Still trying to make peace with my awesomeness.

You know the drill. Super intelligent. Ultra talented. Funny as hell. Sweet guy. People like me. Charisma. Presence. I’ve got it all, baby.

And yet, the minute I stop actively thinking them, all those good thoughts slip silently back into the shadows of my mind and I got back to passively hating myself and thinking I am a worthless sack of shit.

And the unspeakable truth of it is that it feels kind of good when they happens. It feelz like a cozy return to a familiar position where the world makes sense to me again and nothing is expected of me.

Anjd that’s the real dirty little pecker of the problem : I can’t hold that thought in my head because it makes me want to do things,and on a deep emotional level, I’m against that.

I don’t want to be. I just am.

It’s that ol’ anti-action bias working against me again. That paralyzing fear of my own adrenaline. Anything that hints at a possible raise in arousal level is brutally suppressed by the fascism inside me that says that all that matters is safety and it is its job to keep me safe, no matter the cost.

And it’s one hell of a cost. It costs pretty much all of my human potential as well as my chances of having a normal life. The kind with a job and a husband and white picket fences and a high probability of cats.

Well it’s not like we are going to start a family.

My depression’s vastly overzealous interpretation of safety is, in reality, a far worse threat to me than most of what could happen to me way out there in the big bad world.

Really wish that wasn’t the preview for the vid.

Anyhow, sure, my ultra stifling life is worse than that big bad world out there, but at least it’s safe. That’s how crazy the depression’s totalitarian thinking is. When safety is the most important thing, safe misery is preferable to dangerous happiness.

There is so much fear inside me that it stretches from horizon to horizon. I can’t see the end of it. And I have lived at the beck and call of that infernal fear for so long that it is hard for me to even imagine it not being there.

I mean, my God, without that fear being in charge, I would have to actually figure out what I want to do with my life instead of being a full-time depressive.

And that can’t possibly be right.

So that’s part of it too. My fear of facing the existential wasteland that is the infinite hallway of infinite doors. Just thinking about trying to figure that shit out chills me to the bone and making me cringe inside like the scared little animal I really am.

There are so many possibilities. How could I possibly choose?

Perhaps the secret is to develop one of my highly specialized and custom tooled patches of apathy. And not the ennui kind, the kamikaze kind, where I decided I just don’t give a fuck what happens to me and leap head first into the dragon’s mouth.

It’s a good trick, although a tad extreme. But it allows me to turn my fear into a kind of maniacal self-confidence that can really get the job done a lot of the time.

It’s been something I have been pondering lately for some reason. This emotional alchemy of mine. You should see how amazingly self-confident I am as Fruvous sometimes. People would think I never had a fear in my life.

But it’s just the opposite. I hesitate on the edge of the action, torn by fear and hesitation that builds and builds until my “fuck it” switch kicks in and I go in the exact opposite direction of the fear.

So as Fruvous. in text-based roleplaying, I will walk right up to a hot male character and sit in their lap, making myself comfy there, and only then looking up and saying high.

Or I will break the ice with some silly joke about the character’s name, or I will sit next to them at the bar and strike up a conversation, bold as brass.

And the key part of the equation is this ability to reach the point where I don’t give a shit any more and leap screaming into the fray.

Of course, that’s within the safety of a very low stimulus text based version of reality where I am free of the burden of having to be myself and can make myself into whatever it is I want to be.

I can make the outside match the inside and it’s as easy as typing.

The real world is much harder to deal with and has all these arbitrary limitations based on how I look and my gender presentation and my sexual orientation and things that have nothing to do with myself as a person, they were assigned to me by fate.

And there is so much more stimulation in the real world. On all levels, not just the intellectual. There is physical stimulation, and social stimulation, and the problem of navigating the environment, and just thinking about it makes me want to crawl back into bed and hide from the world by taking a nap.

I can’t even.

And that’s why I am this riduculously gifted person who does nothing but play video games all god damned day. Depression freezes me in place if I even start thinking about an actual course of action, let alone choosing one.

And until I can escape that frosty prison that I outgrew twenty years ago and squeezes me so tight it’s a wonder I can breathe, that’s how it’s going to stay.

I can’t pretend that is acceptable. Not if I want to escape.

And I do want to escape.

I just want to stay at the same time.

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.