OK, let’s try to assemble a more coherent identity for myself, because right now, I am all over the place and that’s not good.
Q : So who is this Fruvous guy anyway?
A : Oh, he’s great! He’s so witty and funny and sweet. I’ve never met anyone like him before. He radiates warmth and sympathy, and just being around him makes me relax and feel comfortable. And he’s so smart! He is truly one of a kind. I’m happy I met him.
Did I miss anything?
Obviously I was going for a positive spin on everything. After all, if I am going to construct an identity, it might as well be a healthy, self-respecting one.
Now there’s an idea.
And looked at the way I looked at it up there, I am a pretty amazing dude. And I am sure my friends, both fuzzy and human, would agree that I am definitely one of a kind.
And I don’t disagree. Factually. All of those wonderful attributes apply to me and do form a potential foundation for my identity. A good one, no less.
But the facts can only penetrate so far into my mind, heart, and soul and while they penetrate a little further every day, there is still a very stark dividing line inside me where past which the good things stop and everything becomes stark and barren and cold.
And I think part of me – the sick part – likes it that way
Perhaps that line marks the place where the intellectual cage I built around myself to survive being raped as a toddler begins.
I know that there is within me a permanently freaking out critter that screams NOBODY TOUCHES ME and is ready to bite the head off of anyone who tried to get too close.
And that’s bad. Very, very bad.
Because I hate being so alone all the time. And not just on the outside. Yeah, I spend the vast majority of my time alone in my room, but that’s not the part that really hurts.
It’s the inner solitude that feels like it’s killing me. It’s the fact that I have been all alone in my inner world for my entire life that does it. I don’t have any other emotional influences within me – no memories of positive input from others – that I can draw upon to bolster my mood.
I’ve been so heartbreaking alone for my whole life and even now, despite having absolutely marvelous friends in both RL and VR, I still feel isolated and alone on the inside and it’s not hard to see why.
Nobody can get past that line.
That leaves me in a constant state of emotional starvation. And that in turn makes me very, very hungry for any kind of positive emotional input.
Romantic love would be nice. That could help me thaw out. If it was the right dude it might even lead to my finally opening up instead of being sealed inside myself.
Sex could play a big part there. It’s so life-affirming and intimate and joyful.
At least if you’re doing it right.
I mean, clearly this inner famine has to end and that means I need to find whatever I need, inside my head or outside of it, in order to truly open up to the world.
To let the world in. To let people in. To fully commit to being present and alive and real and part of the human race. To breathe free and relax on the inside and end that freaked out little critter’s rage and terror and bring it home at last.
My childhood wasn’t all misery. There were times when I felt good. Sunny days where the sky was blue and the pavement was warm and life seemed pretty okay.
Even happy days spent watching TV and reading.
And I need to remember those days and add them to my inner narrative.
It hasn’t all been bad.
In fact, some of those things were pretty darn good.
More after the break.
The long awakening
Got another one of “those” phone calls at around 10:45 this morning.
The one where one of the nurses at the wound care place (the CCC) calls me up and asks, “Are you on the way here?”.
And I’m like, “No, because my appointment isn’t till 3 PM!”
And the nurse says, “No, it’s 10:45, man. ”
At this point, Julian shows me the actual printed schedule we were given and yup, it says 3 freaking PM on it.
And this just keeps happening.
They move the appointment without telling me. And then I have to go without a bandage change for another three or four days because of THEIR mistake.
Luckily, that won’t happen this time. My nurse had an opening tomorrow at 10:30 am, so Julian and I will be showing up then.
I am getting rather peeved at this damned SNAFUs.
Otherwise I am doing OK. Glad I will be getting my bandages changed after all, although it’s going to be a little weird to have them changed again two days later, at 9:15 am on Friday.
Yeah, you wanna bet we made sure the nurse was on the same page as us THIS time.
I am happy with the depth I have been digging into my own psyche. I am confident that I am slowly mastering the ability to move in the direction of maximum pain and discomfort and thus find the most therapeutically useful insights.
Maybe “insights” is the wrong word. Too intellectual. The real work is all emotional, but sadly the only route I know to the emotional is via the intellectual.
Hence the endless self-analysis. A more emotionally normal person would not have to write thousands and thousands of words in order to heal their own mind.
It would probably just happen. They’d have a big emotional experience, possibly attributing it to their faith, and that would be it.
But us neurotic intellectuals need the help of therapists and journaling and so on.
Because we have to understand everything. We can’t just let things take care of themselves. To us, the very idea seems like madness.
So we’re all at least somewhat crazy.
Ironic, isn’t it?
I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.