I wonder what it’s like to think clearly.

As patient readers know, I live my life in a mental fog. It varies in thickness and obscurity, but it’s always there. To get any thinking done, I have to push against it. As a consequence, every little thought has to push through some resistance just to be thought. This is especially true, of course, for complex thought. Especially if it involves heavy use my executive function. ^[1]

This fog is the main reason I am so absentminded and clueless despite my stratospheric IQ. Things I should remember and things I should be aware of in my environment get lost in the fog, and I end up fogging things up.

Ha ha ha.

And the fog is always crowding in, taking over whatever parts of my mind it can, trying to crowd me out of my own headspace. My greatest fear is that one day it will win, and I will be lost in the fog of my own mind forever, unable to find my way back to the real world and helpless against my inner demons.

But in a strange way, I think it has also made me mentally stronger. All that pushing against resistance is like calisthenics for the mind. Add in my unslakeable thirst for mental exercise and it’s no wonder I have such powerful mental muscles.

It’s also what makes my mind such a restless wanderer, always looking for answers and insights. Those lovely moments of clarity when I figure something out are so precious to me because they make me feel like I am seeing clearly, if only for a moment.

As a result, while my outer vision is quite terrible, my inner vision – that inner sight that brings insights – is quite powerful and well-developed. I suppose when you live in a fog you have to learn to make the most of what you can see. And that involves collating and integrating everything you know.

I have talked before aboyt how it’s like the contents of my mind are under constant pressure to assume the smallest shape they can. When I have my insights, it’s like things suddenly fitting together and that mass of info in my mind gets smaller, which feels absolutely sublime.

Call it the Philosopher’s High.

And it just occurred to me that I actually have had times of relative mental clarity. Times when the fog was gone and I was pretty healthy and I felt like I could, at last, really face the world as it was.

They scared the crap out of me.

They also felt good. Exhilirating, even. But the feeling of exposure was profound. That old “naked in the tundra” feeling, or perhaps “naked in the Serengeti” would be more apt because it made me feel like I was surrounded by predators on an open field with no cover and way too many directions danger can come from.

So that fog is there for a reason. It keps me from seeing too much of reality for me to endure and remain calm. It might be a burden but it’s also a security blanket, a suit of armor, and the anesthetic I use to cope with the pain of life.

Of course, my life would be a lot less painful without it. Assuming I could get used to the higher physical stimulation levels without succumbing to panicked mania this time.

It’s really a remarkable feeling. Like being strapped to the hood of an out of control train. You’re enjoying it and scared out of your wits at the same time.

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Hmmm. This buggering off shortly after I get to 600 words is becoming a habit.

So essentially, the fog = my depression. Or at least, that’s how I currently concieve of it. As much as I might rail against it, it is not going to go away any time soon because I still need it. I need its numbing effect and its cooling touch and above all, its ability to keep me from being overstimulated into terror by the real world.

Until I overcome those problems, this icy fog of mine will cling to me like a foul smelling glue. And as long as it is there, I will never achieve the mental clarity I have sought for as long as I have been familiar with the concept.

And no wonder, given what I was working with.

The source of the fog is obvious. My primary trauma – being raped by a stranger at the age of four. When I took my mind away and never truly came back to reality – not fully – it was this fog of mine that kept me on ice and kept those traumatic memories on ice for all these years.

I am picturing the fog as the sort that flows out of a canister of liquid CO2 when you open it now. Cold and deadly and very dangerous.

But also very, very cool.

Ba dum tish.

Of course, starting from that prime trauma, the fog become very good at simply locking bad memories and emotions away, so that subjectively, it felt like I was making those emotions disappear forever.

Not possible, of course. The only way to get rid of an emotion is to express it. Everything else just delays the process and drags your suffering out further.

Mostg of us are walking around with a huge burden of unresolved emotions. For most people. it’s not a heavy enough burden to make them ill.

That’s because, lacking the mental resources of the truly intelligent, they have no choice but to actually feel their emotions and act on them, in realtime.

Luckily, I am far too smart fvor that kind oif weak and feebleminded sanity.

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.