It occurred to me recently that I am constantly fighting myself.

And not just on some deep metaphorical level. I mean that an integral part of my everyday existence is devoted to forcing myself to stay within the tiny cage of this life of mine and brutally suppressing anything within me that might cause me to escape.

And it gets harder every day because I outgrew that little cage a very long time ago, and in the process I smashed through the walls and roof until I was wearing the thing like Alice in Wonderland wore that house.

So now it’s more of an invisible box like Les Nessman’s office. And here I am crouching and squishing myself and holding very, very still to stay inside it.

And I think that the further I go down the path of recovery, the harder that gets, because the healthier I get, the more I grow, and the stronger and more robust I get.

So picture some big, strong animal with all four paws stuffed into a baby crib that it absolutely looms over and holding very still for fear of breaking it.

Because if it broke, I might have to face the fact that I am a grownup now.

But as long as I stay in my teeny tiny crib, I can pretend I am still a kid, and avoid having to face reality for another day.

Sad, I know. Tragic, really. But that’s where I am right now.

So what’s so bad about facing reality?

The flippant answer would be “reality sucks”. But that’s no real answer.

Honestly, I think I am afraid of all that stimulation.

Reality is dense and complicated and bright and loud and harsh. My tiny cage, on the other hand, has an unnaturally but soothingly low stimulation level.

And that low stimulation level is especially important because I live in fear of my own goddamned adrenaline. Part of the brutal sacrifices I must make in order to stay in my little box is to savagely suppress anything that might make me feel like moving.

And all the stay within this imaginary bounding box. It’s pathetic. Here I am, brain the size of a planet, trying to stay within a space the size of a peanut.

The sheer density of it all!

The question now becomes “what is it about me that makes facing reality and adult responsibility so hard to face that I would rather force myself into this tiny box?”.

Or at least force myself to pretend I am still in that box. In reality, all I really did was turn my gaze and my horizons inward and sustain myself on a steady diet of distractions and entertainments for my planet sized brain so that my mind is too busy to be tempted to start looking outward and wreck the whole damned system.

I tell myself that I want to be free, but it would be more honest to say that I like to think about being free and imagine how nice it would be.

But when I try to imagine that actually happening, it scares the reason out of me.

So I like the idea of it. But not the reality.

And it hurts to know that I am that kind of person.

I always thought I was more honest with myself than that.

But the only way out of thiskmess of mine is to face the truth, and the truth is that I have been fooling myself by creating this fantasy of release.

Time to start thinking about this as a real thing.

More on this later.

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And it’s thematically similar to this video :

Both are about being alone in a sea of love.

Water, water, everywhere, and in it I will sink
And yet I will drown thirsty, quicker than a wink
For if I let the water in, it would surely mean my death
All because I was too scared to rise and take a breath

Me, just now

Back to pondering letting down my walls, or rather, just plain stop believing in them.

I know now that they are lies. If I have been able to retain any level of cohesion to my protean personality, it’s through an investment in will. not because these phony walls ever helped me keep my shape.

After all, once the gelatin has set, you don’t need the mould any more,. do you?

Not that this is the shape I would have chosen if I had known I would get stuck with it. This form is all cramped and stifled and strangualated. It’s all hunched up into a ball – otherwise known as the fetal position – and has its head so far up its own ass it can lick its own tonsils.

Brain the size of a planet. Sure. But the rest? Feh. A burning dumpster full of rancid meat and the puke and shit of some very sick animals.

House on fire, put it out!

Thing is, I don’t want to be Jello. On a very deep level, I am terrified to get caught in any particular set shape because on that level I associate flexibility with safety and feel the need to maximize my ability to adapt to any situation – to become what I need to be in order to deal with things.

Sounds good on paper but it means that there is a very strong force within me that destroys any kind of structure or cohesion within me the moment it forms. Tjat leaves me forever treading water in the endless seas of the ocean planet within me.

How desperately I crave even just a tiny island of my own that I can crawl onto when I feel the need to be safe, secure, and dry.

But no. I’m all wet alll the time.

And yet I am also dying of thirst, cold and alone.

It’s the worst of both worlds.

And I need a way out.

I will talk to you nice people aggain tomorrow.