Been thinking about my recent revelation about how I counteract my anxiety by entering into a sort of glassy-eyed optimistic stunned state where I don’t feel anxious – in fact, it can feel kinda good – but where I am functionally very stupid because in order to reach this state, I have to jettison all anxiety-producing mental processes.

And that eliminates most higher brain functions, particularly one of the frontal lobe variety concerned with forethought. And without forethought, bang goes my executive function.

So all that brilliant shiny mental machinery I have developed  for things like planning, caution, and above all analysis lies idle and useless because that’s my mind’s way of getting me through whatever I have to get through despite my anxiety issues.

One thing I realized during therapy on Tuesday was that I learned it from my mother. That’s how she dealt with life too. My mother and I are a lot alike in many ways, and I think one of those ways is that we are both very sensitive and nervous people.

So it was perfectly natural that I was going to follow her example when it came to dealing with my own anxiety. My mother, as the saying goes, dealt with things by not dealing with them, and often seemed, in retrospect, to be living in a kind of dream world where everything was artificially warm and happy and wonderful.

This coping strategy is very common in abused spouses, especially those of a certain era. The abused partner retreats into their own fantasy world, a positive image of the dark domestic fantasy world that the abuser feels they have been denied. The victim’s version is not, however, used as an impossible to meet set of criterion that the abuser ‘s mind uses to justify trying to punish the world into being “right” with their anger.

The victim’s version is, instead, something that the victim’s mind energetically reinterprets reality to fit. This can be at least nominally justified by calling it “looking on the bright side” or similar. But it’s really a rose colored glasses level of active delusion.

Dammit. I started out talking about myself and ended up in “professor mode” instead. I’ve got to keep an eye out for that better.

I have a lot of modes.

Anyhow, back to me. The thing about “stupid mode” is that it only takes out very specific, very high level brain functions while leaving the rest running smoothly. So it’s not like if you were to talk to me when I am in this mode that I would be any less articulate, insightful, witty, or sweet-natured.

No, it would be subtler than that, and thus, more confusing in the end. I would seem to be my usual self, but you would get the feeling that I wasn’t really there. That I was talking to you as if you were a customer at my drive-thru window and I am mostly paying attention to things going on inside the restaurant. Or maybe it would feel more like I am putting on a show for you to entertain you until you leave, preferably soon.

I’m a wizard with mixed messages like that. Part of me wants you to like me and to be a fun person who is good company and a blast to be around.

And part of me wants you to go the fuck away as soon as possible so I can crawl back into my hole and shut out all the anxiety-producing social stimulation bury myself in my distractions until I am calm again.

And I don’t like that I send out these conflicting signals. I want to send clear, friendly, self-possessed and confident signals that don’t radiate anxiety to one and all.

And it goes beyond (or below) anxiety. I have been around people like me – terribly bright but frightfully nervous – and it’s not pleasant. The sheer intensity of it all can tire you out, and make it hard to endure the person in question for very long.

And that’s true independent of whether or not you’re finding them funny or interesting or whatever. Sooner than later, you will want to escape the brilliant white spotlight of their attention and go back to regular reality to recover.

Hmmm,. I’m still technically talking about myself, but not really.

My point is that this “stupid mode” really fucks up my life. I am starting to thing it’s the root of a lot of my problems, like my absentmindedness and my doing dumb shit that, later on, will seem obviously wrong and that I would have seen that if I had just thought about it for two seconds beforehand.

Bu that’s just it. I’m not thinking about things at all. Thinking brings anxiety. Instead, I am improvising. Making things up as I go. And on some level, I do it assuming that my natural gifts will be enough to see me through.

Despite how often that has proven to be very very wrong.

But that’s the thing about this kind of self-destructive optimism. It does not learn from experience. The need for its solace is too great to allow anything as petty as “knowing better” interfere with the cycle.

Instead, I end up just going with my gut, like any common moron.

I suppose it’s all part of the grand integration that is my recovery process. Right now, this brilliant mind of mine only works at fully capacity when I am alone and calm and not stimulated too much.

That’s a pretty artificial and hard to maintain state. If I am to finally come out of this FUCKING shell of mine and walk in the light, I will have to develop my ability to be functional when out in the world, and that means exposure.

If you don’t endure, you won’t adapt.

It’s a terrifying thought, but on the bright side, the idea of coming even halfway close to making my life be as smart as I am is a tantalizing thought.

I have such powerful abilities.

But the person at the controls is still pretty weak.

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.