I am an anger man. There is anger in every part of me. How is it that I have not reconciled with this fundamental aspect of my being for so long? There is a tremendous amount of anger inside. I am saturated in anger like a cotton ball in a bucket of blood. My anger is the source of everything that has kept me confined. I have not been proud of my anger. I hide my anger in public in the same way that I hide my penis. I try to keep these things from the general public for fear of what would happen if they were seen. Anger does not flatter a person. Anger is like a stench. It is dampening. It is troublesome. Who is attracted to anger? Who wants to be around anger? Who sees anger as an enviable attainment or as the mark of an accomplished man? Who is turned on by anger? Who sees anger as a reputable state of being? Who will voluntarily give their money for services rendered by a man saturated in anger? No, it is best that I have kept my anger disclosed from the world. It is best that I have devised exacting strategies to keep my anger confined. My anger no longer explodes upon the world. My anger is subdued but it still boils. Where my anger once manifested as rage and panic now it is a general disdain and agitation. It is also an anxiety. Anger is what exists behind my fear. The fear of being perceived as the angry man that I am. The fear of not being able to be myself around others because I am an angry man. It is easier to hide away. To keep myself from the world. Acting as if I have little or no anger in me is a part that I do not enjoy playing because it is not who I am. This less angry person who appears in front of you is a manufactured part to keep you from seeing the angry and disdainful man that I am. I prefer to avoid all others than to play a part. The part I play angers me and I am often not in the mood for it. This is why I will avoid you if I see you in public. I am often envious of those who are proud in their anger and contempt for everything. These people have attained something I have been trained to deny and fabricate. I come from a long lineage of very angry men (great grandfather, grandfather, father) who pretend to be your best friend. I have been trained by the angriest of men who were and are very well liked in their communities because they are expert at disguising the fact that they are angry men. Anger must have played a part in my great grandfather’s suicide. I mean who throws themselves and their lover infront of a train? An angry man. Anger was a word seldom spoken in the home I grew up in even though my father was angry all the time. To be seen as being angry would mean he would have to admit that his life was just a made up part that he was playing to hide his anger. I am more willing to admit and confront this anger within me. Yes, I am an anger man. There is anger in every ounce of my bone. I don’t doubt that it is a toxic influence on those closest to me. My poor wife. She prefers keeping me stoned most of the time because this dissipates my anger and makes me much more pleasant and kind to be around. When stoned I experience the absence of anger. I experience what a life without contempt, indignation, hatred, jealousy and utter disdain feels like. I must admit that I find it quit nice. I find it liberating even though I am apprehensive about using that word. So liberating that I prefer the state of being stoned over the sober state. Stoned life allows me to feel much more pleasant towards my wife and towards everything I do. I am in a state of ease. I have less cares in the world. I can feel pleasure, which is the first thing anger subtracts from an angry person’s life. It is only when I am not stoned that everything will piss me off once again. Even now. I am not stoned and my wife is knocking on the bathroom door. Does she not know to leave me alone when I am in here? How many times have I told her that when the bathroom door is closed I am in a deep state of rumination and am not to be bothered? Why the hell is she knocking on the door? What could be so important? Why can’t she figure it out for herself? Why the hell is she disturbing me?! F………………..
Dear dad. I am composing this letter to you in my head while I am sitting on the toilet. How are you? I am doing ok. It is day-to-day with me. Somedays are very difficult and I am terrified by cancer, heart disease, my wife fucking up our entire lives and not having enough money. Other days I am just happy to be alive and do not think about these things. I think that nothing lasts forever and I should just have fun now because sooner or later all will be gone. This is a good head space to be in but if I stay in it for too long I freak out. But I have been using marijuana. I vaporize it from the moment I wake until the moment I sleep. It is helpful. It helps me to feel better, worry less, get the things I need to get done, feel more pleasure and have more sex. My wife has been giving me a lot of oral sex recently. Last night she gave me oral sex for an hour as I watched cam girls on my laptop and got very stoned. It was great. I slept like a baby and had no worries in the world. Everything is good enough now. I am trying to make my living as a writer and artist but I understand this will take a lifetime. In the meantime I am just hustling. I am doing what I have to do to survive but I really do not give a rats ass about the work I do. I am just pretending. I am just hustling the general public. Trying to make enough money to get by so I can keep living the life I want to live. It is not difficult to hustle people. They are suckers. If things look a certain way they will buy in. So I go with the stupidity of other people and try to make as much as I can. Of course I do a good job in my work. I work hard and am completly drained by the end of the week. Hustling takes everything out of a person but its my only choice. I refuse to buy into this peice of shit system. I know you don’t like this. You are a successful and upstanding man. A retired surgeon of the highest order. People think you are amazing. But we both know you are completely full of shit. We know that all that money you have made has allowed you to hide behind this false image. In reality we both know that you are an asshole. You are a fake son of a bitch who treats his wife like shit. You are angry all the time because you know you sold out. You know you are not doing what you want to be doing even though you will deny it till your death. We both know that you basically hate your life. You feel so alone (like I do). The fact that you are always making such an effort to point out how wonderful your life is is a dead give away that your life sucks. We both know this dad. Yes, you have a huge, modern home in a very exclusive mountain community. Yes, everyone around you is very wealthy. Yes, it appears that you have made it in your life. It is so beautiful everywhere around you, how could your life possibly stink of shit? But it does dad. We both know this. You are a fool and a liar. But I know you think you are the shit. But you have been conned by a society that wants you to believe that happiness is to be found in status, material possessions and money. But you know it’s bullshit. You know that all your rich friends are miserable assholes. How empty and vapid it all is, right? I know you don’t like me saying any of this and I am sorry. I just want to be honest with you about how full of shit you are. It makes me very uncomfortable to be around because I have to pretend like I am buying into and enjoying your bullshit. But whatever. I let you do you. I let you be you even though you can’t let anyone be themselves. You hold everyone to an impossible standard. Everyone needs to meet your exact needs. This is why you are a son of a bitch. A messed up mother f_____r. You have your good sides as well. I know. You do nice things for people. But you are still an entitled, rich asshole. I am only telling you all of this because in a few days I will be visiting you. I will be driving the twelve hours to come stay in your beautiful abode for a few days. It will be nice to live like the rich for a few days. But just know that I would rather not come. I don’t like being in that place where you live. But I am not very thrilled about the place that I live in either. I want to get out of here for a while. I want to go someplace different. I am sick of where I live. It is human bondage. I want to get lost for awhile. Escape from the prison of this life. But it is just important to me that I let you know how I feel before I arrive. I don’t want to have to be full of shit like you this time. Just want to let you know where I stand, and I hope that we can have a good time. I am looking forward to having you pay for everything. I am looking forward to all the free good food and booze. I am looking forward to being in the snow and mountains. I am looking forward to getting the hell away from this place I live in and going to your magical paradise. I am not looking forward to seeing you and all your fake friends but that is ok. I am sure we will have a nice time. See you in a few days. Take care dad.
I get anxious being in relationship with people who lack organization, concentration and motivation. When I am in relationship with people who are too relaxed, who let things go, who do not consider consequences, who do not mind disorder- I freak out. My arm hairs stand up and vibrate. I become very nervous. It is like living in a house with an unstable foundation. Anything can happen at any moment. Things feel completely out of order. There are many people who do well without order. Who just fly by the seat of their pants and don’t care much for the future. I say I don’t care about the future but that is wrong. I am always looking towards the future. Always trying to safeguard the future. Whether it is through my work, meditation, exercise, the food I eat, the people I have sex with, the house I live in and on and on- I am always trying to guarantee the existence and stability of things in the future. Mainly I am trying to guarantee the survival of myself in a mode of living which is not broke and destitute. When I am in relationship with people who are not as concerned about their survival into the future, I get nervous. There are people who can live very disorganized lives. They just live for today and hope that everything works out tomorrow. They do not have large ambitions. They do not care much for motivation and accomplishment. They do what they have to do and then retire into a state of inactivity. It is almost as if they prefer living in complete denial of the future ahead. Disorganization, lack of motivation, the absence of any real willpower to create the kind of future they would like to have do not seem to bother these people as much as they agitate me. I am not good at denial. I am not good at living in the present moment and letting go of everything. I need guarantees. I need action. But maybe there is more that I need to learn from being in relationship with these people who do what they want to do without much concern for consequence or future. After all, their spirit or being is very anarchistic (if it wasn’t for all the fear and anxiety they are working so hard to deny). But they are better than I at ignoring this fear and anxiety. They are better at doing away with worry and allowing their lives to unfold in whatever way they will. They are like someone who is comfortable on a boat without a captain. Every once in awhile they will check the course and direction of the boat but then they will retire back into their cabin where they can let everything go and just enjoy themselves. I lack this ability. I am the guy on the boat who is always freaking out. I am always trying to stear and screaming at other people for being so lazy and taking it too easy. “Get up!” I yell. “Get things together! Can’t you see that we can sink at any moment? There is work to be done! If we don’t stay on top of things we will drift in a direction we don’t want to go! Wake up! We must work harder or else we will drown!” And of course these people always think that I am the crazy one. “Why doesn’t he just relax and stop freaking out? Jeeze he needs to take it easy. Loosen up. Just let the ship drift wherever it will go. Relax. Everything will be fine.” And all I can think as I am feeling all this anxiety in my body is stupid f_____g idiots.
I’m tired. The house is quiet. There is fluid in my lungs. The rain is coming down outside. There is a slight itch on the tip of my penis. My stomach is full. I sit here, locked in my bathroom not sure what to do with myself. My wife is out. She has other plans than to be with me. She often has other plans than to be with me. She prefers being with other men as well. I don’t mind. It is fine. I get a break from her peripatetic energy. I get silence instead. Stillness. A quiet house. Solitude. But I don’t know what to do with myself. I look at the escort outcall adds. Some of the women are very attractive. I contemplate sending some of them a text. Find out what they would charge for a half hour of their time. But then I ask myself, do I really want to do this? Do I really want to have a strange woman come over to my home to have sex with me? Do I want to spend my money on sex? Will it irritate the itch on my penis even more? I feel ambivalent about sex. Sure it would be nice to have a sexual experience with one of these escorts. I could have her over and have a good time with her on my bed. Then I would not feel like my wife is holding the advantage over me. Then I would feel like I am balancing things out between her and I. I would not just be home alone, sitting on my toilet and ruminating. By having a sexy escort over I would make myself more legitimate. I would have more sex appeal. She would not be the only one having fun with another person. But do I really want to go through the trouble? I am tired. It has been a long day. I got too stoned in the morning and it took the entire day to wear away. I had to interact with many different people. I had to do hard work that was hard because I did not really want to be doing it. Do I really want to interact with another human right now? No. I would rather sit here in my bathroom ruminating. I want to eat something sweet. I want to get in bed and watch a film. I want to enjoy my solitude. My peace and quiet. The absence of a wife. I want to retreat from the human world. Why would I want to have some out of work struggling actress over to my home and have sex with her? Sure it may make me feel more desirable in my wife’s eyes but I do not care. There is a decade and a half age difference between us. She should be out and I should be in bed. I am tired. I am tired of the mad pursuit. The pursuit of what? Everything. All my years pursuing sex and women has caused me to end up still wanting to pursue illicit women of the night. But I am less interested now. These women have less power over me. Less appeal. I prefer to remain alone. This moments of solitude are now more valuable to me than those moments of ambivelant naked flesh. It is raining hard outside. I still have to move my van into the driveway. It’s going to be cold and wet out there. I don’t want to go. I dont want to do it. Maybe I will leave my van on the street. By choosing to not spend my money on an escort I will have extra cash flow to pay for the parking ticket. It is quiet in this house. I can hear the silence. I prefer things this way. Maybe I will text an escort. See if we can hook up tomorrow night.
A fashion model. I would love to be able to be sexual with a fashion model. With a very hot girl. Someone much younger and better looking than I. This would be a wonderful experience. I want this for myself. To be naked with a very attractive fashion model. What could be better? But this is not going to happen for me. How would it happen for me? I don’t go out to places where I could meet a fashion model. I think I am good-looking enough for a fashion model. I think I am well-dressed enough to be with a fashion model. I am certainly intelligent enough. But these things are not good enough for fashion models. A fashion model may not care so much about intelligence although I am sure they would not mind. A fashion model wants a fashion model guy. They want to be with someone who is very fit and very successful. Who has a lot of money, looks good and has all the right accessories. This is not me. I am not interested in making a lot of money. I am not really interested in making money at all to be honest. My only form of exercise is walking and jumping on a rebounder. I am not that concerned with muscle or physical strength. I prefer strength of character and mind. I prefer to be creative, to be intellectually inclined rather than to be out there building wealth and muscle. I am not that guy. I am not that guy who is getting the fashion models. I would not want to be caught dead in the kind of places fashion models are to be met. I do not like luxurious resorts. I abhor Las Vegas. I do not like fine dinning restaurants. I do not hang out in places were the elite congregate. Where would I meet a fashion model? I suppose I could meet a fashion model who has fallen on hard times and has to work as a hooker or stripper. I could pay this unlucky woman to have sex with me. To be naked with me. It is in this way that I would have the greatest opportunity to be sexual with a fashion model. Otherwise, I am not going to meet a fashion model. I am a degenerate, anti-social writer. I am an intellectual who is interested in literature and art. I have very high cultural standards. Guys like me do not get hooked up with fashion models. Unless we become famous. But what are the chances that my novel “Tour Guide For A Rapist” is going to make me a famous man? Who the hell reads degenerate novels anymore? How the hell am I going to get rich and famous from laboring away on a blog like this one? The kind of blog I am creating here does not get read by many people. They have no use for it because it is a blog that does not point people in the direction of lower standard things like money and muscles and video games. I know it may come off like I am pretentious. Maybe I am. I hold myself to a high intellectual standard and men like me who hold themselves to very high intellectual and cultural and artistic standards do not get to be naked with fashion models. They can not even afford to pay an unlucky fashion model who has had to become a whore to have sex with them. Guys like me do not get successful enough in the low standard world of materialism, money and muscle to even be in the same neighborhoods as fashion models. I guess I need to understand that I should take what I can get and be happy about it. But I still feel like it would be nice to be naked with a fashion model, to touch a fashion model and to be sexual with a fashion model who is not just a digital image on Instagram.
Yes, I am judgmental as all hell. My judgement is sharp, very sharp. I cut through crap with my sharp judgement. I thought you knew this about me? I don’t know why it comes as such a surprise that I think most of the things people are interested in is absolute crap. That most of people’s interests makes me violently mad. That I have nothing but bitter contempt towards most things. I thought you knew this about me? Why are you so surprised when it is directed at you? You should know better than to bring such banal and crap-filled interests around me. You should be more careful what you become interested in because you know that if you let yourself give in to all the absolute crap, I will cut you from time to time. I try not to. I really try to accept the way you chose to have fun and entertain yourself. Who am I to talk after all. I am just a sick and tired man, isolated from the outside world by my refined beliefs. Who am I to talk? I have no friends to speak of. I have no one that I would like to share interests with. I don’t do much that I care about. I prefer to stay isolated and comforted from all the absolute crap in the world. I know, who am I to cast judgement on all those who seem to be out there living fun and vibrant lives? What a piece of shit I am. But my bitterness and disdain towards all the crap in the world has been highly developed and refined. I have consciously chosen not to let the crap in. I have chosen to better myself and my sensibilities and rise above and beyond all the mindless, stupid, bullshit crap in the world. I have worked hard to become a refined man of culture. I have developed my aesthetic sensibilities through rigorous self-discipline and a determination to delve deeper than all the crap. To investigate and to learn. To seek things and explore rather than take what is handed me by the crap of culture. Everyone wants to be entertained and have fun. Every one wants to do what everyone else is doing. But I have had to forge my interests and preoccupations in solitude and isolation because the culture I live in is so stupid that it could not offer me the depth and quality that my brain and soul need. But you have given in. You have taken what is easy and common place. But who am I to judge? Just because I have chosen to refine myself beyond the masses, because I have chosen to develop my sensibilities in the same way someone would develop a fine wine or any unique and rare thing. I have chosen not to be a part of the stupidity of what is easily offered to me by the dumbed down masses. Sure it is fun and entertaining. Sure you will laugh a lot but it requires zero refinement to do these things. Should a person not develop beyond childish behavior at some point? Shouldn’t people at some point chose to have fun, laugh and be entertained in ways that do not strip them of their dignity? I disdain those who surrender their dignity because they just want to be entertained and act like stupid dogs. I think we should work harder than that. We should seek out culture like an archeologist seeks out a digging site. We should differentiate ourselves from all the crap because as human beings we can do better than crap. But who am I to judge? I have profoundly deep beliefs. I have a sharp and bitter judgement but I feel like I have earned these things through great suffering and effort. This is why I do not sometimes stop from telling you exactly how I feel. You tell me my interests are pretentious crap but you fail to understand that you call it pretentious because it requires effort to understand. You must really pay attention and focus on the things that I am interested in. They are hard. Crap requires no effort. That is why it is crap. It is easy. But who am I to judge? Really I am a nobody. Completely isolated from the world. I am no one so my opinions and beliefs matter not. I am learning, through necessity, to let go of my refined judgments and beliefs, just so I can live more at ease with the people around me, but it is hard to give up something you have worked so long and hard in solitude to refine.
Dennis Cooper’s blog. I really don’t understand it. How is it that someone is capable of so much productivity? Every single day it seems as if his blog is filled with a deluge of new information on some sort of perverse or artistic thing. It is a continual flow of productivity that my more lugubrious brain is unable to comprehend. How can such prolific output be possible? Is he doing all this work himself? Does he have help? Is he on drugs? How much time does he work on his blog posts per day? And if his blog posts were not enough, he also has this extensive section where he answers all of these people’s comments. Who are these people who comment? They are people who seem very self obsessed to me. Dennis Cooper’s blog is filled with self obsessed people. It is a pantheon of self obsessed people but still it does not make it any less admirable. After all I am a self obsessed person who just abstains from commenting on Dennis Cooper’s blog. But sometimes I want to comment. I want to ask him how he does it. He has had a prolific output for sometime now. Books, essays, films, art projects and now this endless blog? Where does it all end? How does he do it? Is he struck with some sort of psychological condition which causes him to have to have endless productivity? Is there Aspergers in his brain somewhere? How is it possible someone is able to work so much? There must be a psychological condition that enables it, is my thoughts on the matter. I have never been capable of this kind of productivity and it has occurred to me that this is because I am a depressive instead of a person with Aspergers or mania. Dennis Cooper must have Aspergers or mania or both or some chemical construct that allows him to generate so much. On top of his blog posts and interactions with his self obsessed blog readers, he also seems to be traveling here and there. Always on the go. The guy is continually sleep deprived and in a hurry to get somewhere else. Always on the go. Always alive for tomorrow. It seems like an obsessive kind of thing. A nervous condition or an anxiety disorder. An inability to focus his mind and be still. But I am able to focus my mind and be still and what does it do for me? Not as much evidently since Dennis Cooper is much more known than I. And then there is his musical reviews. His books reviews. Where the fuck does he find the time to read all these books and listen in-depth to all this music? I am not a fan of Dennis Cooper’s musical tastes (most of it) but I do enjoy most of his literary recommendations. I am not that interested in the little boy sexual adds Dennis Cooper posts but I do appreciate his counterculturalisms. I visit his blog not so much because I am interested in what appears on it, although sometimes I am happily surprised, but because I am in real disbelief that a human can be capable of so much. I can’t seem to accept that any of it is real.
How long do coughs and congestion last from a cold or flu? To what degree does a person need to protect themselves when in a relationship with a person with bi-polar disorder, especially when this person is unwilling to seek treatment for bi-polar disorder? How often should I exercise? Why do I read so much? Is there a way that I will ever complete the novels that I want to complete writing? How does one start a new life in middle-age? Is it wrong to lack a happy social life? Where does all this coffee I drink go? Why don’t I embrace new artistic practices, such as the decalcomania technique that surrealists often used? Do I really need to be reading a novel as disturbing as J.G Ballard’s “Crash?” How good am I really at self-care? At what point should I buy new converse shoes and throw away the ones I have? Whose right is it to tell me what to do anyways? Where has my interest in style gone? To what degree is boiling water bad for me? Where is it that I expect I will find things I am looking for? Is it healthy to be married to someone who is in a sexual relationship with someone else and often does not think about consequences of certain decisions made while with this person? At what point can we legitimately claim that another person is out of control? Why am I more willing, much more willing, to drive for thirteen hours rather than flying for two? Do magazines really exist which could make me feel better about the life I am living? At what point is my use of sex and sexuality simply an effort to do something interesting in my bored life? Why do I often feel not that different from a potted plant? For what reason do I continue to be friendly and nice to people who obviously harshly judge me? At what point can I trust my intuition about other people’s motivations and feelings? How come I keep avoiding my desk? Why is it that I would rather read than be doing anything else? Is there something wrong in my relationship or in my mind that causes me to often not feel sexual? At what point is too much sex and at what point is too much sex causing life to become chaotic and disorganized? Is the individual the most qualified to have the final word on their own mental state? Where is my ability to escape from things that are not good for me? Is it ok that I eat so much bread? Why can’t I get myself to go to the market more often and keep a regular supply of fruits and vegetables in my house? Why is it that I buy a lot of records but do not listen much to them? Is technology destroying my attention span and mental health? Is this idea of subjecting myself to cold a bad idea? Why am I only able to be aroused by that which is not loving towards me? Will all the art I have made end up in the trash? Should I drink a few beers today or remain free from poisonous alcohol? Is there a good time for anything? Is it healthy that I remain interested in someone because that someone is not interested in me in the same way? Do I try too hard in relationships? Is it wrong to want your wife to be a hooker while still expecting her to be a healthy partner person? Is there any value to be found in art anymore? At what point is my reading of books an addiction, which is having a negative effect on my life. Is it ok that my parents really show little interest in anyone but themselves? How much snow exposure is good for a person? How often should someone be exposed to higher elevations? At what point are spiritually inclined people rolling around in their own bullshit? Am I better off remaining divorced from any specific belief system? Are those who don’t ask questions better off? Is my dog more mentally stable and healthy than I am? Should I be eating more meat and butter and eggs? Is it a poor choice to drink strong coffee in the morning and not eat much till noon? Should I be going for a walk right when I wake up every morning? Am I better off physically and emotionally when not in a relationship? What is it about me that remains in relationship with those who have harmed me in the past? Is my iPhone addiction destroying my life? Is other people’s iPhone addictions causing me to feel alone? Why can’t I motivate myself to go to the farmer’s market and get the food I need? Do I really need to avoid the outside world so much so that I am willing to forgo having the healthy food I need in order to avoid interactions with other people? At what point will I find peace in my life? Is peace possible for me in current conditions? Is it naive to seek peace from life as it is naive to seek stability from a person with untreated borderline personality disorder? Is my brain what is making all of this so difficult or are there other organs involved?
There is a kind of banality to his thinking. I like his essays but there is banality in them. But maybe there is banality in everything. Maybe no artist or writer escapes from some degree of banality. I am sure there is plenty of banality in what I write. But maybe not. Banality is a personality thing. It is a crisis of soul. It is a simplification of personality. Banality is a depth problem. Often times people are not willing or able to go deep enough to surpass banality. Plus banality sells since most people are looking for art or entertainment that reconfirms their own banality. But I am always looking for art, writing, film and other things which lack banality. Richard Prince’s essays, or what I have read of Richard Prince’s essays, have banality in them. Not totally banal. There is interesting things within these essays, and I will keep reading them for this reason, but the personality writing these essays does suffer some degree of banality. I am sure he would admit to this. Most of our personalities succumb to some degree of banality. I resist this. In continual resistance to the banalization of my personality. Maybe I should give in. Maybe life would be easier if I just let go and surrender to banality. But I continually seek out an absence of banality. I seek it out through drugs, through sex and women, through music and through literature. I am often told that I should meet new people but most meetings with people, if not all, are banal. So I prefer to avoid meeting new people. I prefer to limit my interactions with people (unless they are naked, female and very attractive which does not happen often) because people equal the banal. But I am always seeking out people who are not banal. Artistic expression that is absent of the banal. I come across it not often. I spend a lot of money on books and records hoping that I will find the antidote to the banal in them and often I do not. But sometimes I do and these moments are ecstatic for me. I become very happy because I have hope that it is possible to live without becoming banal. That there are people out there who have forged a way of life and a mode of self expression that omits the banal. Few of them are interested in personal development and yoga. These things have banality built in to them. They lack honesty and integrity. I seek out expression that is fresh and free of all conformity and censorship. People whose personality has not yet been marginalized. These moments are why I continually go to book stores and record stores. Every time I go to a book store and record store there is the slight possibility that I will discover something that provides me with moments of hope and ecstasy. Where the world will not be such a banal place and there is the hope of surpassing this human condition. It is a temporary elation because soon after finishing the book and/or record the hope and the ecstasy dissipate. I will then go in search for someone else, some other artist or writer who has yet to succumb to banality. It is a continual effort on my part to ward off banality and each artist or author whom I find who has avoided the banalization of their artistic expression and personality gives me the hope and courage I need to carry on.
What is it with me? Why do I feel so uncomfortable socially? I get around people and I feel like my breath constricts. I become dizzy. I am being sucked into myself and working hard to stay out. I can’t think straight. I can’t talk straight. I say things that I don’t really mean. I say things that surprise me. I feel like everything is moving fast. What is this? Social anxiety? But I should be way beyond social anxiety. I am a successful psychologist. I feel confident with myself. I meditate every morning. But I get around other people and lose myself. I forget about my feet touching the ground. I lose my grip. Why is this? Is it because I do not like people and I am being forced to be friendly with people? Is it because I feel like I can not be myself around other people? Is it because I become confused about who I am when around other people? I don’t understand. When I am alone I am happy to be alone. When I am alone I feel disdain towards other people. I want to be away from all people. I am happy separated from other humans. But is this because I really do not like other people or is it because I am so insecure and confused when around other people that it is much easier being alone? I had a father who crushed my sense of self growing up. He made a habit out of putting me down. I could do nothing right. If I did not do what he thought was right I was condemned and brutalized. Could my current confusion and anxiety around other people be rooted in this? Is my confused sense of a social self a result of growing up in an environment where everything I did was wrong? What does it even mean to be yourself? What is myself anyways? Who am I? I don’t think I have a real sense of this because it is always changing. But I see others around other people. They seem calm and relaxed in themselves. For me it is not like that. Sometimes it is but I often feel unsettled. I feel like I am struggling not to come off as a fool. Is it because I do not want to be talking with these people but I am forcing myself to do it and as a result feel like I am being a fraud? I have a difficult time being disingenuous. I am not good at it. I have been told that I am not fit for human interaction because I can’t fake it. Because I can’t play the social game. But I try. I really do. And maybe this is what makes me feel so uncomfortable around others. This inability to be my curmudgeonly self. My inability to be the introverted, anti-social weirdo that I am when around others. I have to come off like I am a man of positive and responsible standing but this is not really who I am. There is this divide between the person I am and the person I create for you. But we all do this to an extent. Why does in make me so anxious? Why can’t I just be calm and easy when talking with others? Why do I feel this shaking ground in me every time I talk to another? Maybe it is something I will never understand. Maybe I am just socially ill equipped and that is just the way I am.