After the fall

I didn’t go to the party.

I stayed home and had my usual Saturday night. Ordered from Pizza Hut, played Skyrim too much. The only difference was that I had done my blogging after lunch, in anticipation of maybe being at a party that evening and hence not being able to blog at my more usual 7 pm (ish) time.

So I logged on to Tapestriest MUCK and was social there instead.

Right now, there is a grappling match going on in my head between the reigning champions, my eternally self prosecuting depression, and the rising contender, my newly formed will to fight that shit.

The up and comer will win eventually. But it will be a battle of attrition.

Right now, normally, I would be beating myself up for not going and calling myself a loser and stupid and pathetic and feeling just terrible.

And for what reason? It’s not like such self-abuse will make it easier for me to make the “right” choice when the next Challenging Thing comes around. In fact, it will only add to the tension attached to the whole subject and thus make me even less likely to make the “right” decision next time because saying no is the easiest, fastest way to escape the tension and pressure.

And what really gets me is that this self prosecuting side of me is the exact same side that would have been punishing me and making me miserable if I had decided to go.

Then it would have been saying I was stupid to have come, I should have stayed home where it is safe, I’m pathetic and everyone here can tell and wishes I hadn’t come either, I should go run and hide somewhere.

That’s because it is a dishonest prosecutor that seeks not truth but the satisfaction of punishment, and hence, I cannot win.

So fuck it.

This persecution persists because it is the only way I can express the flaming ball of rage that burns inside me at all times.

The fact that I don’t seem like I am filled with rage to others is a testament to just how deeply I repress that rage. I don’t vent it externally at all. Ergo there are no outwqard signs of it.

About the only times when it can be seen is when I am talking about politics or ideology, or when I am rising to defend someone I care about.

Surely, my history of getting really, really mad when people I care about are harmed or threatened is heavily informed by this endless rage of mine. It is one of the only route out for my bitter rage and so it lunges at that escape rout whenever it presents itself, and tries to get as much of itself expressed as possible during this brief window of opportunity. So I get super frigging mad.

Like, crazy mad. Perfectly willing to visit extreme harm on people mad.

And that’s the sort of thing that makes me afraid to tap into that rage. Because it makes me feel like harming others. Like I want to Hulk out and go on a Godzilla level rampage of murder and destruction, destroying everything in my path until I could finally go back to being sane again.

And yeah, this fear is probably how my depression guards its primary power source. But that does not mean it can be disregarded. I know for a fact that I am exactly the sort of person who might snap and do something really crazy and bad some day precisely because I have all this rage building up inside me and there is only so much internal pressure any containing vessel can take before it explodes.

I can only hope that if I ever get to that point, I can get the help I need before I do anything explosive. And when I say help. I mean like… commital.

Might do myself a lot of good to be somewhere where it is someone else’s job to control me. I have been holding it all in by myself for so very, very long.

My mind keeps wandering away from the writing today. I must need more sleep.

My point is that I can’t afford to just throw open the pressure valves and vent all that nasty rage all at once. It would take me to Crazytown at bullet train speeds and I have worked so hard to stay out of jail and the psych ward that it would be real shame if I blew it all now.

Actually, I guess there is a third way my rage vents : through video games. I kill a lot of virtual people in Skyrim, and I am not inclined to deny that this gives me the sort of deep atavistic pleasure that the expression of rage as violence brings.

So I suppose, in a sense, I should be glad that I have had video games as a pressure reliever all these years because otherwise I might have turned into one of those neckbeard nerds who hates the world and takes enormous pleasure in trolling people and inflicting as much emotional harm as possible.

Or, ya know,, a murderous psycho. Or at least someone with serious anger issues.

And I would rather die than turn into my father. And I mean that literally.

And, no word a lie, I could be the most downright Satanic trolls out there. I am very good at pushing people’s buttons and there is a side of me that loves fucking with people and making them dance for my amusement and feeling of superiority.

My combination of verbal skills, emotional insight, and sheer diabolical cleverness, plus my trickster nature telling me that all I am doing is forcing people to think. could make me one hell of a chaotic destabilizer.

Hmmm. There must be a way to use that power for good.

Trolling right wing message boards?

That presumes those people deserve to be trolled.

I will have to think about that. In the meantime…

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.