, the offer too well-bred to be rejected. When the boy returned with the cold, sweaty bottle, he was ordered to tell his story. It came out easily, since he had rehearsed it in the corner with the sympathetic stranger. He was not surprised when the big man put a hand around his throat and guided him down to the floor until he knelt with his cheek pressed against the warm denim that covered the master’s cock. Curt wrapped his arms around the thighs encased in latigo, smelling of motor oil, and felt that he had come home. But he was surprised when the stranger (he had already forgotten exactly what he looked like) loomed near and inquired if he, “the boy,” had given offense to the master. Roger scowled and said he had not known the boy was in anyone else’s service. Before the pawn could deny this, the stranger said, “Sir, he is not in my service. But I pointed you out to him and suggested he introduce himself. I would hold myself responsible if you were not pleased.” Placated, the master relaxed, and the upshot of the matter was that all three of them left the bar together, to game in one of the city’s better-equipped arenas. This master’s forte was whipping. In his black room, he had a large collection of English hunting crops, nautical cats, Scottish tawses, monks’ flails, and Australian quirts on display under glass. The spoiler gave each one a separate scrutiny and made a quiet comment or two that showed his appreciation of their history and construction. These implements were not for use. But the walls of the master’s inner sanctum were hung with enough modern copies to flog the entire mutinous crew of an aircraft carrier.

• From The Story of My Experiments with Truth (An Autobiography) (1927)

  acquainting him with all the facts. Thanks to this letter and to Dr. Mehta’s efforts in the matter, the return journey though on deck was less unbearable. In Rangoon my fruitarian diet was again a source of additional trouble to the host. But since Dr. Mehta’s home was as good as my own, I could control somewhat the lavishness of the menu. However, as I had not set any limit to the number of articles I might eat, the palate and the eyes refused to put an effective check on the supply of varieties ordered. There were no regular hours for meals. Personally I preferred having the last meal before night fall. Nevertheless as a rule it could not be had before eight or nine. This year 1915 was the year of the Kumbha fair, which is held at Hardvar once every 12 years. I was by no means eager to attend the fair, but I was anxious to meet Mahatma Munshiramji who was in his Gurukul. Gokhale’s Society had sent a big volunteer corps for service at the Kumbha. Pandit Hridayanath Kunzru was at the head, and the late Dr. Dev was the medical officer. I was invited to send the Phoenix party to assist them, and so Maganlal Gandhi had already preceded me. On my return from Rangoon, I joined the band. The journey from Calcutta to Hardvar was particularly trying. Sometimes the compartments had no lights. From Saharanpur we were huddled into carriages for goods or cattle. These had no roofs, and what with the blazing midday sun overhead and the scorching iron floor beneath, we were all but roasted. The pangs of thirst, caused by even such a journey as this, could not persuade orthodox Hindus to take water, if it was ‘Musalmani.’ They waited until they could get the ‘Hindu’ water. These very Hindus, let it be noted, do not so much as hesitate or inquire when during illness the doctor administers them wine or prescribes beef tea or a Musalman or Christian compounder gives them water. Our stay in Shantiniketan had taught us that the scavenger’s work would be our