Still having afternoons where I feel crappy and angry and frustrated and “I hate my life”. Everything I do seems stupid and pointless and I can’t remember why I do anything at all when it is all so worthless.

This blog is the only worthwhile thing I do, and that only keeps me busy for an hour or so a night. And yet that dreadful inner paralysis is keeping me from starting anything newer and more challenging.

I am increasingly convinced that I could put together a pretty hilarious skit comedy podcast. It would be the perfect way to do the skit com that I have always wanted to do without a whole lot of technical complications like sets and actors and lighting and stuff. All I need to be able to do is capture decent audio.

It doesn’t have to be super high resolution, as it will be mostly voice and voice is surprisingly undemanding on some levels. But it has to be clean, clear, and comprehensible, otherwise it will sound like ass and people will not want to hear it at all. let alone long enough to appreciate my brilliant writing.

But it still requires that leap from idea to action and my paralysis makes that a lot harder. Deep down, I am still a scared little animal who wants to hide all the time and doesn’t want to do anything that means it has to leave its burrow.

Even something as simple as just trying something new, alone, with nobody here to judge me if I fail and with no obligation to ever share the results with anyone, seems like it is fraught with unimaginable danger.

After all, it might not go well, and I might end up all confused and unable to keep the thread of what I am doing in mind and feel lost and panicky, and if it goes badly my inner demons will punish me hard enough without the need for anyone else.

I have realized recently that I am constantly feeling humiliated and ashamed of not just things I do wrong, but things I think I should be able to do better, and I am heavily weighed down by the constant feeling that whatever I am doing, I am doing it wrong, and it’s not good enough, and any second someone will come along and take it away from me and make me feel like a horrible person for even thinking that I might actually be able to do something.

It is that feeling that pushes my anxiety and feeling of exposure. Even when I am all alone, I feel like I am a stumbling idiot who does everything wrong and who should not bother even trying.

Whatever I do, it’s never enough.

That song pretty much summarizes how I feel

And it’s all internal. My therapist keeps slipping into thinking that “someone in my past must have said these things to you”, and he’s note entirely wrong. My sister Catherine told me I was useless when I was just a little clumsy kid with undiagnosed bad eyesight and a sincere desire to help but a tendency to not do so well at it, at least at first.

I am pretty sure that cut me quite deep. But what can you do? We were all children at the time.

But other things, like feeling like nobody wants me around or that I am a disgusting horrible thing, that is entirely internal. Nobody ever told me those things. They are just conclusions I reached on my own based on how I was treated.

Clearly, this does not quite fit my therapist’s internal script. He is used to patients who have been outright abused or grossly neglected or both, and the resulting journey being one where you get the patient to confront the people who told them those things (on some level) and tell them they were wrong.

The sort of neglect I experienced does not fit that script, exactly. He is right in saying that I should confront my family about how they treated me, but it’s not quite as simple as taking words they said and refuting them.

Last session, we also discussed that letter to my father that has been lurking in potentiality for a long time. I feel like I am closer to writing it than ever before. I no longer feel like I would explode with frothing rage if I even tried to open that particular can of worms. As I get better at integrating my anger/lust/passion/etc into the rest of my psyche, dealing with pools of latent rage from the past seems less dangerous. I no longer fear annihilation from it all.

But it will still be an emotionally wrenching thing to do, and not at all fun, so I keep putting it off. It would definitely do me a lot of good, but I still can’t imagine actually doing it yet.

It will probably have to wait for one of those times when I feel just awful. Those are often the times when I start new things or get things done, because whatever pain or discomfort will come from doing it seems tiny compared to how bad I already feel.

It is a perverse way of living, but it’s what I got.

Of course, I have no idea when any of this shit will actually happen. My frustration is clearly building towards some kind of crisis, some sort of emotional cloudburst to clear the air and calm me down, and hopefully that will provide either the energy or the clarity for me to make serious changes.

Until them, I am stuck in this stupid pointless life of mine where all I do is bide my time before the Reaper comes to take my fat unhealthy sedentary carcass off the scoreboard.

I want so much more for myself, and I know I am capable of wonderful things.

But they all require crossing that vast chasm between myself and real action.

And I just can’t seem to do that yet.

See you tomorrow, folks.