Don’t worry, it’s not emthat/em kind of giving up. I still want to live.

But it has occurred to me that I would be far better off if I just gave up trying to control things, trying to predict things, trying to plan things, and all of that.

I would be, in short, better off if I didn’t think much past tomorrow and lived my life entirely for pleasure and fun. A kind of enlightened yet shallow hedonism.

It sounds a tad extreme, I know, but I am the sort of person for whom the occasional drastic measure works a lot better than a lot of fiddly little halfassed incremental measures.

And I am just so tired of trying to fight the tide. I want to learn to surf it. (Remember, if it swells, ride it. ) Or at least learn to float.

We are not, after all, in control of our lives. Not fully. Our individualist culture teaches us that we are captains of our own fate, that we can do anything if we just try hard enough, and that therefore everything that happens in our life is our fault. As if we are all the authors of the book of our lives.

But it is just not that simple. Life is a lot more like a Choose Your Own Adventure book. You make your own choices, sure, but you don’t get to write the book. You just get opportunities to choose from a limited list of options.

So for the most part, we need to ease up on ourselves. I know I do. I think an application of a very precisely defined apathy might just be the only way out of this forest of aversion and self-loathing (intimately connected) that I find myself in.

No negotiation, no puzzling, no intense self-analysis and judgment. Just a great big FUCK IT to the world. There is nothing I am supposed to be doing. There is nothing I should be doing. There is nothing that I owe the world or other people besides a modicum of good behaviour.

I am free to just do whatever makes me happy, and let the chips fall where they may.

That is a pretty radical statement coming from me, but I like it. It gives me something to use against all the worries and doubts and aversions and perversions of my storm toss’d soul. No argument, just : FUCK IT.

Like dealing with a difficult child. No argument, no negotiation, this is HOW IT SHALL BE. There is really something to said for picking the right moment to stop being reasonable.

Historically, I have been the opposite of that. I had such a weak and evanescent sense of self that anything could overwhelm it and leave me hating myself for any number of reasons, mostly specious.

And the thing is, that is easier. Sure, being constantly torn apart by the dogs of self-loathing is horrible, but it’s familiar, and it requires absolutely no potentially risky investment of effort.

So much energy inside me, and yet so little determination. Because determination requires faith in oneself. and I have no faith in myself because I know I always cave under the slightest resistance.

Heck of a catch, that Catch-22.

Well it is time I hit ctrl-C on this damned loop, or at least ctrl-break. I deserve better than this. I need to say that as often and as firmly as I can.

I deserve a real life, with relationships, a vocation, paid work (not necessarily the same thing), recognition of my peers, status in the community of my choice, and basic human dignity.

I have nothing to be ashamed of. I have been very ill, and I am not out of the woods yet. I am an intelligent, sensitive, creative, talented dude and if the world was fair I would be a success by now.

But the world is not fair, and I got stuck with a serious disease for twenty fucking years of my life. A disease that actively prevents its own treatment. A disease that I did not even know I had for at least half of that time. (I had heard of depression, but associated it with people who slit their wrists or jump off bridges. I did not know that most depressives do not do that, and there was such a thing as quiet depression. )

I really want to pick myself up, brush myself off, and start all over again. And that is good. What I need to avoid is letting that desire rage out of control and force me into a position where I hate myself for not getting there fast enough.

That is just pure insanity. The process will unfold all the faster if I can just keep from trying to interfere with it. I will gain more vitality and life energy from a life of casual relaxed hedonism than one of pressure, judgment, and self-loathing.

It’s not like I am doing super well under the previous regime. At some point, you have to stop banging your had against the wall and start looking for a fucking door.

Now whether I can pull this transformation off is uncertain, but hey…. that’s okay too. The drive for sure things and the connected radical aversion to risk is an affliction, and worse than anything that could happen if you just loosen up and gamble from time to time.

You can’t always know where the road will lead before you set foot on it… but you will never know if you don’t explore.

I bet I was one of those babies that didn’t explore his environment unless he was unhappy. That is my basic temperament. If I am happy where I am, I stay there. I have no inherent urge to explore, not in the physical sense anyhow.

In the mental sense, I am a restless adventurer constantly exploring and testing new paths. That’s kind of what we brainy introverts do when we are in our inner world.

We explore it.

It has occurred to me that I care about a lot of stupid shit that is not even within my control.

Now I am not talking about philosophical or political caring. I am now and will always be implacably dedicated to the pursuit of the higher compassion. Nothing can change that.

No, I am talking about stupid petty personal things which I not only care about, I blame myself for.

For example, if I am talking to someone and the conversation dies, it’s my fault. I’m dull, I’m boring, it’s my job to keep the conversation going with questions and insights, and so any awkwardness coming from a conversational pause is my fault and I suck.

One can easily see how that sort of thinking leads to very low self-esteem. There is no equality to the system, no sense that it is just as much the other person’s job to keep the conversation going as it is mine. Nope, if there is a pause, it’s my fault for not being interesting and/or clever enough.

This is of particular concern to me lately, as the trend towards internality has continues and I find it increasingly difficult to remain totally focused while talking to people. The parts of my mind that were once readily available to focus on conversation , think of things to say, make predictions as to where the conversation is going, feel for the right moment to speak, and so on are all clogged up with internal processing, and it feels like my mind is filled with a thick heavy fog.

The most alarming part of this is I sometimes find myself fading out when I am the one talking. It’s very dissociative amd disturbing, and I feel like I am losing my grip.

What’s worse is that I don’t think there is anything I can do about it. The fog is just there. I can’t make it go away.

What really bothers me is the idea that my friends think I am ignoring them because they are boring or unimportant to me. Nothing could be further from the truth. I enjoy and value them greatly. I just don’t have it in me to be the twittering little songbird that keeps the conversation going any more.

I try and I try, but it’s like trying to fight the tide.

Why is this happening? Could be a number of things. Could be simply that my physical health is deteriorating and it is taking my intellectual health with it. When I was out and about yesterday, I felt terribly terribly weak. Every step felt like I was wearing a cement suit and my body ached and I felt out of breath.

This has me worried. Also irritated that this symptom presented itself right after I talked to my GP.

There were no chest pains, thank goodness, and at first I assumed it had something to do with my lungs. But I seem to be breathing okay, and that leaves the heart.

It could be that my heart is giving out slowly.

Less dramatically, it could have simply been fucked up blood sugar. I was out of diabetes meds for way too long. It might have simply been that my body did not have enough insulin response to respond to what, for it, was a major uptick in activity.

I was also carrying a somewhat heavy bag. Possibly not a good idea.

It was very frustrating, because usually when I am out and about like that, my body resists at first but then finally accepts that I am going to be moving for a while, and my weak little engine coughs into first gear, and I feel a lot better.

But not yesterday. That second wind never came. Hell, the first wind is still on back-order.

Back to my increasing internality. The positive view is that this is a temporary state as my mind processes a lot of uncorked emotions and therefore needs more and more of my mental CPU cycles to work on it.

The negative view would be that I am simply losing my mind, and it is only a matter of time before my ultimate nightmare occurs and I fall into my own mind completely and totally lose touch with reality, and end up a drooling catatonic in a back ward somewhere, helpless against my nightmares.

Either way, the furniture is definitely in motion in my mind. The process of recovery is moving into a higher gear and I no longer have any control of the process. What has begun must be done. It is as inevitable as a viral infection that has to run its course before the patient is well again.

So it might get worse before it gets better. I might have to spend a lot of time sleeping and a lot of time awake but haunted and eclipsed by the deep mystical truths I must now confront.

Honestly, I would rather do it in my sleep, but some things only happen in the light of day.

It is good, though, that this train does not stop. If it was optional, I might chicken out and get off.

That would only lead to stagnation, though, and I have had quite enough of that, thank you. I burn for freedom from my self imposed cage. My skin craves sunlight and fresh air. There has to be a way that I can feel clean.

So the recovery process will continue. I might be able to slow it, but I could never stop it. And deep down, I ache for transcendence and transformation.

I have been this version of me for far too long. I am so tired of being the world’s oldest caterpillar.

So if I have to walk through the valley of madness, if I have to tread the tightrope over the pit of insanity in order to find my promised land, so be it.

If all else fails, I can just go crazy.

I find that oddly comforting.