Again with the sleepiness

Having a sleepy period. It’s very annoying. I want to DO things!

Been playing a lot of Witcher 3 : The Wild Hunt lately. It’s the game I got for my birthday from a very dear online furry friend. He’s so sweet.

And it’s quite good. Its main asset is its depth. There is an amazing amount of content to explore. And some of it is extremely well written, if rather dark.

But I can do dark. Dark works for me. If I wasn’t in a position where I can fight the dark at least some of the time, it would depress me. But in the game, I am the hero, and I can fight the darkness and prevent it, or at least exact justice for it.

Here’s an example of the high grimdark quotient of the game : on one of the shorter and less complicated quests, I am hired by a man to find his wife. I talk to the sister of said wife as part of the investigation, and she is quite sure that her sister is dead after having wandered off into the swamp alone. And so there’s no need to investigate further, really, because I will never find the body. She also goes on about what a great man her brother in law, the guy who hired me, is.

That is, of course, suspicious as fuck, and I (the player) am convinced she killed her sister in order to get the guy who hired me (we’ll call him Neville) all to herself.

I investigate further, and discover an underground passage underneath the place where Neville and the sister (let’s call her Bitch) live together. When I enter the cave, Bitch shows up and offers me double whatever Neville’s paying me to stop investigating right now and just tell Neville that she’s dead. I, of course, decline. Homey don’t play that. In said passage, I find the remains of Neville’s wife. She’d dead alright. Ripped to pieces by something very strong and very big. with long sharp claws. There’s also some tufts of fur, scattered bones of animals, and bloodstains on the wall.

This all points to the murderer being a werewolf. I wait until nightfall, hoping to trap the beast. Sure enough, there’s a werewolf in the cave when I return. I fight it and almost kill it, then just as I am about to deliver the fatal blow,. Bitch shows up and pleads for me not to hurt the werewolf because it is, in truth, (dramatic REVEAL!) the werewolf is Neville, the man she loves.

She confessed to having lured her sister down into the cave, knowing that it was the place Neville went in order to isolate himself when it was time to wolf out.

She claims she only meant to scare her away from wanting Neville by letting her see her husband as he changed. But now he knows why his mouth tasted of blood when he woke up the morning. He had killed his wife, the woman he loved more than anything in the world, while a werewolf. And now he knew.

At that point, I had a choice. Kill him right then and let Bitch go free, or stand back and let him exact brutal revenge on Bitch.

Going against my usual preference for maximum nobility, I let him kill Bitch. She made him kill his wife and wake up with her blood in his mouth and (presumably) some of her in his stomach. I couldn’t kill Neville, whom she had so deeply wronged, and let Bitch, the one who did it to her, go free.

So chomp chomp, he kills her, then begs me to kill him because he has nothing left in the world and can’t live with the knowledge of what he’s done, and is tired of living with his curse. I grant him this mercy.

That’s typical of the tone of the game, which is, I think, a major factor in its universal appeal. For a lot of people, a storyline like that would be impressively dark and moving and grim, and that could be transformational for some people.

But I have had depression for a long time and to me, that storyline  is just another day. A day in which my grimly dedicated services are needed to resolve a situation, even if that resolution leads to two deaths.

On a lighter note, I have figure out that the character I play, Geralt, is basically Christopher Lambert. You know, the guy who played Raiden in the Mortal Kombat movie?

I mean, look at him :

There can be only one… lawsuit?

He’s got the white hair, he’s got the rough unshaven facial features, the same grim look.

And this is what he sounds like :

The accent seals it for me. I actually thought they might have gotten Lambert himself to do the voice. But no, it’s this guy doing a Lambert impression :

That’s Lambert alright. Not that I mind. Lambert’s a very cool actor and it’s very cool to see “him” in a role with decent writing, unlike a lot of his vehicles.

But I wonder how he feels about it.

Oh, and for a long time, the game would freeze up for 2-7 seconds at random intervals. And I put up with it because it’s a great game. But after having tried eight or nine other things that the Internet suggested, I finally found one that works. Yay!

That will make playing a lot less aggravating. Although, truth be told, I had adjusted to the pauses to such an extent that I didn’t even notice them half the time.

And that’s weird.. Where was my mind going while I waited?

It made me feel like the game was winning. So I had to find a solution before this missing time thing did not creep into my life.

I mean, sure, it would be nice not to subjectively experience annoying delays and skip a lot of waiting for things.

But I am pretty sure that spacing out all the time would be pretty freaky to others and not at all how a sane person behaves.

And sanity is my goal, distant though it might be.

I can’t even imagine what it would be like to sane. I have been depressed for my entire life, starting when I got molested at the tender age of 3.

But I will get there. Some day I will catch up to that massive emotional backlog and free myself of all that ice around my heart and walk, healthy and dry, in the sunlight.

Until then, all I can do is keep plodding along.

Luckily, I am very good at that.

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.

 

 

 

 

There’s these moments

For the most part, I don’t experience my depression consciously. It’s like a software virus that lurks among the background processes of my mind, and has a profound effect, but as a survival mechanism, I have learned to screen it out and pour myself into my distractions and shut out nearly everything else in order to keep my mind too busy to let the bad thoughts get in, most of the time.

It’s not a good coping mechanism. In fact, it’s a lousy one… quite maladaptive. It is dependent on me maintaining a very low physical stimulus lifestyle and not venturing outside of my tiny little comfort zone. It requires to spend all or most of my time buried in those aforementioned distractions. So I spend all of an average day  reading, sleeping, using my computer, or eating while watching Netflix. [1]

And this coping mechanism works up to a point. Sure, it sucked 20 years of my life away and is the main reason that I am just getting started with my life at 44, but on the other hand, it kept me alive and away from suicidal thoughts of self-loathing and a panicky desire to escape from being myself no matter what the cost.

There’s been many a time I have wished life had a reset button, or at least let me save my game when I am doing well.

TheComedyGeek = me

I feel lucky that I got the education I did, then found Upwork, a place where I can get paid for doing my writing thang from the comfort of my existing techno-hermit lifestyle.

Anyhow, like I said, most of the time, I can tune my depression out.

But there are these moments…

I never know when they will strike. I assume it’s whenever some part of my emotional healing process has enough of an electrical potential built up that it discharges. [2] One second I will be fine, and the next,  I feel cold and detached and isolated and depressed. It’s like someone threw a bucket of ice water at my soul.

That’s how I feel right now. It’s not that I got bad news, or thought of something awful, or realized I forgot something super important, or screwed up and ended up late and lost again or disappointing a lot of people. [3] Nothing bad happened.

But when I got up from eating and watching Netflix, the icy hold hand of death reached into my soul and froze me inside.

Who knows, maybe it was nothing more than the ghosts and shadows which chase me through my days finally getting a chance to catch up with me.

Or maybe it’s just low blood sugar. Who knows.

Now overall, I am not worried about this freeze because I know I will thaw out again. This is just one of those bits of emotional bad weather I have to endure. This too shall pass.

Not long from now, I will go back to enjoying my “day off” and being in a fairly good mood about stuff. Possibly I will have to hit the soft reset button on my brain and take a nap first. Bit either way, soon, it will be over.

But until then, it’s really fucking cold inside me right now.

Maybe all I really need is a good cry.

I find myself thinking about people who act on emotion more than I do, which is not very hard. A less enlightened side of me always rolls its eyes and shakes its head whenever I encounter such people doing dumb shit that could have easily been avoided if they had just stopped and thought about it for a moment.

But I have no moral standing on that issue. I am cognitively capable of that kind of forethought and planning, but I am far too emotionally immature to pull it off.

Instead, I end up doing things as thoughtlessly as those with far less IQ to draw on that I got, only with less justification.

I suppose that if I was capable of fully embracing a kind of “go with the flow” attitude in my life, I might be able to develop the necessary fatalism to deal with my lack of the emotional muscle to stay in the moment of pondering plans long enough to do it right.

Not total fatalism. Then I wouldn’t plan anything at all, because what would be the point of planning be if everything is going to happen the way it’s going to happen anyway?

Just enough fatalism to limit my compulsive attempts to control outcomes and give myself a hearty helping of forgiveness for all my flaws.

But I can never be the happy go lucky person part of me wants to be. Part of me will always be a worrier and a planner and even an organizer at times.

SO I can’t do either path, really. I will always be suspended in the middle of the n-space between a thousand different dualities, unable to pick between A and B because to choose either would mean losing part of myself.

And I have too little substance to me as is.

Maybe that’s immature, though. Maybe there is no real growth without a sacrifice of self. Maybe the only way to be strong is to choose who you are and stick with it so you can nurture it and let it grow.

Maybe I just need to learn to live with the fact that I only ever get to be this one person with this one particular lifetime to use or lose.

Maybe. But one thing is for sure.

I really need to grow up.

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.

 

 

 

Footnotes    (↵ returns to text)

  1. And if you are wondering. “what about going to the bathroom?”, that counts as reading, because that’s what I do when I am in there.
  2. Would you believe I deleted a metaphor even more complicated and obscure than that one? That one’s the product of a compromise.
  3. I can’t stand even the thought of disappointing people or letting them down because I know how badly I take that kind of thing and don’t want to ever do that to someone else.