Superficially, it might seem out of place for a man with the lifestyle activity level of a particularly lazy barnacle and who has no job, no spouse, no family, and no responsibilities to be telling himself he needs to slow down and relax.
It might, in fact, seem like if I were any more relaxed, I’d be in a coma.
Mmm. A coma.
But that’s just my outside reality. My inner world is harsh and brutal and unforgiving. In fact, one of the biggest breakthrough I have had in the last six months is the realization that I have wild mood swings on a very regular basis but nobody knows because I am alone when it happens.
Or if I am not, like say when I am experiencing a social anxiety panic attack, I am an expert at not letting it show.
So on the outside, I seem, at most, a little dopey and unfocused, on the inside enormous storms of self-loathing, anxiety, fear, and misery are battering me to pieces like a winter hurricane.
And that’s like…. bad.
It happens when I am alone, too. The severity is lower but the phenomenon persists.
I mean, I just spent half an hour sitting on the edge of my bed, stuck in that strange neutral mode I get into like that sometimes. Where I just sit there feeling lost, like a sailboat stuck in the doldrums, with no wind to move me.
It’s a strange but ultimately harmless phenomenon. It’s not like there are super important things I am neglecting to do when I get stuck like that. If I could just chill out and relax about it, it might even be kind of pleasant.
But no, there has to be a voice freaking out and screaming “move! Move already! What’s wrong with you? MOVE!” to make the whole thing unpleasant.
My inner demons are very rude.
With that as my internal reality whenever I am not absorbed in a video game, it’s no wonder that I spend the vast majority of my time there
Of course, if I spent more time in reality, I would presumably get used to it and it would not be so bad there.
But I am so weak, and tired, and scared. I feel so timid and small all the time. Like I am always fading away, shrinking away from life like a mimosa.
And maybe that’s due to my heart issues, at least in part. It would be highly ironic to discover my lack of character was really a lack of blood flow to my heart.
But I felt that way when I was a kid, too, and my heart was probably fine then.
And those mood storms have always been there, too. It didn’t show on the outside because that would have just attracted more attention and my very limited experience, that could never end well.
I tried telling people about my problems when I was a kid. But I didn’t have the words or the courage to really get the point across.
Instead I collapsed at the first sign of resistance.
After all, I knew that is what the authority figures really wanted anyway. For me to just go away and leave them alone.
And I never could resist giving people what they want.
More after the break.
Long live the Queen of Space
Warning, the following may make you hate me. At least a little.
Seems unlikely, I know. but bear with me. And consider yourself warned.
Oh. And it will also be very very weirdly and internally me, but if you know this blog at all, that should come as no surprise.
The thing is, I have conceived of an idea which might help me find a way to help me relate to average people in a way which represents the total me.
The idea is to imagine myself to be the intellectual equivalent of a member of the British Royal Family. Cerebral aristocracy, if you will.
This would be where the hate comes in. Don’t feel bad, it’s perfectly normal. I say some crazy shit sometimes and some of it is bound to offend you.
Go on, get it out of you system. Leave me a comment about what a raving egomaniac I am. Text to your friend that this time, I’ve really lost it. Rant at you cat.
Still with me? Good. Because it’s not as bad as it sounds.
For one thing, this is not something I would literally believe. I am not THAT crazy, thank goodness. Nor would it be something I would tell others (besides you, trusted reader).
No, it is just a prop for my imagination designed to put the big intellectual gulf between me and others in a setting and a context that gives me a role to play and thus vastly reduces my social anxiety.
I am consciously modeling her on the British Royal Family of today because I imagine myself in this role being as benevolently and charmingly useless as they are.
By which I mean, she (I) would see her role as ceremonial but important. The job description would basically be “go around being nice to everyone”, and that is a job that would suit me to a T.
This would greatly diminish the fundamental uncertainty which is at the core of my social anxiety. I would no longer be constantly wonderful what my role is, who I am supposed to be, and what I am supposed to be doing.
Along with the constant feeling that whatever it is, I am not doing it, and thus I am failing quite odiously and conspicuously and everyone hates me now and wishes I would take the hint and go the fuck away.
Man, being crazy sucks.
In fact, if I was on the writing staff of a show like Futurama (but not Futurama, they already have the Space Pope), I would totally write this Queen of Space character into the show as a low-commitment running joke.
She’d just show up as part of the cultural background now and then, much like the British Royals. There would be the occasional news story about her opening a museum or “overseeing” trade negotiations, or the characters would occasionally exchange a bit of harmless gossip, like…
A : Did you hear? The Space Queen is visiting Shanderia Station?
B : Oh that’s nice. They could use bit of cheering up.
She would be entirely non-controversial, genial, and beloved.
Nice work if you can get it, really.
Now, to try on my new mental costume.
I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.
