Not this kind :

But the kind that traps me like a fly in amber in this slow motion train wreck of a life

Still burning. Which is good,

What I am talking about is how. instead of dealing with things, my mind takes the “path of least resistance” and simply edits those things out of my consciousness.

For example, everything in this room is filthy and awful because I never clean. After all, wbhy clean when I can just ignore all the depressing stimuli by staying immersed in my video games or other computer things nearly all the time.

I know the piles of mess and disorder are there. But I don’t “see” them. My brain is a whiz at labeling things as “depressing – ignore” rather than doing what a healthy person would do and actually act on the stimulus of the depressing thing to make it stop being so god damned depressing.

Example : actually cleaning this place up so it doesn’t make me sad to look at or even think about it.

It’s all part of my anti-action bias. If something would normally lead to action, my depression heads it off at the pass and blocks it, with no regard for my long term wellbeing, happiness, or even sanity.

And that, in turn, is the result of my mind and its chemicals over-responding to my anxiety by making me too numb to stimuli to become anxious.

Totally not worth it.

And so in every way and on every level, I am blocked up. Almost all impulses to actually do things – for whatever reason – never even make it through to my consciousness, let alone actually get acted upon.

And I sit here naked in the cold and the dark of my frozen world and wonder why I never feel any love from the world.

I know people love me and care about me. The evidence is incontroversial. And i am a fairly lovable dude. So it’s not like I truly think their love and care is fake or undeserved.

But I don’t feel it. Or if I do, it’s so weak and feeble by the time it gets to me that it warms me about as much as the Sun warms Pluto.

WHICH IS A PLANET.

I want to feel it. I want that more than anything in the world. I would do anything to escape this fucking ice planet and go somewhere sunny and warm and free.

But deep down, below rational access, a much more primitive part of me likes the cold just fine because it offers a false sense of security and protection , and that part of me will veto anytbhing that might actually warm me up some, and label it as dangerous to the current order and the first step on a slippery slope to total madness and anarchy.

My soul is a fascist regime. I have mentioned that many times before. It places safety above any and all concerns and will do whatever it takes, no matter how brutal or deadly, to maintain its idea of “safety”.

Time for a fucking revolution then, says my long denied and super pissed off id.

I like my id now. He’s a fucking monster. But he’s my monster. And he knows now that I am working on freeing him, and is eager to get out there and kick ass and express all that social and territorial (and financial) ambition that depression has been suppressing for more or less my entire adult life.

I feel like I am finally ready to want things. To crave things. Right now, those deep yearnings are just one big ball of inchoate vitality, but eventually I will untangle them enough to at least occasionally act on them.

That sounds thrilingly dangerous to me. Acting on primal impulses is a new thing for me and that old regime of mine still feels like it can only lead to pain and error and confusion for yours truly.

But I don’t give a fuck. I am going to reconnect to my id and the vital life it contains if it fucking kills me. I need what it contains.

Because I want to be ALIVE god dammit. Not numb. Not asleep. Not hibernating. Not curled up inside myself with my eye shut tight to keep me from seeing scary things.

That turned out unexpectedly cute…. and sad.

Time for me to wake up from my asleep.

Time for me to yawn and stretch and get out of bed and take on that big bad world that I have missed during my long long nap.

Part of me is terrified by that idea. It has been hiding from the world in my numbness and dodging my pain via my torpor and is very, very scared of what happens when the dreamer wakes and the giant rises and all the things we have been delaying and denying come calling for us all at once.

Form an orderly line and we promise we will get to you as soon as we can.

And historically, this fear has had a very strong veto power over my entire life. It’s the other player in the long long stalemate that is the chess game of my life. It is the gremlins that tear apart anything I try to build within myself the moment my attention wavers. It is both warden and groundskeeper for my prison tomb and it likes to think it has its icy dagger eternally pressed to my pale and shallow throat.

But I see it now. I acknowledge it. I know what it is and how it operates. And armed thusly, I can dig deep into my bloodyminded stubbornness and my overflowing well of pure concentrated rage and attack it till it is forced to relent and free me.

Hmmmm. There’s a pretty good space opera type science fiction story in there somewhere. A rebellion against the wardens of a prison planet, increasing pressure to release a high profile prisoner, a regime finally brought to its knees by the forces of good. The rising of the id represented by the forces of nature overcoming the coldly mechanicality of the prison. Could be a heck of a thing.

Who knows. Maybe I’ll even write it some day.

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.