admission is free

I'm... sick.
I can admit it.
I have been for a long time. The symptoms are not always noticeable, but they're constantly working behind the scenes. Sometimes I don't even see what their machinations are until they come to fruition.
I'm not completely in control anymore. I'm losing entire pieces at a time. There's been points here recently where I have been able to halt the spread, and even force a bit of recidivism, but then the hand slips, the mind wanders, and the damage increases.
I'm sick and I'm not sure how to get better.

For what is now, to me, too long, I've had a companion that never forced me to be great verbal accompaniment. My moods and thoughts were readily apparent, and needed no further exploration. When I was burgeoning on a lack of sanity, I didn't need to explain myself, merely be, and it was OK. Inside that relationship, I had the luxury of internalizing.
Maybe this was the reason that things didn't work out?
I don't know why I'm still looking for a reason to blame myself. I can't help it. I wish I could. There has to be something I did wrong, because I can't stomach it otherwise.
But I'm learning.
I'm learning all the wrong lessons.
There's so much cynicism. So much wrong with people, and the way we treat each other. I can't talk to anyone without their constant condemnation of the other sex, of each other, of most of the people they know, and it's beginning to drive me crazy. Utterly and completely crazy.
Literally.

I began writing this blog as a form of therapy. A way to communicate my thoughts and feelings in an emotionally honest way. I've chosen to keep specifics and names out of here as a measure of indemnification for the affected parties, and for the most part, it's been successful. For the most part.
It is difficult for me to gauge who does and doesn't read this, but in a way I guess this affords me a little more freedom to be honest.

and I'm not

not entirely, at least.

Outside of this forum, I've begun speaking about my consideration to seek therapy. For most of my life, I've been able to lay out a problem and see some sort of solution, or at least a way through, but now, now I'm realizing this has probably done me more harm than good. Upon reflection, if I dig back far enough, I haven't grown up a single fucking bit.

I'm still expressing my emotions in cowardly little ultimatums, and then running away from the blast. I don't know how to approach people, I don't know how to have honest conversations about topics that make me the least bit uncomfortable. I don't know how to express and release anger without it turning into rage. A lot of the time, I feel empty. When I am overcome by emotion, it becomes the over-reaction of a child, crying or screaming or bounding, but there is no medium. No sense of contentment, or happiness, or annoyed, or sad, I skip over the healthy steps and break into the outer limits. Anything else I bury deep enough that I don't have to see it surface until it has mutated out of control.

And this, this writing, it's not helping me.

It's nothing more than an excuse. Freedom, yes, but without honesty. It's a crutch, a reason not to have emotional conversations with people, an easy release valve as a substitution for real human interaction.

To be honest, the world we live in makes it incredibly easy not to have any real interaction if we so choose it.

I've expressed a desire, many times, to be more normal. My friends think that I want to remove the things that people think are strange, or unique about myself. This couldn't be farther from the truth. I love the things that differentiate me, that make me who I am. But I'm missing a lot of the pieces that enable a person to move through life.

The way I've established relationships of any sort has almost always been peripheral, as the result of other situations, or an established lateral movement in social topography. Maintenance of said relations always suffer at the hands of other focal points; this ability of interaction which for most people is nearly vestigial, but something that I never properly nurtured. My tendency has always been towards a small, tight-knit group of people, to the exclusion of all else. Unfortunately, when these relations fall through, it doesn't really leave me with much to stand on.

So in the aftermath, I've embedded myself in these wispy arenas, where I can make vague demands, and instead of telling people how I feel, I can release these thoughts in directionless statements, hoping that the person I really want to say things to takes my meaning-instead of just telling them directly how I feel.
(I'm going to be guilty of this at least one more time before this is over.)

This is why I feel I need therapy. I need a way to let out the things that go on in my head, without repercussion, without rejection, without judgment. I need someone who can help weed out the overtly irrational parts of my social brain. I can't deal with these problems on my own any more, and I need help.

---

Yes, I do need to apologize. In the comparatively short time I've known you, I've alternated between abject silence and ridiculous outburst. I'm sorry that you've had to suffer the brunt of whatever psychosis is rumbling its way through my head. I'm acting out in very stupid ways to deal with all of this, and for that I'm also sorry.


That very first time, I asked that we sink or swim on our personalities alone, and throw all the pretense aside, and I've done a terrible job holding up my end of that bargain.


And you have been so incredibly gracious, I can only hope I'm deserving of it.

--

In short, I'm going to be backing off of a lot of things, at least for the time being. Facebook and Twitter will be the most noticeable in the short run, and I'm not sure what else this will change. I'm not shutting them down, because abstinence without temptation is worthless, and teaches nothing.

I need to figure out who I am, because too long I've had a serious of emotional crutches and co-dependencies.

Unfortunately, for now, that means this blog, too.

At least until I make some progress.

Refunds will be at the door.