Today’s been another sleepy day.
No big deal. Like, whatever. It’s not like I had hot plans or anything.
And to be honest, getting caught up on sleep is probably the most productive thing I have done in a very long time.
Sad but true.
The fun twist is that I have started overheating in my sleep again. Waking up all sweaty and with low level heat stroke baking my brain.
Funny thing is, I didn’t realize that had stopped happening till it started again.
Ain’t life a strinker?
Oh well. Hope I will catch up on sleep soon. Maybe even get a glimpse of that ever so rare golden idyll : feeling fully rested.
A guy can dream.
Did the Therapy Thursday thing.
Did most of the talking, which is how I like it. Being listened to by someone sympathetic and understanding does wonders for me. It lets me unload whatever I need to unload in whatever order it occurs to me – kind of like this blog, but faster – while also giving me much needed validation and security.
Must be a little boring for him, though. I can tell he wants to say more sometimes.
But this is my time and I want to talk, god damn it. It’s what helps me the most. I have an enormous amount I need to express and words are the only way I can get them out.
It’s a slow an inefficient mode of self-expression but it’s all I have got.
Occasionally, my therapist. Doctor Costin, suggests I try art therapy. Ya know, drawing my feelings. And I have always rejected the idea because I don’t know how to draw.
My stick figures look like they have cancer.
But the last time he suggested it, it sparked the realization that it didn’t matter. Drawing my feelings would not be about art quality at all. It would be about exploring my feelings in a way that bypasses most of my intellectual interference in a way that could very well tap into those primal feelings that existed before we even learned to talk.
Sounds like fun.
Also dangerous, which is also fun. What can I say, doing a deep dive into the canyons of my mind where my deepest, darkest emotions dwell and where at any second I could stumble across something so powerful and profound it breaks my mind is my idea of a good time, to be honest.
So I might give it a shot. Virtually, of course. It’s not like I have art supplies.
I could get some, I suppose. They say doing it physically really adds to the therapeutic effect by getting that “finger painting” feeling really flowing.
It’s going to be hard enough suspending judgment enough to let things flow, though. I don’t need to add to that by making it all real.
Or something like that.
So who knows, you, kind reader, might get to feast your eyes on some extremely abstract art by yours truly some time soon.
Warning ; the fact that I can’t draw representationally doesn’t mean it won’t be disturbing as all fuck-out.
I’ve got a lot of crazy to unspool.
More after the break.
Controlling the controlling
One of the things that came up in therapy today was the illusion of control.
I’ve spoken about it in this space a few times. Basically, it is the subtle choosing of the feeling of control over actual control.
Like I said before, it’s like Maggie’s little steering wheel and horn in the opening of the Simpsons. The ones stuck to the dashboard.
They aren’t connected to anything and don’t control anything, but they keep her happy.
The nice thing about the illusion of control is that it soothes our need to feel in control of our lives and what happens to us without burdening us with the actual responsibility.
This creates an ideal state where one is free to take credit for one’s triumphs while shifting the blame for our failures to others on an ad hoc basis.
Anyhow, that’s all old news. On to new business..
What I have been thinking about today is my own personal relationship with the illusion of control. Clearly, my need for the feeling of control is great because I feel so unsafe in the world and it causes me to hyper-control my surroundings to the point of not being able to do much of anything or go much of anywhere because the real world is too random and outside of my control for me to handle.
Only within the four filthy walls of this pigsty bedroom, where change is limited to the pixels of my computer screen, can I calm down enough to feel safe.
Well, as safe as I can ever feel, I guess. Safe enough to function.
But this is obvious bullshit. I can’t possibly be in true control of anything or I would not be here, would I?
If I was in control of myself and my life, I would at least have a job and be a functioning and contributing member of society. I’d be living a normal life instead of being some odd sort of anemone stuck to the seafloor and passively feeding off the wastes of worthier folk to survive.
Specifically, I would be able to make myself do the things that could move me into such a position. But I can’t. The barriers within will not allow it. I freeze up inside instead.
No wonder it’s so goddamned cold in here.
There’s frozen intentions everywhere.
So really, I am as out of control as any other breed of lunatic. I am not in control of my actions…. or inactions, for that matter. My lifeboat is sinking and instead of getting busy patching the hole in the hull or bailing myself out, I sit in the center of it all ignoring the screams and explosions and playing solitaire while waiting to drown.
Good thing it’s taking so long. I am sure I still have plenty of time to get off the ship. No need to hurry just yet.
I’ll get off when things get bad enough, I guess.
Now back to my games.
I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.