Intermittent Paranoid (redux)

or
Things I Don't Do
or
Progress
or
Whatever
I have to stop trying so hard. Embrace, fortify, analyze your tactics. I had grown so comfortable with my approach, that it became not second nature, but nature itself.
There is something to be said about revisionism-albeit exactly what is already known: it greatly benefits the party in power.
The thing that most don't see is what happens when you fall from power, and have to watch your re-writing be meticulously deconstructed and analyzed for faults.
Here is the truth: I'm incontravertably drawn to things that assure an outlook of one who is seen by others as the kind of person who will never actually reach maturity.
Here is my truth: I am learning to embrace that fact, despite the world view.
I'm growing. Up, in, out, away, these all have their merits, but the truth remains: I'm growing.
I'm very bad at conversation. My brain moves far faster than my mouth, so when I try to make honest, emotional, pure conversation, I falter. I stammer. I stutter. I realize this. I own this. I remember:
Becky from Scipio. We met at camp. We exchanged notes. We decided in our preteen minds to be a couple. There was a ritual, that each week, on the last night of camp, they would bring out the Speaking Stick. Anyone who held it would share their reflections of the week behind them, of their knowledge and reflection on what they learned. I knew so many people there, had such a unique experience at that place that I always felt more myself than anywhere else.
On the night I finally drew up the courage to hold her hand, I also took the speaking stick in hand.
This is when I learned that I can never give an impromptu speech.
Granted, I said many of the things I meant to, but my mouth was moving so much faster than the thoughts, even the pre-planned ones. I know that within a minute I was in tears. Not crying over my inability, but tears that reflected how honest and powerful that experience was for me; how powerful it always has been.
I idealize 'say what you mean, mean what you say.'
The unfortunate truth though, is that when I say what I'm thinking, it's exactly that. I like to let thoughts cook. I don't form opinions immediately. I try my best to give every person, place, or thing time to germinate and take roots before I reflect on what I mean in my thoughts.
This weekend, for the first time I can remember, I had truly emotionally honest conversation with other people. With friends, though only one of them was able to understand it.
With my mother, who, not unfairly, regards me as very emotionally guarded and distant.
In other words (worlds), I'm doing something I haven't done in a long time: I'm talking. And I've figured out the people who can stomach the constant revisions and retractions to my thought process.
I am, after all, the person who cannot write a first draft. Instead, what I write is what it is. If it's edited, it's solely for grammar, spelling, or punctuation. (Oxford comma)
Summarily, I find it difficult to speak my mind. I don't always say what I mean, and at times it comes out as the exact opposite. The fact that you can't edit conversation has led me to cease conversation all together. That, itself, is a terribly lonely road.
I'm doing my best to get over it. One stammer and awkward pause at a time. I'm not scared of you anymore. At least, not as scared.
My paranoia is waning. Hopefully, when it waxes full again, it will be like viewing the moon through a distant fog. Because it never goes away, but with the right mindset, it doesn't have to cast more than a pale glamour on a nightscape.
I'm growing. Up, in, out, away.

Era/error/errata/erratic

Disjointed, I know, but sometimes you have to throw the baby out with the bathwater.

I should be so angry. I should be angrier than I've ever known, but the truth is, I understand. I don't, but I do. Once you've shattered that wall, its hard not to stare at the gaping hole and think only of escape. I had hoped you'd be stronger than I was. I had hoped you'd make the choice that I didn't have the strength to make. I just hope, in a year, when you hear the misgiving, that after so much time how could you possibly not want to go back, you'll understand my answer.

You'll understand the truth.

That you put your feet to the ground running, and by the time you stopped to turn around and think if you'd even done the right thing, it was far too late to do anything about it. That even if you wanted to, you couldn't ever go back. That your absence is no longer a question, but a foregone conclusion.

I hope you hear the lie in your voice, that you don't think of as a lie. Even if I wanted to. Even if. If.
You'll think it rhetorical. And by your presumptuous lie, you make it reality.

But enough about you. I don't even know if this landmark registers in your field of vision. I hope it does almost as much as I hope it doesn't.

It makes you feel so helpless when you watch the torch get put to everything you've worked for, everything you built, and nothing you do can stop it. I'm tired of it. I'm tired of not being in control anymore. I want to be myself again. The truth of it is, I used to be a pretty fun person, and now I feel like a cowardly sack of judgement, ill-will, and pessimism.

Spontaneous used to be my credo, but now every step is measured thrice, analyzed in detail, over-thought, and ultimately left untrodden.

I need to figure out how to be selfish again. Which is not to say that I'm not selfish-sometimes I am so overtly selfish I make myself angry-but it's always in such a way that is detrimental rather than beneficial to my mental well being. I don't take chances. I don't dare overstep. I don't dare offend. When did I start giving a shit about this? When the fuck did I start caring so much about what everyone else thinks?

I think I'm paranoid.

Step 1: Slash/Burn

I'm taking it back. Slowly, but surely. There's all this territory that's no longer mine. I want it back. And I'm reclaiming it, bit by aggravating bit. Yes, I'm getting my hands dirty, but I also have come to the realization (upon the discovery of the last few shreds of the last time this was done) that, down the road, these scars will fade. But they cannot heal if there's dirt in the wound. So I'm cleaning, and it hurts.

Step 2: Selfish, whether you like it or not

I have to put myself first, in all the ways I haven't been. I have a tendency to put the wants and desires of others in front of my own. For the most part, I don't mind. But it drags. It weighs on me, because it gets in the way. I become embittered about it. Generally, the bitterness and inconvenience fade after a time, unless they stack and stack out of control. I'm doing it for all the wrong reasons. Out of some sick sense of loyalty, rather than good will. So, for all these things, no more. My time and my efforts are worth remuneration, or any kind of compensation. Unless, of course, I'm doing it for my own pleasure. Barring that, my time is very important to me, regardless of how I choose to waste it. If you want it, you'll have to make up for my opportunity cost.

Step 3: Selfish, whether I like it or not

This will ultimately be the difficult one. I need to learn to speak my mind. I've never been very good with conversation, preferring to write my thoughts down, hashing them out, and then giving a response. I'm not good with speaking on impulse, and if this is something I've done with you, consider yourself lucky. I'm not a writer by profession, but in a way I am and have always been one at heart. When I choose to craft something, I'm also a bit of a perfectionist. Writing gives me enough time to think about the thoughts I'm setting down, and at the very least, if I don't say what I intend to say, I say things that I mean, and that are true. I generally am not good with several drafts, but I do my fair share of editing. Speaking, on the other hand, is always handing somebody a first draft. I think at a rate somewhat slower than the one that I speak. When I craft something, in speech, in writing, in drawing, in any modicum of art, it rarely, if ever, reflects the original intent. In all but one of these things, however, the damage is not irreparable. When I speak, words rushing faster than thought, I bungle and bobble, often just going on instinct-and my instincts are bad. I say things I never meant to say. I say things I can't edit. I, in essence, fuck shit up. You can't edit when you speak, and so very often, I end up saying the wrong thing.

So, I say this not as something I need to acclimate myself to, but rather a skill I need to train: I need to learn to speak my mind.

Step 4: Take what I want

The prerequisite here, is figuring out what on the face of this planet I truly want, working to make it happen, and plucking that ripe fruit and then taking a huge bite, let the juices dribble down my chin and stain my shirt with it's delicious sticky goal achievement. This one is a less fleshed out goal than the other three, admittedly, but hopefully during these other steps I'll be able to make some progress on accomplishing this one.

Step 5: Profit

Suck it, nerds.