Otherwise known as “reality”.
A potentially very dangerous notion has been popping into my head lately. And it’s all the more deadly because it appeals to me so much.
The idea is to take the attitude that most of what goes on in the world outside my head is “outer office business” that I do not give the slightest of shits about.
I’ll just chill here in my tiny but very comfy inner office doing my thing like I do. Taking naps, playing games, writing stuff, and leaving the world to take care of itself.
This idea strikes me as both very tempting and extremely wrong. And I don’t know why.
The sense of danger is more easily understood. My escapist tendencies and extremely strong imagination (related?) have always made me feel like I was barely clinging to reality with one hand and that at any moment, I could let go and fall into a solipsistic catatonia where I give up on reality altogether and retreat into my mind completely.
This has always been one of my worst nightmares. I have always assumed that being alone in my own skull would leave me defenseless against my host of inner demons and make me a full time resident of my own personal hell.
But lately I find myself thinking it might not be that bad. Maybe it could be my own personal heaven instead.
Sunshine, blue skies, and fresh air,
Grass and trees everywhere,
A cozy little bungalow
Everyone I love and know
Everything I want, I get
Blazing fast internet
Food and drink’s the very best
Fascinating party guests
Good people ’round me would collect
And every single kind of sex
And all the dials cranked to 11
This is my idea of heaven
So, that happened.
If these attacks of poetry continue I may have no choice but to become a rapper.
Anyhow, finding the idea of turning my back on reality appealing gives me the same feeling of terrible danger that my suicidal thoughts used to give me.
And it would be a kind of suicide, no doubt about that. A metaphysical one, perhaps, or an existential one if you can handle the pretension.
That assumes it is even possible, which it probably is not. No matter how much I might want to turn off all inputs in favor of my inner vision, reality would always creep in.
Like, for instance, when I need to pee. Or eat. Or masturbate.
So unless I could think my way into a coma (nope), I am pretty sure my mental escape plan could not possibly work.
At least, I hope it can’t.
But if it can, I think I would come back to reality eventually. Sooner or later, I would get sick of myself and need fresh input.
I am accustomed to a very rich diet of mental stimulation, after all. Going cold turkey from that might be rough.
Anyhow, so yeah. Maybe letting the outer office take care of itself would be okay.
Might give me a lot more time to learn to be myself.
More after the break.
Escaping into slumber
Like I always say, sleep is death without the commitment.
Put another way, being asleep is the ultimate escape from reality that doesn’t come with a burial plot. When you are asleep, there is no stimulation of any kind from the world and you don’t have to deal with anything at all.
It is the best defense against my depression and anxiety and avoidant personality disorder and against life in general, so it’s no wonder I abuse it like I do.
But we knew all this before. Recently I realized that it goes even deeper than that.
On a deep level, I am always trying to go to sleep.
That’s why the moment I start to feel sleepy, I start heading for bed. My ability to resist sleep is shot as a result. Any time I have to stay awake regardless of sleepiness, it makes me very anxious and I feel trapped.
Of course I feel trapped. I am cut off from my favorite escape.
And this speaks to a constant desire to escape period. I suppose that’s a manifestation of anxiety at the deepest level. Even when I am having a good time, part of me wants to run away and find a deep dark place to hide from everything.
And if I feel safe enough, take a nap there. Leave this scary stressful overstimulating messed up cold unfriendly world behind me me for a while.
I don’t want to be this weak. I don’t want to find even my extremely low stress life too much to deal with on a regular person. I want to be strong and vital and tough and able to withstands the stresses of everyday life instead of being scared of the world.
And who know. Maybe I will be stronger once my stents are in. God willin’.
This constant desire for escape sucks a lot of the joy out of life because I can never truly relax and just be happy in the moment. Part of me is always counting down the minutes until I can escape back to my bed.
Even sitting here right now, typing away, part of me is watching the clock and counting how much time I will have to sleep before I get together with J&J at midnight.
And I am hardly miserable. Writing is work but it’s work I enjoy. Yet I want to escape it.
Even when I am hanging out watching stuff off the DVR later with J&J, and we’re having a lovely time, part of me will be calculating how long it is till I can escape.
And it has nothing to do with the company or the activity.
It’s all about this endless drive to escape that pulls me back into myself like an inward tide sucking me down into the depths of my twisted soul.
And I am getting really fucking sick of it.
I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.