Short Stories and Other Stuff

I think I'm going to additionally open my blog up to some of my creative writing so that I have a motivator to keep writing stories. Feel free to read them, offer any constructive criticism, or ignore them completely!

My first story I'm posting is one I did as an exercise in class to pick two stories (or poems, or combination), and write my own story with the same themes or style. The two pieces I picked were The Day the Saucers Came by Neil Gaiman, and The Last Night of the World by Ray Bradbury.

Enjoy! Or don't. Both are valid options.

This is an Uphill Battle

Today was a good day. And a bad day. This has become my new normal since starting therapy. What I mean is that some moments were really good, and I felt genuinely happy and like nothing could go wrong, and then not an hour later I'm panicking about completely random things.

I think I'm four or five sessions into my therapy at this point. It's probably not good that I've lost track already, but I'm learning that that's the reality of how this goes.

Each session has been really good in the moment, and I leave feeling a little more confident, and a little more able to be myself. But then I have to carry that feeling alone for an entire week, and I'm not very good at that part yet.

My days are in more fluctuation than they used to be, and that's not always a bad thing. Before I started therapy, I'd have long stretches of bad days where it was a battle to even get out of bed, let alone be productive in any measurable way. Now, I have a handful of good days, where I love talking to people and reach out to them when I want to talk to them and job hunt and feel like I'm getting a handle on things.

The flip side of that, of course, is that the single bad days are now compiling all of the bad into a span of about fourteen hours, give or take. So the paranoia I'd spread out over the course of about five days every few weeks are now bottled down into a brief period of time. I worry that because someone hasn't talked directly to me in a few days of their own choice, that they're avoiding me and I must have done something to upset them. That leads to me not wanting to initiate conversation because then I'm just an annoyance and confirm every bad thing I think about myself in that day. Then when we do talk, I over-analyze everything they say.

This even happens in the group chat my best friends and I have going. I won't comment for an entire day, even if I want to vent about something or want to talk about this new thing I'm interested in. I'll read everything else that's being said, and even like comments to let everyone know I'm still keeping up, but I feel like I have nothing worthwhile to contribute. I'm afraid that my friends, who have been nothing but supportive and repeatedly told me that they care about me, are not going to want to hear about my bullshit.

My confidence comes and goes, even among the people I'm closest to. But it's still better than having no confidence at all, and I hold on to that point. I don't know if this is an update, an apology if I've seemed off lately since I started therapy, or just a way to put it out in the open so I'm not keeping these feelings bottled up anymore.

In any case, I still think I'm getting better, and I attribute a lot of that to my therapy so far. I'll probably be publishing this late at night so it doesn't clutter up newsfeeds, and also because my sleep schedule is off no matter how tired I am at night.

I Might Be Depressed, and Other Fun Games My Brain Plays With Me

My brain does this funny thing.

When I've convinced myself that there may be something that's causing me to not feel great, that I might have an anxiety condition or even be depressed, my brain will snap to attention and say, "No, it's fine. You're fine. This is just how life is. There's nothing wrong with you." Like my brain is Batman from Arkham City, but just with that one line that only works out of context in this situation because most of the time I feel like Batman keeping my villain brain at bay.

Skip to 2:04 to get my obscure reference!

And so I put off making an appointment with a therapist. I don't tell other people that I'm feeling the way I'm feeling. I do what I always do; I make passing comments or jokes that are secretly probes to see if other people notice I'm not myself, hoping they'll suggest that I get some help so it doesn't feel like my responsibility anymore.

But it is. And that's why I'm making an appointment to see a therapist.

It probably seems easy from the outside: not feeling well? Go talk to someone who can fix that! When my wrist was broken after my car accident, I didn't sit around thinking "Well, maybe it's not as broken as it could be. I'm sure it'll get better on its own." I got in that damn ambulance at the scene of the accident and took the morphine and spent the next six weeks in a cast so I could heal properly.

And yet I've spent weeks debating with myself about this problem. It's mostly because I'm not always in a low mood. This would be so much easier if I was. Always low means I know there's something happening. But when it's interspersed with a lot of good times, and happy times, it's easier to convince myself that I'm okay all the time.

I'm not saying I'm lying, or have been lying, when you see me happy, or when we hang out and I'm having a good time. I genuinely am happy in those moments. It's not an act. Of course, it only lasts as long as that time together does, and then I'm alone with my thoughts and it gets low again.

So happiness becomes like a drug, and I use my friends and hobbies to get another quick hit so I can keep my brain quiet for a little bit. Because that son-of-a-bitch is aggressive when it's just me and him.

Look at that smug asshole.

I want to like myself all the time again. I want to have the kind of self-confidence that lets me ask a cute girl out on a date instead of getting tripped up on self-esteem issues. I want to be around people and not worry if they actually like me or are just tolerating my presence like we all do with Adam Sandler.

Does anyone remember a likable Adam Sandler at this point?

Part of me also worried what people would think if they found out this is also a part of who I am. I work hard to be the friend people want to have a good time with, and feel like they can talk to about their problems. I like being that guy. Hell, that's who I was before the darker feelings started creeping in. But that perception can change when they find out I've got a brain that enjoys bullying its host on occasion. It's partially why I want to help myself now.

Of course, my brain retaliates whenever I start getting this crazy notion of helping myself. The latest and greatest fear is that there's really nothing wrong with me. That I'm just unequipped to deal with the real world, and this is life for everyone; I'm just worse at coping with it. And how do you bring that up with other people?

Me: Hey, this party sure is great!
Them: Haha, yeah! We never get a chance to just unwind!
Me: I know! So, does anyone else find that they aren't able to deal with the swirling vortex that is independence and adulthood because they don't think they're good enough to actually accomplish anything before they eventually decompose into nothingness?
Me: ...guys? Where are you going?

 You may be wondering by now why, if I'm so worried about other people finding this out about me, am I broadcasting it on my very public blog and sharing it with all my friends on my very public Facebook, many of whom are family or at least close enough that we still talk sometimes probably?

Because fuck my brain, that's why. Fuck that part of it that is trying to push me deeper into myself until I'm convinced I'm fine even though I'm not. The more people that know, the less my brain can isolate the problem to just me.

This isn't really a sympathy post, because I'm not doing it so everyone pays attention to me for ten minutes. I don't crave words of support and encouragement (although they are all appreciated if they come, of course). I just need to get this somewhere other than in my mind. Outside of it, preferably.

More like Inside Out, amiright?

If you're reading this, you know I've already posted it. But right now, as I'm writing it, I'm still terrified about letting this out into the world. And that's okay. That's just my brain holding on to its last really strong thread. I'm better than that fear. I still know that, at least.

So...thanks for reading, I suppose. If you've managed to make it this far. I mean, how's this for a jump start to my blog that sort of fell to the wayside? I'll probably go back to posting nerdy things, but I'll give updates about this next step in me feeling like me again, because it'll be cathartic or something on my end, and you have the option of ignoring it if you'd like.

P.S. You don't have to treat me any differently if we hang out or you see me. I'm not a mine that's going to detonate at the slightest provocation. My laughter is genuine, my interest in your life comes from a place of caring and not attempted distraction, and you really do make me feel better in my own skin.