“But have you named them yet?” [Journal 6-30-17]

Estas Tonne – The Song Of The Golden Dragon.

I hate to tell this story, given the poor man still existing somewhere, and my only taking a puckish pride in it’s occurrence. I must have been around 20 at the time. I went into a military recruiter. It was just he and I, and he was answering my questions. I wasn’t interested in the prospect of glory, or respect, or whathaveyou; I wanted work. I viewed it as especially well-paying work [when tallying the social influence, training, college, etc] wherein I risked my life, and aided in the judicial murder of strangers.

Accordingly, I took the discussion rather seriously. I let my hair down, if you will: dropping the layers of feigned stupidity utilized to keep people calm. Still, I was polite, respectful, and not intentionally imposing. That poor man was trim, over 6 foot, self-assured, and relaxed. We sat across from each other, him behind his desk. To a listener, nothing of our conversation would reveal the underlying emotional turmoil that slowly mounted within him. I merely asked questions, and he merely answered.

As I said: I let my hair down. From my perspective, I was bartering my life; it was not a time for frivolity. By the end of the conversation, which I imagine lasted around twenty minutes, he was visibly shaking; though he tried to hide it, tried to face me, and I tried to help him do so. I suspect he knew I was trying to help, which deepened his fear of me. Perhaps he was specifically a recruiter because some mental instability prevented active duty – thus it was not my behavior which led to the shaking.

What I did was very simple: I dominated the ever-present body-language dialogue that most people are unaware of – despite it regularly being far more important to them than any facts conveyed. By dominated, I do not mean to imply I was imposing or disrespectful. I was simply comfortable with his presence, to a point implying he posed neither the slightest value nor threat to me, and patiently steered him through questions he did not answer to my satisfaction.

This story comes to mind, given my current situation. As my acuity returns, I’m gaining access to areas of myself which ostracize me most. Yet, despite still being convinced the likelihood of finding a partner – or even tolerable company – is slim-to-none, I am no longer depressed. Infact, I keep unexpectedly catching myself not being depressed, with surprised amusement. I’m happy most of the time, aswellas regaining my fundamental, playful nature.

Today, at the shelter, I was jumping between tasks energetically, and gleefully. I even found a new cat I like. [Please don’t tell anyone I like some cats.] As it used to be, my entire life is becoming play again – rather than a physically and mentally agonizing trudge. But of course, as my mind reinvigorates, so increases the probability of those around me being overcome with animalistic fear – and ruining my god damned life for no good fucking reason.

But, I’ve thought about that this last year. Pre-depression, I didn’t fully grasp the social mechanics my mere existence generated. I simply expected too much of people. Now, I know better, and have accordingly developed more advanced forms of pretending I’m a fucking moron. You’re welcome.

I don’t mean to be spiteful, but I’ve had a great deal of experience with people whom fuck up everything for no other reason than their thoughtless impulses. And the unquestioned belief that those impulses represent empirical evidence. And the equally self-imposed delusion that I have anything to do with the results of their stupidity-driven behavior. Fuck. You. Idiots.

Poor me. Anyway, metacog progresses. Repression is primarily under my conscious control, and I expect to have it fully mastered in time. Though how long, I cannot say, given that I have to start looking for work in a week or so. I’ll, of course, be busy working henceforth, and won’t necessarily have time to continue dropping priceless wisdom on you thankless peasants. Prolly for the best: you don’t want to be encouraged toward independent thought; it’s a lonely, demanding affair, that leads to taking responsibility for yourself. Couldn’t fucking have that.

Go figure I run outta money, and gotta go back to the grind, when I finally make the most important breakthrough of my damned life – which I’ve been trying at for 15 years. Fuck.

Anyway, with my pre-depression/repression mental functions returning, I can finally be truly happy, content, productive, and myself, again. And finally, whole again, I can start seriously developing my metacognitive capacity – molding myself to the shape I choose. But that’ll be awhile from now, given that I have to piece everything back together, acclimate to a new job, etc. Oh, I think I found the mental process that keeps my kidneys functioning properly, and am keeping it running consistently.

Or I’m a megalomaniac. Just keep repeating it, so your world stays small and safe – in your mind.


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~ by Louis Naughtic on June 30, 2017.

One Response to ““But have you named them yet?” [Journal 6-30-17]”

  1. Dang… no like button… what to do.

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