Do you ever have those episodes where once the tears start falling, the deepest, darkest place in your soul becomes exposed and there isn’t a greater emotional pain you can feel than in that moment of self-pity?
People write about this type of pain because they know it, even though it’s hard to appreciate when you’re not in that state of mind. Half of the time I’m not; I’m in a different emotional state; a more irritable, impatient one.
To be honest, I have a tough time documenting these episodes of my life because not only am I not proud of them, but I don’t need a reminder of how I actually feel inside. There’s a chance I might not even end up following through with this and publishing it, though that would be dishonest of me and after all, everything happens for a reason.
Frankly, part of the reason I felt so bad was because I already doubt anyone would nod along to the question I opened this with. It’s actually very dark inside of me and I try to ignore that around company and family because it’s not an attractive fact.
I fool myself into occupying my time with stimuli but once I’m left with my thoughts at open range, it’s as if a bat has been let out of hell (intentional Meat Loaf reference). That bat then haunts me and reminds me of what I’m doing wrong and how hard my seemingly simple wants and needs in life are.
It’s my own fault that I spoil everything for myself, rendering all my attempts at happiness all for naught. Whether it’s physical discomfort or irritability, something always manages to overwhelm me and in turn make everyone else suffer. Physics also takes full advantage of me because I always come down whenever I manage to go up. Way, way down. I can get a hangover from anything I enjoy.
What specifically preceded my breakdown was departing from the venue we were in for over four hours, which ended up giving me a throbbing headache due to the close proximity of the amps and the lack of line of sound reinforcement; the music I listen to these days involves a lot of distortion, so it can become bothersome after a period of time.
I mean, initially the bands sound so tight in this condition, but one’s lack of exposure cannot handle it after a while. What made matters worse were the only options being either standing or sitting on bar stools, which Chris has deemed only useful as firewood. While sitting on something without a back to it, especially if you already have bad posture, there is a tendency to slouch and this can cause great discomfort.
Naturally, I got the worst of it and thereby gave him the worst of me. I wasn’t able to explain to Chris until much later, after I’d already transitioned from angry to sad to calm, the excuse for my behavior.
I told him that there used to be a time where I didn’t see the correlation between physical discomfort and emotional. I didn’t understand why someone suffering physically couldn’t tend to me emotionally.
Nowadays, I understand how they’re related: when you’re in bodily discomfort, you’re already in a selfish mode and you’re instinctively actively trying to alleviate said pain. This also includes bodily urges and functions, such as needing to use the bathroom, especially in the case of an emergency.
Now, we weren’t able to have a healthy, clear-headed exchange on the drive home because my head was killing me and so I instinctively craved silence. However, Chris only became more and more upset and confused because I wasn’t asking for that silence in a respectful, inoffensive manner.
A lot of bullshit comes out of your mouth when your mind is focused elsewhere, yet you are forced to deal with something else at the same time. Anyway, this had me end up full-on depressive because I regretted the behavior I was exhibiting and realized the correct way to get sympathy and understanding is to be vulnerable and to let your defenses down. I usually end up transitioning in this manner every time we fight because it’s effective; the tension is always lifted this way.
Lately, I’ve had slim to no patience with the strangers around me. I’ve been disappointed with everything I’ve heard, seen or been told and am working my way into misanthropy. Since harmony is a pipe dream, why even bother? By the way, I am in no way a proponent of self-harm or suicide; the way I see it is, life is an option and death is not.
In this case, there are two perspectives regarding death: not having to deal with it (pain) or not being able to do anything about it. I subscribe to the latter notion because what else am I going to do with all this time on Earth but work toward that light at the end of the tunnel?
I mean, sometimes I feel like I was born with a higher set stress level but when is happiness more desirable than when you’re sad? There isn’t as much of a drive when you’re content or better. This is why introverts have to work harder than extroverts. It’s just I never allow myself the option of dreaming; I always end up snapping back into reality before that happens.
I should mention that there are several reasons I’m wary of abusing narcotics to help me appreciate living more: I have a highly addictive personality, I am never satisfied, I come down way harder than I go up, I’m stubborn and hard-headed and most of all, I’m a control freak; I already have a hard enough time controlling my emotions.
I learned not to depend on people at a young age, even though I am still a very sensitive person. I have spent the vast majority of my life reclusive, entertaining myself. I learned many ways to avoid boredom growing up because I rarely ever hung out with anyone outside of school and since my parents divorced when I was young, my mom lost it and lost herself on the Internet.
My adolescence is a total blur because I subconsciously blocked it out of my memory; I didn’t even have to try to forget that time in my life since it was so painful. Something changed when I hit high school, though; I became a loner again and that solved my problems.
When nobody knows you, they don’t talk about you. Or at least they have nothing to talk about you. I didn’t need anybody else to cause me to feel worse than I already did. That freedom and lack of gossip permitted me to be myself and thereby love myself; I gained my confidence back during that time and had no worries.
I’m not going to say it wasn’t awkward to have to spend every day “acting” occupied and busy with something; naturally, I would get paranoid about appearing alone and idle. But I had to fight that paranoia because I had made the conscious choice to avoid people, at least the ones I had no interest in knowing.
There was always something missing about the people around me, anyway; since I’d grown up interesting myself, I already knew what I wanted before anyone could suggest it. Introverts aren’t necessarily lonely; they actually opt to be alone. I have never craved attention in my life, have never used anyone to advance my popularity, have never conformed to try to fit in.
That was never, ever important to me; in fact, I lost a best friend to a bully because that friend couldn’t stand being the “outsider.” Little did she know she was still going to be a target and actually under more scrutiny than I would ever be . . .