“I almost had my own show in Japan.”

Content warning:  suicidal ideation.

Message in a bottle.

I have a confession.  Every time I read or hear about humans behaving abominably toward other humans, I think about suicide.  Last year, I thought about it almost nonstop.  It was distracting, annoying, and a little scary.

I think I’m supposed to feel ashamed of this, but I don’t.  It just is.  I’m capable of being as cold as space and utterly indifferent.  I trained myself to reject those feelings.  Now it’s habitual.

I could change this internal thought process by forming a new habit, but I choose not to do so.  I don’t want to live as an unfeeling, unattached, and unaffected entity.  We have computers for that.

This is one of the few instances where I regret being too intense.  That’s not quite what I mean…  (I was going to say unbalanced, but it failed the rudeness test ((and made me giggle.)))

Sometimes I wish I could attach an attenuator to my brain.  I’ve thought too many steps ahead, and now I’m more interested in pursuing the new thread.  This is precisely why I’m such an airhead.  I do this constantly.

I can’t complain about being an airhead because it’s the most potent tool in my survival kit.  If I couldn’t distract myself, I wouldn’t still be kicking it.  I’m just far too good at it.  It makes it difficult to communicate with others.

I’ve always journaled since a child.  It’s how I talked to my mom about things more complicated than nodding and head shaking could dispatch.  I began using a typewriter when I was six because writing longhand is (still) difficult for me.

When I don’t blog I go silent.  It’s usually not immediate, but when I don’t have my computer to help me express my thoughts, I gradually stop sharing them because it takes too much effort to mostly fail at saying what I mean.

The longer it goes on, the harder it is to start talking again.  Deep down I’m always terrified I’ll lose the ability to speak permanently.  It’s kinda twisted how the more I fear, the longer it takes to reclaim the skill.   I have to convince myself to stop being afraid of that scenario before my voice returns.  (It’s rocket science when you’re exasperated.)

When I let go of the world outside my head, it’s dangerous for my lifespan.  I overanalyze to death, literally.  It’s not logical for me to exist, and I’m a surprisingly good extemporaneous speaker.  (Even when it’s just in my head.)  It wouldn’t take long to recognize I’m insignificant in any mid to large sized picture.  Then weigh it against the price I pay to participate, and conclude it’s not worth it.

(Fortunately?)  I discovered I have a new tool in my arsenal.  It’s a song by Evanescence called, Imperfection.  When Amy Lee sings, don’t you dare surrender, she sings it like she means it.  She put feeling in it like Beyoncè.

Now, when I remember 45 is still faking it, that sound byte plays in my mind.  It’s an incredibly powerful rebuke.  Startling, even.  I’m a little bit freaked out by how well it works.  But more pleased to have a new empowering tool.  Music is powerful.  (Use it responsibly.)

secret door

Oh shit, you were probably expecting a point.  It’s this:  Feeling all the feels takes incredible strength and courage because it’s not always fun or even tolerable.  Lying and pretending you don’t feel things intensely is weak sauce.

We all have survival strategies we use to function in society.  I’m just confessing my own in case someone thinks they’re the only one who has similar experiences internally.  I have a tough time trusting people (over age 21) who have never contemplated suicide.  (They smell too much like a liar.)  I’m off to beat my drums with sticks.