But first, damn do I love this song.

Because damn it, that song slaps! Love that upbeat energy.

Reminds me of this earthquake of a booty shaker :

I really hope “butt shaking furry music video” becomes a thing.

OK, everyone all charged up and full of sunshine? Good, because I got to take it way way down now.

That’s the namesake of today’s blog entry, and I chose it because that “winding down” feeling is still with me and it’s starting to worry me.

It feels like every day, everything gets a little harder. Moving hurts more, I have less energy and less motivation, I’m increasingly apathetic about life and what happens to me, and it gets harder to concentrate.

But it could all be in my mind. Maybe this is just a side effect of opening myself up more emotionally and soon I will adjust to this newer, more emotionally rich world and lose the urge to hide away from it all.

On the other hand, maybe something terrible is happening with my health and I really should be talking to someone about all this but, with my particular brand of bitter irony, the condition prevents its own treatment by leaving me too unmotivated to get in contact with my GP.

Or my therapist, for that matter.

I will do what I can to gather my energies for the big move of actually reaching out into the world outside this bedroom to do stuff.

Maybe this is just a Long Sadness. Me going through a long period of sadness due to my needing to feel some bad shit in order to heal while not yet ready to have that total nervous breakdown I have been putting off for a couple of decades.

But I can’t break down. Not really. You know why?

Because there’s nobody out there to rescue me if I do. When that is a fundamental truth of your existence, you know in your soul that to break down is to die so in order to survive you have to keep going no matter what.

I’ve always had to do it all myself. There was never anyone there to help or support me. I’ve been emotionally isolated since my first day of school.

Maybe there were people who were trying to help me. But they were out there, beyond the wall, and so to me, they weren’t even there.

And if I hurt people that way, I am so very, very sorry.

I knew not what I did.

I was just a broken little kid with way more brains than was good for him and a head full of bad wiring and issues nobody could possibly understand without being me.

And what are the odds of that? Million to one.

I’ve spent so long in the cold dark vault of the supercooled superconducting circuits of my impossibly inhuman mind. Thinking I was safe there away everyone and everything that could hurt me, never knowing until it was far too late that the call was coming from inside the house : what was hurting me most was me.

And I don’t know how to stop because I don’t know how else to exist.

One thing’s for sure : my predators are long gone and for my entire adult life, the only one hurting me has been me.

What’s going on out there beyond my personal wall doesn’t matter.

It’s the Abu Graib in my head that hurts the most.

More after the break.

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Your own worst enemy

Finding out you are your own worst enemy is hard to process for a mind raised on traditional heroic storytelling.

You can’t have the good guy and the bad guy be the same person in the model I was raised on. You especially can’t have them both be you.

I mean sure, we pay a lot of lip service to the idea that “the first enemy you must defeat is yourself” and all that jazz, and that sounds cool when the hero’s mentor says it, but we never really explore that in any kind of mainstream storytelling because it’s such a bad fit for individualistic heroics.

For one thing, if the enemy is me, then I can’t attack the enemy without attacking myself, can I?

Right now, I have declared a civil war between the healthy and functional parts of my mind and the remaining diseased and toxic carcinomas of my depression.

But it’s kind of like chemotherapy. Some healthy tissue is bound to get damaged when the chemo attacks the cancer, and you just have to hope it will regenerate when all the fighting is done and the cancer is gone.

I feel so weak and helpless lately. Like I am wilting away. And I have this terrible feeling like the walls are closing in around me. ^[1] Like the tiny island I live on is getting smaller and smaller and the only reason I can’t see it directly is that I am so cut off from the real world that I have no frame of reference to compare it to.

But maybe this is all part of the healing. I’ve said many times that I might have to go a bit crazy in order to become sane. Maybe this is part of that.

If so, it’s probably going to get a lot worse before it gets better. I have so much suppressed bad stuff to feel in order to free me of my deadly burden. I might have to be in a bad place for a long long time.

But I will not give up. I am going to keep pushing my emotions to the surface in larger and larger chunks and continue to drive that dark impostor that is my depression out of my mind forever so that I can finally be free.

And I am willing to go batshit fucknuts insane to do it.

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.