|The Distorted And Rambling Thoughts Of A Sick Bunny
||[Nov. 25th, 2013|07:44 am]
Symphonic Rock Productions
Yesterday I was unfriended by a long time mutual friend on LJ. In the past whenever I would get an unfriending notice, I would drop them a note asking what the problem was, hoping it might be some misunderstanding we could work out. But I have decided not to do that anymore.
I now am of the opinion that, if the expression of my inner thoughts is offensive or not enjoyable to someone for some reason, they ought not to be watching me. And more than that, I ought not to be trying to edit the expression of my thoughts to accommodate people who don’t agree with them, because if I do that they are not really my thoughts anymore.
This is not to say I expect everyone who watches me to agree with everything I say, or that I don’t invite discussion or the expression of contrary opinions, but if someone finds me just so offensive that they feel like hitting that unfriend button, rather than opening a discussion, then that is probably the appropriate thing for them to do. And I should just wish them well and send them on their way.
Also, I’m aware that my blog is not what it used to be. There are probably a lot of people watching me for things I don’t do anymore who might get tired of my longwinded introspections.
The reason for not doing those things anymore is that my life has kind of fallen apart. My elderly folks are deteriorating and needing a lot more care. This leaves me less time for indulging my fan interests, and often I’m too stressed and disoriented to be productive in any spare time I find. So I end up with no resources left for being entertaining.
I find it difficult to remember what I’ve been trying to achieve or why I cared so much about it. Now it’s just every once in a while I get a thought in my head that seems like a good thought that I ought to write down. And if I’m able to write them I put them here. They are like the last random sparks of a mind once pregnant with celestial fire, as they say in a famous poem.
It’s probably not much fun, especially for those who like me, watching me slowly disintegrate. Though I think that is something my journal has consistently documented. I was at my creative peak when I started this thing about 10 years ago, and it has been all downhill from there.
I never expected that the internet would be such a stressful thing. Though, to be honest, the stress started before the internet. It’s fandoms that have been my main source of stress since the late 80’s when I joined a Doctor Who fan club and discovered that fellow fans are not as easy to connect with as I expected, which results in a lot of stressful psychological posturing and power trips.
The more fandoms I decided to strive for a place in, the more I encountered people who resented me for one reason or another and spared no expense to show me I was not wanted there. And that is like the worst thing for a person with my social anxiety problems to have to deal with.
I think a quarter of a century of forcing myself to face this stress in no less than 4 fandoms has worn heavily on my mind. Plus, within the same time period I have had a head injury, a brain infection and a stroke. So it could be said I have not been very kind to my mind.
It has gotten to the point now where I wake up in the morning or go to sleep at night feeling totally directionless. I know there are things I want to be doing, projects I need to make progress on, but I can’t remember what they are, or more importantly, why I want to do them.
All I can really remember is the physical and psychological abuse I’ve put myself through, and I just end up fruitlessly asking, “Why did I do all this to myself?”
I might get an answer once in a while – something along the lines of “You were desperate to have friends and some semblance of a life.” Which only makes me think, “Well, it didn’t work, did it? I must have been pretty dumb living my life this way.” To which I get the response, “You always knew living for fandoms was dumb, and you didn’t care. You didn’t have anything better to do back then, and you still don’t now.”
“True,” I sometimes agree. “Fandoms were supposed to be a fun pastime, because all I’ve ever really had was time to pass. But I didn’t have to take them so GD seriously. What difference does it make what strangers on the internet think of me, let alone what they think of the fandoms I’m in? Why did I always have to feel like I had something to prove?”
I think what it boils down to is that I love to talk. But I never have anyone to talk to about the things that are important to me who is right here with me. It’s always somebody at least 500 miles away that I can only communicate to by text. And as long as I don’t feel like I’ve gotten my point across, I can’t bear to just let the conversation stop. I’ll keep it going endlessly, getting more and more people mad at me as I go – not so much because my opinions aren’t valid, but more because I’m bucking the status quo at a particular site, or choosing my adversaries unwisely, because they can resort to dirty tricks to make me look bad, but I can’t do the same.
I have now reached a point where I get severe anxiety spikes just considering posting a comment on a video at YouTube or responding to someone’s journal entry. I’m thinking, “What if someone doesn’t appreciate this comment and turns it into a huge antagonistic attackfest. I don’t want that. I’m not up to it anymore. Besides, the issues aren’t that important to me anyway.”
Of course, if I was up to it, and I actually posted some of the stronger ideas I write down, rather than just filing them away to avoid controversy, my journal would be getting as much action as it ever did. But, as good as it feels to see that my journal is active with a lot of people who think I’m somehow important enough that what I say needs to be countered and oppressed, it’s still a big anxiety trip that I’m publishing stuff to the whole world which may be appreciated by some, but which is sure to be hated by a much greater number of people.
I don’t know how fandom managed to put the idea in my social anxiety addled head that I had a right to expect to be respected and treated fairly. I’ve known better than that since I was old enough to socialize with other kids. Apparently I just got caught up in the whole vying for fandom status thing and thought I had a shot at being somebody in fandom, because everybody else there was just as big a geek as me, and therefore on society’s most unwanted undesirables list. I guess I just didn’t buy that it was possible to end up feeling just as undesirable among one’s fellow undesirables. But I certainly know different now.
Of course, there are two sides to every coin. Just as there have been people in fandom who have made me feel every bit as unwanted as I felt in school, there have been others who just loved me to pieces and spared no expense to make me know how much they valued my presence. And I know that those are the people that should count. Those are the people that should have made the stronger impression over the years. But apparently it didn’t work out that way. The love I receive from some does not heal the damage I suffer from being in conflict with others.
They say the effects of stress are healed by relaxation, but I don’t really get a chance to relax with my friends. In real life the time I spend with friends is always very rushed. Everyone talks loud, and I’m soft spoken. So I’m lucky to get a word in edgewise, let alone hold the floor long enough to make a point. And when I’m holding the floor, I’ve forced myself into the spotlight where my spontaneous words are being submitted for judgment, and I’m scared to death I’m going to say something that will be misunderstood and damage my relationship with my friends.
In Second Life one doesn’t have to fight to get a word in, but one runs an even greater chance of being misunderstood. Plus there is the additional anxiety of dealing with the technology that makes being together with those friends possible.
So the only way I can get some healing relaxation going is to be away from everybody. And that’s what I’ve been doing lately. I’m pretty much turning the computer off for long periods of time, busying myself with cleaning up the mess that has been accumulating in my house since my life was swallowed by the internet 10 years ago.
But, at this time it doesn’t seem to be working. I’m not bouncing back like I normally do – possibly because, even when I’m alone these days, I’m still stressed over the fact that my future is not secure. I don’t expect the folks to kick off any time soon, but when they eventually do, the bank will take the house, and I’ll be looking for other living arrangements.
The more I’m alone with my own thoughts, the more my insecurity about the future messes with my mind. So I still don’t heal. And it doesn’t help at all that my folks are bugging me to get the house cleaned up for Thanksgiving, which suggests they may be figuring on springing some big get together on me, which they know I don’t want, because nobody here is well enough for that.
So, life is stress, no matter what I do, or don’t do. And they say stress is a contributing factor to Alzheimer’s. So it doesn’t help that I have such a hard time remembering things. I can feel it all wearing away at my mind.
At this moment I don’t feel creative at all. My characters are not with me. That’s why I stopped writing again. I am not able to breathe life into them at the moment. And I don’t recall ever feeling this distant from them. I half hope it’s because they’re all away playing with nikolinni. If that’s the case they may come back to work soon. But my real fear is that my mind may deteriorate in such a way that I won’t be able to remember my characters.
Anyway, I suppose the point of all this is I’ve just got enough worries that I really can’t afford to worry about who’s unfriending me and why. So, if you unfriend me I will be sad, but I won’t come after you and ask why. I won’t ask how can I change myself to make you want to stay.
I have always been brutally honest about myself in this journal, as embarrassed as I should be about that. There’s no point in trying to change, or pretend. I’m not all there anymore. Maybe I never was. If you like what’s left of me and want to hang around, I’m grateful. If you’ve got someplace more happening that you’d rather be, I’ll understand.