Am I a secret genius? The answer is probably 'yes.'

I struggle with anxiety and depression and a sinister form of ADHD which only appeared after the other two beasts had been beaten into a sort of submission. It's no great secret, really, and while I don't recall if I've mentioned this specifically in past updates, I think it's pretty obvious from the way I write.

For the most part, I acknowledge and understand that, and I try to reign myself in when I begin to go off of the deep end. But there are other times, times when I begin to obsess over a problem - or a potential problem, as the case usually is - and there's... there's nothing I can do about it. It's coming down the highway like a spastic caravan and I am powerless to stop it and the people who can stop it are drunk and high and oblivious to the danger and SMASH it's all over. I'm left standing on the sidelines, stooping to pick up the smoking wreckage the best I can while I drag along a leg which is all but useless now that it has eighteen pieces of shrapnel embedded into the bone.

It used to be easy for me to write this off as a manifestation of my ever-present anxiety and tendency towards pessimistic outcomes. The thing is, when I do talk to others about these situations, they agree with me! They agree with analyses and predictions. They just think I let it get to me too much.

Sometimes I have to talk to people uninvolved in whatever situation is going on to make sure I'm not crazy. Because sometimes.... sometimes you have to make sure you're not crazy. I know I have to, constantly. You raise a hypothetical and you give enough oblique facts to let the person make a somewhat-rational conclusion. Or you talk to someone who's close enough to the situation to see all the moving pieces but far enough away - eternally unlike myself - to be clear of the blast when it occurs. Then the other person agrees with you, as long as the 'you' in this case is actually me.

But they always give the same advice: don't let it affect you so much. It doesn't really involve you, don't let it get to you, try to just forget about it. You've done your best to minimize the damage from the impact and resulting multiple explosions, try to be content with that. They do understand why I can't do that, bless their hearts, but in a very general way.

I'll tell you the truth, reader: I think I might be a secret genius. Because - and I swear this is true - sometimes it seems like no one else can see the writing on the wall except me. Which, y'know, is insane, because it's so very clear, and at first blush I am not that intelligent. Yet here we are. When this happened when I was younger, I kept my mouth shut; I assumed that the adults knew what was going on and understood something I did not. It took several large disasters for me to realize that, no, they don't understand something I don't. They don't even understand a few things I do. With that realization came no power, however, and I was still born away on a mudslide of others' choreographed mistakes. Slippin' and slidin' all over creation.

Now, I'm a little older. Slightly wiser (?) and definitely slower, in absolutely every way. But I'm still running into the same old thing. I'm still seeing collisions before they appear. The left knee tweaks and the right eye twitches: a storm's on the way, an it's going to be a bad one. Those who know me, believe me. Those who don't, don't, and I pull and drag at their clothing and shout doomsday predictions to closed ears and vacant homes. They're standing in the fields, hands shading their eyes as they look out toward the sun, blind to the winds bullying them and the storm clouds above their shadows on the ground.

I don't know why I care so much. I try not to care so much. When I fail, I do my best. That should be good enough for me. But it doesn't prevent the tragedy, ever. So it isn't.

Sometimes you get Weird Feelings (Part 2/2)

2) I really struggled thinking about this post. I know what I want to say, but I'm not sure how much detail I should divulge. In the end, I chose to be careful while also sharing what I'm thinking, because this really only involves me. So, that makes sense, right??

I was recently invited to a party. Now I am not a party person, dear reader - I do not number myself among the 'party people' so often invoked among the youth. I whole-heartedly prefer an evening with seven-eight good friends having a good time than going to hang out among thirty screaming college kids, only four or five of which I know. I'd have to be really drinking heavily to enjoy that kind of thing, and that sort of alcohol is expensive. I'm not made of money.

Now I'm sure my invitation is more-or-less a formality; people know I'm not a partying type, despite how entertaining and fun-to-be-around I am virtually all the time. Am I a big hit at parties? Always. But I've also grown out of that phase, and I no longer have to be at a party to be the center of a group's attention. I'm a MOBILE party! So I said maybe, as I usually do - because I really do think about it - and that was that. Leaning towards probably not going, I'm sure I'll be busy that night, but hey, never say never, right?

Then I checked back, and (as this is Facebook and on Facebook everything is always everywhere), I found that someone I really do not want to see in-person - certainly not in a party environment - is going. You know what that means? That means I'm definitely not going. That means I actually can't go.

And in the long run that's fine, because it's unlikely I would have attended anyway. But I'm angry. I'm angry at this person, for no real reason - I can't expect people to stop having doing things because I don't like them to - and I'm angry at myself. Not for choosing not to go because of it; I think that's a fine choice, and I would stand by it regardless of any other factors. No, I'm angry with myself because I still got upset over it, and thus I didn't have a choice. Or don't have a choice, I should say. My hand is forced; and even though if I had no emotional reaction to this situation, and was making decisions completely clearheaded, I would choose the same course of action, it's still not okay; the absence of choice still really bothers me. I don't want to be around this person, particularly not there, and that's an objective decision; my emotional response is "no no no no no not good don't no no way uh-uh nope," and that is not.

And atop everything else, I feel angry that I'm still getting even somewhat worked up, because I thought all the feelings were gone and away (thank God). It's been a really peaceful and anxiety-free week or two, and what a relief that has been after the past few months. I guess it takes a little longer for those ghosts to completely fade away, which is frustrating. Where's my self-neuralizer? Plz, MIB, plz.

Sometimes you get Weird Feelings (Part 1/2)

I have a lot of more interesting, less angsty posts coming down the pipe, but for some reason this came out first. I only thought it up a few minutes ago, but here I go. I guess there's something involving the immediacy of complicated emotions and a need to express them in some cathartic way which prevents me from procrastinating on more visceral posts like this. If only I could harness that power for some good...

Anyway, I actually have two different topics today. Each can be their own post, so that's what I'll do! I gotta get mileage out of my issues somehow, and this is the way I'm doin' it.

So, two recent events which made me feel.... weird:

1) A friend of mine told me some news the other day, about something which was somewhere in the vicinity of casual sex. Very minor, for all that, and something that I'm sure most everyone in college has done.  And yet, my first reaction was... I still can't quite put my finger on it. There was some anger, and a little bit of disgust, and maybe a hint of sadness. All of these little pieces formed one big ball of some new, confusing emotional state, and it really threw me for a loop. I was trying to dissect it and, though I identified some of the component parts, it remained mostly a mystery - like trying to identify an alien metal (this happens in every superhero/sci-fi story everywhen). In the end I identified the feeling as discomfort, but being uncomfortable without knowing the reason why is a confusing and frustrating experience.

So I've been trying to figure out why, exactly, this news bothered me so much, when in reality it was precisely nothing - a blip on the radar, a cloud passing high overhead. I was having a tough time, so I reached out to one or two trusted friends - specifically the v. helpful Kim - to try and work through what exactly my problem was with this unproblematic news. And I think I got it! I think; there's really no way to know for sure, because our brains are all liars, but I think this is the reason:

I tend to be friends with a certain Type of person. We all have our Types that we naturally gravitate to, of course, and I am acquaintances with a lot of different Types of people. But real friends - the people we don't just get along with because we're placed together, but seek out even when we're not together - tend to be Types like me. And that's just the way things are.

Now, if you accept that assertion, it goes to follow that the opposite would be true: people wholly unlike those friendship Types are the kinds of people I'd rather not spend my free time with. Prrreeeetty easy, right? Except there's that whole middle area, where people are like A Type in some ways and B Type in others.

My friend (Steven) is like me in a lot of ways. And though we've hung out in-person on several occasions, we mostly talk online these days (it being summer). When talking about common interests, or daily events, or whatever, it's easy to fall into a comfortable rhythm. However, while I greatly enjoy Steven's company, I know that he is also another Type, one that I treat with indifference but find wholly perplexing. It's moments like this - when I hear some (slight) excitement about a brief and casual encounter - which remind me oh, hey, that's right, we're different. I don't really understand that side of him, and so when it crops up suddenly like that, it can be a bit jarring. It's like learning your best friend since preschool is a robot: in the end he's still your friend, and that part of him that's a robot is completely separate from your interactions 99% of the time. But sometimes he'll talk about having to go plug himself in or eat aluminum foil, and in that moment the reality you've convinced yourself of - that he's a guy just like you - is stripped away.

I think that's the source of my discomfort. I don't have a problem with that side of Steve, I really don't. I'm just not used to interacting with friends who do have that side, and when I'm reminded of it in casual conversation it's like missing a step. You trip a little bit, and regain your balance after a second, but it was still a scary moment. You're walking along and suddenly - "that's right, I'm mortal, I could really hurt myself here - okay I'm back on track I'm invincible *phew*." It's an unpleasant feeling. It yanks you back to reality, and reality is not a place you want to spend much time. It's a hint of his similarity to people I don't really enjoy spending time with, and that causes a bit of negative feedback, even though I've made peace with it the best I can.

Do you ever have those moments when you're talking to people? When they'll make a comment or do something and you're reminded of just how different you are from each other?

Lame Poetry Detected

For the record: I don't like or respect most contemporary poetry. I've taken a class or two, and dealt with poetry a lot in an academic setting, but I am not a poet by any stretch. Sometimes, it's soothing/fun to write a poem though, so that's what I'm doing right now. It's something I wrote on my way to work and 'edited' during a break. It is not good. But it is bad, and that can be entertaining too!

Internal Combustion


A stormcloud engine drives me
Can you hear the crash of heat lightning from inside?
Can you taste the metal and oil on my tongue?
Can you smell the ozone in my speech?
It drives me, uses myself to power myself
(self-consumption)
The purer the fuel,
the hotter the burn,
the brighter the flame
Now, the fire burns white
How long can I endure
Until nothing but cinders remain?