Reflection.

Well, that was a whiney and bitchy previous post, eh, what can you do, the joys of alcohol induced self-loathing mixed with the severe lack of ability to express emotions I suppose.


Moving on.


It's been a long time since a new album has hit me right at the correct moment.

I hesitated upon the downloading of Arcade Fire's "Reflektor," but eventually succumbed to the curiosity of if they've created something I'd like as much as their first album "Funeral."


Upon first listen, I'm not disappointed. It does seem to be a mish-mosh of all the bands you're supposed to like and credit with your musical foundations. And it does make me reflect. Oh the reflection.


I struggle quite often with how weird I am. It's always a surprise to me when someone finds something new about me that isn't "normal." It happens often enough that I'm not even able to pass this off as a "we're all weird in our own way" situation and accept the fact, that though there is a percentage of people similar, I am a little weird.


Not too long ago I had a conversation via email with a psychiatrist about a personality disorder I found to explain a lot of who I was and why I was weird, this disorder is known as "Schizoid Personalty Disorder."Now, yes, there is such a thing as being a hypochondriac, but this stems a bit different than a simple dismissal of "you're thinking about this too much." But I digress, in this email conversation, I laid out a few of my symptoms and how they matched up with signs of having this disorder. The psychiatrist was very helpful, and though she obviously could not diagnose me over email, she agreed that I would seem to have found an answer to my wacky weird brain.


The brief definition of this disorder is a personality disorder characterized by a lack of interest in social relationships, a tendency towards a solitary lifestyle, secretiveness, emotional coldness, and apathy. Affected individuals may simultaneously demonstrate a rich, elaborate and exclusively internal fantasy world. (from wikipedia, yes, I know...wikipedia...)




I often am not driven to meet new people or have social relationships. I adore a solitary lifestyle and secretiveness. Apathy, I have apathy in spades. Emotional coldness is tricky. The circumstances of my childhood and upbringing have shaped me into, for lack of a better word, an empath, yet obviously I'm not a superhero or mutant in this respect. From an early age, I learned that if I could figure out the feelings of a person, I could better understand their actions. Once I could explain their actions by knowing their feelings, I knew how to diffuse a "situation" that was getting out of control. I didn't actually care too much, I just know that I could find peace and solace if there was no "situation" at all.

I'm a good listener and able to spew semi-wise sounding phrases that may or may not fit the speakers venting, yet most times it's pretty applicable, but thats just from observing life more than partaking. In scary situations I seem to remain calm and emotionally cold. Emotions fester, of course, but people typically react quickly to an emotion rather than stop and take into account why the emotion is felt. I do this by replaying everything I can remember in every conversation I have. I analyze everything, to what everyone was feeling when they said what they said, facial expressions, what I said, what I think my facial expressions were, what I could have said differently, etc. That's weird. But it's my fantasy world.

I get trapped in my fantasy world quite often. Sometimes in the middle of a sentence someone is speaking to me. I can't help it. I'm safer in my head, and realize how aloof I appear sometimes, yet I think I've come a long way in wearing a mask to portray being in the moment.

I've found that in the last decade, my closest friends are those that don't require a lot of emotional closeness. Whether I seek this out intentionally or subconsciously, it happens. I've definitely missed a great deal of opportunities with relationships due to this. Some really great girls have come into my life, yet my incapacity to muster the desire to want emotional closeness weighs heavy. It takes awhile to come across someone that I potentially think I could finally break through with, yet every time without fail (ironically failing is the one thing I'm sure to achieve), I seem to get stuck in a pattern. I enjoy the friendship of these relationships, yet am ok with there being no emotional or physical intimacy.

It's a frustrating contradiction to have emotions and feelings of being lonely, yet the ease and option of simply going out and meeting someone becomes intangible due to the sheer lack of ability to tolerate someone else's emotions and allowing them into my personal bubble. Infuriating.

There is a list of nine criteria for Schizoid Personality Disorder. One must show four of the nine to be considered to have SPD. I have eight and a half. The other one and a half contain the capacity for argument in favour of me exemplifying the traits.

All of this brings me back to reflection. For us humans struggling through this life together, part of growing up is reflecting on ourselves, the actions we've taken, words we've said, experiences we've shared and looking for those patterns that emerge. The little clues unlocking explanation into why we acted a certain way, what emotion we had when we acted, why that emotion was felt, how the result occurred and the emotion of said result...

I think knowing I am a strong candidate for Schizoid Personality Disorder helps me wear a mask a little better out in the real world, however, maybe its time to take off the mask. I am a weird person, and I like the things that I like. I enjoy being alone. It's just annoying that I feel I want to be alone with someone else too.

We must know ourselves before we can fully know others, definitely not a new concept; however, a lack of prevalence in this highly technological age. Be honest and truthful with yourself and honesty and trust is something you'll be able to see in other people. When you find that honesty and trust, be their friend. You'll never know where it will lead, and most times not where you thought or wanted, but honesty and trust is something you should always find in your friends. Even if they sometimes are in your own internal fantasy world.

Anger.

Right, so, bear in mind that I'm a highly introverted and ugly man, but what started as the standard testosterone fueled annoyance with the "dumb yet super attractive" guy, ended in quite a not foreseen conclusion.

Now, to get to the conclusion I eventually arrived at, I'm going to have to walk you through my train of thought in watered down detail. This is extremely terrifying for me, as my train of thought is the most embarrassing thing I can think to share, hence I'm still watering it down. It's utterly ridiculous and silly. And what's really fucked up about it, is if you for even the slightest of split seconds find that one of these connections make sense to you, well, you may be as weird as I am.

What began as a classic troupe of human existence quickly turned into an existential nightmare. Masculinity was challenged, and weariness gave way to deep intrusions into, not so much the thoughts themselves, just the reasons behind the thoughts.

Enters another male to the group. Said male is considered "attractive." Then a feeling of being threatened takes hold, and anger courses its way through every part of your being. At this point, a breath is taken, because it's very hard to arise anger for such a ridiculous reason, let alone the entirety of my being, and then the existential nightmare begins.

Was I jealous? Was I angry because I was jealous I wasn't a pretty boy? Was I angry because I'll never know what its like to have a female look at me and think, "I want that"? These were thoughts that were floating in my mind, but, no, thats not why I was angry.

Why was I angry? Was it because of some other circumstances? Plausible. Yet upon further investigation, no. Other circumstances had no play in the matter.

Was it a simple natural selection instance? Was I angry because I felt threatened?
No. Still no.

Was it because I'm constantly told to be more confident cause females like confidence? Yes.

I'm angry because confidence is tricky.
You can't just will self-confidence into being. It has to be bestowed onto you as a gift. It's not an easy gift to be given to quiet people who keep to themselves. It's much easier to give to the people who are outspoken and don't seem shaken by meeting new people and are aesthetically pleasing.

I'm angry at myself.

It had nothing to do with any of the above mentioned cases for anger. And even thought I thought I knew what it was, I was wrong. I don't like being wrong, but no one is ever "always right." I was angry at myself.

No, I don't have confidence in my looks, and for good reason! I believe the term is a "face made for radio," but thats even a stretch because I severely lack a sexy voice as well. But I am confident. I'm confident in other ways.

And this is where things get a bit existential, but I'm angry because I'm confident in my strengths. But my strengths are not things females are drawn to these days, or at least at this age it seems. Well, you know, I'm really not trying to generalize here, because thats my point I suppose.

Am I confident in my appearance and my physical attraction to females? No.
I accept that, because sometimes, I am right.

I'm confident in my ability to know when someone is not happy. I'm confident in my ability to make that person laugh, or feel better for even the smallest second. I'm confident that I can make almost anyone feel safe and comfortable around me. I'm confident that I'm intelligent and innovative. I'm confident that I'm a dork and cheesy. I'm confident that I'm not very good at a lot of things, but one of the only things I know I'll be good at, is being a father.

And there it is. Anger.

When coming from a long line of family that has a history of being married and having kids by the age of 23, a 28 year old male can start to feel a little worried about his reasons for failure. Now, everyone is different. It's utterly ridiculous for me to assume that I am the only male who thinks this way, and again its pretentious for me to assume that all males think this way. The point is I can't speak for males. I can speak for me. And I feel worried.

I don't like worry.

I get angry when people I care about are not happy. I'm confident in my ability to make people I don't know that well feel safe and comfortable, so people I care about I especially want to assist. If there is nothing I can do. I get angry. I can't sort marital problems. I can't sort relationship problems. I can't fix financial hardships. I can't raise people from the dead. I can listen and I can comfort.

I'm a dad.

I'm angry, because I feel like I'm terrible at a lot of things. Because I have failed so many times in my life. Because I've made so many mistakes. I'm angry because the one thing I know I can succeed at, is a ridiculous thing for someone in my current state of life to think about. I have no doubt that if I'm ever so blessed with the opportunity, I'm going to be a good father. And I'm angry, because of the pressure I feel to make it happen. I'm angry at the self-criticisms I place on myself. I'm furious at my lack of self-confidence in my physical appearance. I'm livid that I make myself feel bad for knowing I'll be a great father, but am worried about being attractive. Now don't get me wrong, I certainly need to attract a female for the father thing to happen, but I want a good mother too.

I'm angry because I've been lied to. I was told that life was a certain way. I was told you go to school, and graduate college, and get married, and start a family. That's not life.

I'm angry because I feel ashamed to want to be a father.
I feel embarrassed to think thoughts of wanting to be a father.

And there, an existential nightmare, spins and twirls in my brain.
I hate when I get trapped in my own head sometimes. I think about things too much, too deep. Growing up takes time; we don't get to choose the speed.

I'm angry because sometimes the acceptance of reality means sacrificing the one thing you know you'd be good at.

Sometimes reality is accepting your destiny. If such a thing as destiny exists, it is a cruelty for one to know their destiny at a young age. Cruel indeed. Angry words.

The Return

And here I am...unabashedly returning to the forgotten therapy of blogging.

It's been some time since I sputtered my thoughts down onto a page or scarmbled the keys until ill attempts at the english language birthed the squanderings of a grumpy old man trapped in a young man's body to fruition. However, now, I read the word therapy, and as I've gone back and read the pasts scribblings of my life, I can't help but think how horribly pathetic and immature I was then. And I can vividly recall the exact way I felt when writing those words. The situations I was in. The fears that I felt. The "not so much a regret"'s; where you don't regret anything, but would maybe change one thing you'd do differently. You refer to it as a "not so much a regret" because you've extensively analyzed everything in such great detail, the one thing you decided to change was the only possible thing that would not make the situation have had a different outcome in any way possible. But you'd just feel better about everything. And there it is. Therapy.

For me, just the fluidity of writing heals the soul. Letting whatever comes out just flow, that one thing you can do that just let's you expel the trapped thoughts and emotions from your brain. It's difficult to find for some people. I only recently realized writing was mine, as per above. But I encourage you to find that one thing for you that you know will help. It's not always the same. Sometimes it can be that one breakdown in that song. You know, where the drummer does that ridiculous drum solo with drum triggers and plays off of the reversed delay of his own drumming. Yeah, but that only happened once for me, but I'm sure at least one person knows what I'm talking about, other wise people wouldn't enjoy music so damn much...and there's the grumpy old man. But thats what's different now, the grumpy old man wasn't a part of my past scribblings. Thanks therapy. You bitch.

I've given a lot of thought to this idea of growing up. I fought it most my life. Unintentionally. I was just naive. By the time I wasn't naive anymore, I was so cynical, I wouldn't have accepted an apology from a puppy. But the change was like a light switch. Grown up.

Sometimes accepting your reality is hard to do. As an introvert, I can quite easily get lost in my own world. Sometimes they blend a little, and that's where the growing up gets hard. We can struggle to keep ourselves from ourselves. It was ok when we were kids. But now we have responsibilities. Thanks responsibilities. You bitch.

Sorry, I found myself in another rant, and thought I should keep the structure going.

Maybe the whole point of having to read the past scribblings of your life is to be able to remember how young you used to be so you can see how far you've come. Although mostly, it just makes you realize how foolish you are and were.

Life is interesting to me. I think I've reached the point where I've realized that it's kinda shitty to be alive. It's really not so easy being alive for most people. And we, who struggle with our lives yet aren't quite the same people who are stuck in a country that is in the midst of war. Or, you know, can at least afford to eat once a day. Well, we all take that for granted, I think. And there is nothing wrong with being someone who just doesn't care about himself long enough to help someone else make their life just that smidgen better. But in the past, I've whined and moaned and bickered about it. Now, its just life.

It's just life. We all have to live it. Let's just help each other through it.

Time to put on the "big boy pants" and accept the apologies of some puppies.

Wait...

Neglected Blog

Oh neglected blog...I will start utilizing you once again.