Weird mood. Weird mood. I’ve been in a strange, drifting, pseudo melancholy type mood all day and I’ve had trouble shaking it. It’s that sort of existential state where you’ll see things and not react to them, but continually swirl them around in your brain without release. Other thoughts get added to the mix and they all swirl around together, still without release. They build and build, then compound one another, exacerbating the problem. One of my possible outcomes is to purge them in burst of frustration. This might be verbally or physically, exploding in someone’s face or finding some kind of outlet through fitness related means. Hopefully this doesn’t involve hurting anyone emotionally (or physically, obviously), but it can often be a side effect, which is why this kind of emotional damming (it’s emotionally damning too) is hugely unhealthy. So yeah, that’s one outcome. The other (more likely) outcome is to absorb it all and walk around like the undead. Either I stumble around in a generally uncommunicative state or float about lost to the world, errant thoughts popping out without warning. Woe betide anyone who tries to conduct meaningful repartee when I’m like this. The result will usually be a stream of disconnected emotions or self-analyses that few would have a luck unpacking.
I listened to Harmontown today, as I usually do as soon as it’s available, and they were having a discussion about personal motivations and expectations of how people view you. It made me start to think about myself objectively, as a character. I looked into how I function, what I desire out of life and how I go about gathering these things. It’s a disconcerting experience and I still feel a bit jaded having gone there. I figure that like most people (though how do we know how “most people” conduct themselves when they’re realistically a closed off entity, thoughts contained in the inner-sanctum of their mind?) I want love, appreciation, respect and admiration. I feel uncharismatic even admitting these things, but I’m digging this hole, let’s not put away that shovel yet. I’ve spent life gathering people around me, people who have qualities that I seek in myself. I’ve also removed myself from their lives and to a degree, themselves from my life. If love and affection are things that I desire from others, why do I find it so difficult to give them back?
Logically I know that it’s unrealistic to expect these things from others if you’re not willing to reciprocate, but lately I find it so hard to even try. I’ve been feeling like people give so much of themselves to me and I have trouble responding in kind. When someone makes a genuine offer I push them away. I’ve long known that I’m a shitty family member, uncaring and uncommunicative. I don’t know when the last time I spoke to anyone back home was. I’ve been withdrawing again lately and it’s getting harder to want to come back to people. I haven’t made the effort to keep up with friends and family back home and to be entirely honest and candid I haven’t really been missing people. I don’t know how much of this is my cold robot brain kicking in or something else entirely. I get the feeling like without trying, I’ve started to use my reclusive nature as a defence mechanism, a way of pushing people away because I feel incapable of returning the warmth they send towards me. I feel like if I can’t live up to what people provide for me, why try at all? Why do I deserve these people if I’m not willing to at least offer commensurate love? Then this follows down the rabbit hole of why people even take to me at all? What is it that I give people that make them want me in their lives? Whatever it is, I can’t see it.
What have I done to find myself worthy of the appreciation, respect and admiration that I so desire? I look at this comedy thing for instance. The whole idea behind it revolves around a combination of expression and narcissism. I want to get myself out there because I want my voice to be heard. I want my voice to be heard because at some level I must think that I have things worth saying. I must think I have things worth saying because I think highly of myself. I’ve known for a long time that I think I have a sense of humour, yet I find it so difficult to find people on board with my particular brand of weird. Whenever someone “doesn’t get it”, I place the burden on them rather than myself. Justifying my inability to connect as a problem of theirs. Maybe it’s me, you know? Where did this idea that I was ever funny come from? Why did I get the idea that I have things worth saying that others might enjoy? If I even feel these things, why do I seem incapable of getting off my ass and putting myself out there? Money where my mouth is, skin in the game. Excuses are good for nothing but self-deception. If I really feel like I’m worth any of the validation that I so clearly crave, there’s nothing to be done but to do it. Yet knowing this doesn’t move me in the way that it should. I’m fully aware of my own ineptitude in making things happen, where does the motivation come from to push myself out there? How low do I have to sink before I have no choice but to start rushing for the surface? I’ve been low before, I don’t want to have to hit the bottom again and have to come all the way back up.
I don’t even know to what degree these are real, heartfelt feelings or just my perception of how I “must” be feeling. If anyone knows, shouldn’t I? There’s no one more versed in my own isms, affectations and inadequacies, no one more qualified to really pick me apart. Is this just an offshoot of something I’m feeling lately in not having accomplished anything since I got to Toronto? I knew it wouldn’t be a cakewalk, but it feels like the most draining thing to come to terms with is how demotivated I feel and how hard I haven’t been trying to make things happen. What ever happened to my younger self who just wanted to extricate himself from Rotorua? That young twenty-something who was just tired of being alone, so made it happen? That same guy who had a goal to shed the weight that’d burdened him for his entire life, then did it and started to be happy with himself for possibly the first time ever? What happened to the fearlessness of buying a one way ticket and making a life for himself away from everything that had once defined him? How did all of that lead to this? Why, rather than a sense of adventure, do I just feel this intense dissatisfaction with myself? Nothing and nobody else is to blame for the choices I make, so why is my current motivation nothing more than to make excuses and shift the blame?
This is only touching the surface, really. One day, weird mood. I’m sure on the morrow I’ll be back to whatever normalcy feels like. I guess I’d been feeling unfulfilled in not having used the “Self-Loathing” category for a while, so that’ll make me happy. I think I’m fine, really you guys. Perhaps I just needed a chance to vent. Or more likely small neuroticisms built into bigger ones and combined with a number of annoying people throughout my day, which triggered my latent misanthropy and reminded me, for the first time in ages, how little I like most of humanity. Or maybe I’m just cranky because I’ve started calorie counting again. Probably the latter.
What was the name of this project again?