Kind of like this :
….but not really.
Because I’m not singing to anyone in particular. In fact, it shocks me to the core to realize just how deeply and terrible I gave up on other people entirely.
That’s what happens when you just keep retreating further and further from reality, I guess. You can only be terribly lonely for so long before you become numb instead, like your loneliness center has shorted out from the strain.
And you despair. You stop being capable of believing that things could ever be different, and you turn almost completely inward, and the real world becomes a distant inconvenience that you deal with as little as you can possibly get away with.
And you pay a terrible price for that attitude. Many of them, in fact.
I keep saying that I live my life through screens, but it’s a lot worse than that, actually. Because I could be living a far more active and engaged life through my screens too. I have the entire Internet to use as my playground, springboard. jungle safari, and action filled fun park and instead I go to one place to socialize and everything else is passive.
The closest I get to a social media presence is leaving comments on YouTube.
And that’s not very close at all. Is my point.
Above all, it’s a sealed off existence. Nothing truly gets in and precious little gets out. My exposure to the world outside my capacious cranium is minimal and largely mitigated through the sanitizing chamber of my highly intellectualizing mind.
Through it, I can feel like I am handling things. In fact, I must be handling them so much better than most because I see and understand the world so much better than them.
But that’s some seriously rank bullshit. I don’t handle a god damned thing. Even the most basic of life functions, like those relating to hygiene, go to shit because I am too removed from reality to deal with them.
They are part of that world Out There that I pointedly ignore. That I abandoned a long time ago and left to rot so that I could stay in my inner bunker almost 24/7.
And maybe that’s my real addiction. The one for which my video game addiction is merely a sub-symptom.
My real addiction is fleeing from reality. Withdrawing as deep as I have to in order to escape the largely imaginary demons that come clawing for me as they try to rip me from my comfortable, safe tomb and drag me into the horrid light of day.
How dare they. I’m fine in here. Now let me get back to whining and pining for the day when I will feel the sun on my naked body and feel the fresh, cool breeze of freedom.
Because part of me definitely wants out but I am just too scared. The fear holds me back like suction and keeps me glued to this ragged rotten ridiculous life of mine no matter how much I long for greener pastures.
I know for a fact that I want to go there.
But it’s also a fact that I want to stay here, too. I am stranded in between the two extremes of wanting to escape but being unwilling to let go of what I already have.
And I can’t have both, though not for lack of trying. After all, this dark hole of mine is all I have known for a very long time whereas that big bright happy world outside my cell is so much bigger and louder and scarier than the world in here.
I mean, I guess it looks nice out there. Indeed, it has everything I could even want.
But right now it feels like it would overwhelm me and overload me and kill me before it could do me any good.
Probably not true. But it’s how I feel.
More after the break.
It gets worse, spasmodic edition
I’ve been really spazzing out lately.
Going through one of these periods where I get very twitchy and my proprioception goes all to hell and I keep knocking things over and dropping things and banging my knuckles on things and all the rest.
And as always, it makes me paranoid that I am going to end up a twitching, jerking, spastic pile of palsied muscle who can’t so much as speak any more.
A vivid imagination is such a mixed blessing, don’t you think?
Anyhow, as also per usual, the problem has gotten so bad that it almost seems supernatural. The other night my bucket o’ popcorn fell on the floor, and I swear to God that it was just sitting there near where I sit in the living room perfectly stable and fine and then I felt and heard something hit the bottom of the bucket and the damned thing went ass over teakettle onto the floor.
And just now, I went to get my KFC from the door and my Diet Pepsi was in a cup on the floor next to the bag and I went to pick everything up but spazzed my walker’s wheel forward and kasploosh, there goes my drink, all over the floor. All of it.
I just left it all there. I sure as hell could not have cleaned it up, seeing as just bending down to pick it up was beyond me. When Julian gets home, he’ll see it out there, and possibly figure out what happened.
I wish I could have cleaned it up but I’m broken.
As you can imagine, having all these little things happen is very very frustrating and depressing. And yet another thing eating away at my sense of stability and safety.
Maybe the universe is trying to teach me to do without it. I don’t know.
Maybe this is all leading to me finally getting sufficiently pissed off to angrily make actual lasting important change in my life.
Maybe some day I will look back on this period and be glad it happened because it sparked change that made my life EVER so much better.
But probably not.
I’ll probably just die.
I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.