That’s not nothing

I really ought to give myself more credit in life.

I have done a lot considering my issues. Going to Kwantlen then VFS was a pretty big deal. I wrote a million words in 11 months. I’ve done hundreds of original videos, written 1000 words a day since 2011, written novels, gotten paid to write animation scripts. I wrote, directed, and was featured in my own original play. I started two online communities that are still running strong today.

That’s not nothing. That’s very much something.

And yet, it is so hard for my to really value it. My depression is always there to devalue and discount everything I have done.

It’s the only solution to the conflict between the concept that I have done things that count and that great black devouring darkness inside me.

It can’t count because I don’t feel any better.

I don’t feel any better because it doesn’t count.

It’s a heck of a catch, that Catch-22.

It’s the numbness. That darkness inside me is not some foreign invader. It’s the result of my mind numbing itself as a response to unresolved mental trauma. Like my mind is producing its own anesthetic to deal with all the pain inside me.

ALl that ice may isolate me, but it also keeps me safe. I wear it like armor to protect myself from the world I so greatly fear. Like a turle’s shell, it gives me someplace into which I can withdraw when I can’t deal with the world.

Of course, I would be better at  dealing with the world if I spent less time withdrawn into my shell. Another Catch-22 situation.

My life is full of them.

I guess I feel somewhat better today than yesterday,. The depression is still there but it is slowly fading. I still have a very great urge to hide from the world out of shame for what a horrid piece of shit I am, but it lessens by the moment, and I am sure I will be back to my more usual level of malfunction soon.

I was actually doing quite well until Friday night. I was feeling pretty good about myself. I was managing to remember that I am awesome on a fairly regular basis.

Which makes me suspicious about the whole damned thing. Part of me feels like, somehow my depression orchestrated the whole thing. It’s just a little too convenient that I got knocked down this far right when I was on the rise.

But if part of me really did bring this all about, then my hat’s off to it, because I can’t figure out how it did it.

I have long suspected that what we call fate or destiny or even luck is a result of a deep, deep level of intuition influencing our seemingly normal decisions in order to bring use closer to a certain emotional state or destination. We think we are making our choices based on logic and our immediate emotions, but behind the scenes this deep mind is weighting the scales so that we makes choices that move us closer to its goal.

That’s how people end up in the same situations over and over again, seemingly by chance. No single decision seems suspect and so it is only through seeing the pattern can we get some idea of the tricks our minds are playing on us.

And the desired state is not necessarily a pleasant one. On some level it is pleasing in that it relieves some deep inner fear or tension, but on the conscious level, it may suck.

A perfect example would be the people who keep ending up in abusive relationships. It might seem like they have the worst luck in love or that they have terrible taste in partners, but the truth is that some part of them wants that abusive situation.

Why? Because it’s familiar to them. Because it’s known. It’s a situation they understand. They know who they are when they are in that familiar role. Our minds will put us through a great deal in order to avoid having to deal with the unknown.

That’s the truth behind all that new age bullshit about attracting what you think about and changing that via some repetitive practice, like affirmations or mantras or writing you wishes down every day.

What that is really doing is reprogramming that deep part of you that influences your choices so that it seeks a different state.

And the thing is, this level of our minds involves a level of calculation and intuition far, far, far too complex for the conscious mind to hold. So subjectively speaking, it really does seem like some kind of ouside force is operating on us.

But it’s not fate or destiny or Jesus. It’s our own vast subterranean subconcious minds that are far, far smarter than the interface layer we call consciousness.

Damn it. I wandered off into intellectualization again, didn’t I? It’s so hard for me to tell when I am doing it. Maybe I need to limit my vocabulary when I try to write about myself and my own problems.

Pretty hard to intellectualize when limited to a third grade vocabulary.

Blah blah Donald Trump! *canned laughter*

I don’t know how to overcome my inability to value my own stuff. Perhaps that’s the point. The conscious mind I think of as myself can’t solve this kind of problem by its usual logical, rational, analytical means.

All it can do is try to move to a space where I feel comfortable valuing myself and thus change the state that my deep mind seeks and preserves.

I think that must be what is behind all my talk about new versions of myself. I have to sort of imagine my way towards a new default state. Otherwise, I will keep returning to the same old familiar place at the bottom of a dark cold ocean of depression.

In the immediate future, that means I am going to try to seek out the sorts of things that make me feel better about myself.

Because I deserve to feel good about myself.

After all, I’m a pretty amazing dude.

And it’s time I finally accepted that.

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.



Bleed unto thee

(TO FELICITY : Nothing I write in this blog entry is meant as any form of criticism of you. That’s going to be hard for you to remember, but I want you to hold onto it and know it to be true. Your reactions were not to blame. They were exemplary.)

(To everyone else : tonight’s entry contains detailed and graphic discussion of male urination and its equipment. So don’y say I didn’t warn ya. )

Had a self-esteem crash last night and I have been depressed ever since.

Here’s what went down. I was hanging out with Felicity and Joe at Felicity’s parents’ place, watching videos and enjoy one another’s company like we do, when the time came when I had to get up and go to the guest bathroom to pee.

And this has been an issue with me in the past.

For some reason, when I pee in that toilet, I tend to…. sprinkle. Not all of it end up in the bowl. I dunno what is so different about that bathroom, other than the fact that the toilet is oddly small,. but for whatever reason, I have had difficulties.

And over and over and humliatingly over, I have had to mop upo after myself. I try extremely hard to control my stream with pin point precision, and yet it just keeps happening every time I use that bathroom.

I used to think that it was entirely my fault. I have noticed in the past that sometimes my stream develops a tributory, if you will. A side stream shooting off at a bizarre angle. This is, as you might imagine, very frustrating.

But that was caused by a small sore on the inside of opening of my foreskin, and that sore is long gone, so I know it couldn’t have been that.

Further evidence that it was not entirely a me thing is that I have checked many times to see if the same thing is happening at home, and it isn’t. There’s been some times when there were a few errant drops, usually because my diabetes and/or sleep apnea has made me dizzy and disoriented and thus thrown off my aim.

But it’s hardly a regular thing.

Nevertheless, the problem persists in that particular bathroom and I don’t know why.

Where the depression comes in is that sometimes when I clean up after myself, I don’t get it all, and thus leave traces of my urine behind for some horrified person, probably Felicity’s mother but possibly one of her students, to deal with.

This fact had already filled me with deep shame before last night, but I was handling it.

Last night, Felicity had even gone to the trouble of providing me with a bottle of Windex and some paper towels to aid in cleanup. And they really helped.

It’s just sad that I made her have to do that.

So I pee, and yup, despite doing everything I could to control my stream, it went everywhere. Windex and paper towel in hand, I did as thorough a job cleaning the floor as I could, checking every inch of linoleum. Then went back to watching stuff.

Fast forward to the end of the evening. Two things happened back to back that acted as a severe kick to the groin for my self esteem.

First, as we are packing up, I go to sit on this little couch that is out of the way of foot traffic and was yelled at and told I shouldn’t sit on the good couch.

I had been warned about this before, but I forgot.

But that phrase – the good couch  – really dug deep with me and activated all kinds of issues I have about myself.

It made me feel like a big dumb dirty dog who people only put up with out of pity and who is a major liability to all who know me.

On the heels of that, after assuring Felicity that I had done a thorough job of cleaning up after myself, she does a quick inspection and then reports back to me that not only had I failed to flush, but that I had left drops of urine on the toilet rim.

Seems I had concentrated so hard on cleaning the floor that I forgot everything else.

And that sealed it. Clearly, I am a frighteningly and disgustingly incompetent horror who is a liability to all who know him and who should just stay home all the time because he can’t meet the absolute minimum standards necessary to be allowed around people.

I mena, I’m not even fucking housebroken.

And that sent my mood into the tailspin of a shame spiral and I still have not recovered from it, and it’s been 17 hours and two sleeps since it happened.

So i really feel like scum right now. I’m a disgusting monstrosity. Thqat’s why none of my profs from VFS would give me a recommendation to any job. They knew I would be an embarrassment to them. It’s a wonder that people put up with me at all. I can only assume they do so out of pity.

At least, that’s how I feel right now. But there is one thing that makes this incident better than similar ones in the past.

This time, I told someone how I felt. I told Joe on the ride home that I was feeling really depressed. And that’s quite a big deal for me.

Normally, I never tell anyone about my depression while it is happening. And when I do discuss it afterwards. it’s usually in general terms which make it very easy for me to detach and intellectualize the whole thing.

And very little emotional openness is required.

But to admit it in realtime means opening myself up to another person in realtime, and that is the sort of thing I simply never, ever do.

People can get close to me. I can be a very warm and sensitive and understanding guy. I can look deep into people’s psyches and “get” them, and I am highly empathic.

But I don’t truly open up to people. Ever. In realtime, I am always the lovable funny guy with the unique point of view and a lot of charm.

But not last night.

I actually told someone about it while it was happening.

And I feel good about that.

I will talk to you nice people again later.