Welcome to Nerdophilia! Don't worry, there's no sex, just R-rated language! And nudity only if it's integral to the plot!
This blog is about anything I consider to be interesting or important, but mostly both. I am a believer in the paranormal and a fan of Nerdist, MythBusters, Ghost Adventures, science, and nerdy stuff.
Friday, August 21, 2015
An Honest Letter to Myself (KLEENEX ALERT!)
Apologies for the long absence. Life happened. It usually does. Not to mention that the evil Writer's Block just stopped me for a few months…..I couldn't figure out ANYTHING to write about. So, I guess I owe you a brief update: attended the Pennsylvania Autism Training Conference again, selling two paintings (only it was Mom who sold them—thanks, Mama Squirrel!); walked an entire 5K color run/walk event; still working on getting my shit together; ran out of ADD meds, but did a fasting blood test so I can get more; having weird dreams due to the absence of the ADD meds, etc.
This time around, I have decided to publish a blog post where I could be more honest to everyone (including myself), to a degree (since the Interwebs is full of creeps and criminals, in addition to the awesome, nice people online). And I've decided, after some consideration, to write a letter addressed to myself, which I know is already bringing me to tears; it's hard to be raw and real in an environment populated with trolls and cyberbullies, and I've become far too cautious for that, but I've decided to just answer Yoda's "Do or Do Not" lesson by choosing "Do," and even go so far as publishing it, regardless of the reactions readers may have. This isn't just for you—it's for me.
Anyways, make sure to have tissues ready, because things are about to get more real and more honest than they have been so far on the Interwebs! (Hence, the "KLEENEX ALERT!")
No, it's not a gimmick: I really did have a hard time typing this up. But it's worth it. Disclaimer: I'm NOT suicidal, and I have NO intentions or plans to hurt myself, okay? Please. I don't want people to freak out over this. I'll be okay, as long as I get the help I need.
Hey. It's you. Well, actually it's yourself, the part of you who wants to live a happy and fulfilling life.
Why are we writing a letter to ourselves? Because it's time to do away with the jokes for a while and address what's been going on within ourselves for a long time now. We need to talk.
I know what we've been feeling, lately. Yes, we're lonely, we're incurably sad, and we don't want to grow up or for things to change. But why is that? Why are we torturing ourselves emotionally by thinking, "Why can't I just be a four-year old again?" Is it because we deserve this masochism of the mind? Or is it that we secretly want to fall down that metaphorical sinkhole we've been running from for a few weeks now?
I can tell you right now that, yes, life is hard. It's difficult, and for us, unless we're distracted (and especially off the medications), it feels incredibly lonely. It's hard to remember that we have friends and family who want to help us, despite the voice inside of our head saying that nothing will work and nobody can help.
Perhaps it's a bit too much pride and egotism that prevents us from asking for help easily.
Or perhaps we're really just scared of change in life.
Yes, change can suck. But it's the metabolism of life on Earth. Some changes are bad (deforestation, changes in policy that allow politicians to be bought by corporations, global warming, political shifts in the Middle East giving rise to a group of militants who know how to really hurt us from the inside, etc.). But why get sad at the good changes, too? Is it because we've become too comfortable with the way things were before the change? Why is that?
I actually don't have an answer for that question.
Try as we might, it's incredibly hard for us to live happily. We live with depression (and its bedfellow, anxiety), which we fear is getting worse, whether it's because we were medicating irregularly, or that it's truly, independently getting worse, making us feel unstable in life.
Remember that post on Hyperbole-And-A-Half, about the time Allie Brosh was struggling with her depression to the point where just feeling any emotions is horribly terrifying and painful? And that she wound up ditching her emotions for "robot mode"? And this led to the feelings of not wanting to live anymore? We can't allow this to happen to ourselves. We have reasons to live, whether it's a temporary noble reason (raising awareness and paving the way towards acceptance of neurodiversity) or a temporary petty one (Jenny Lawson, aka The Bloggess, releasing her second book, which should be just as hilarious as her first one). We can't give up on ourselves and just check in to the mental hospital and go, "Help me feel as though I can be happy again without feeling my heart break for myself!"
It's too terrifying to even go that far, even if it means that we wind up getting outpatient psychiatric care due to our ex-psychiatrist not being helpful with insurance bullshit. (Seriously, this area that we live in is the worst in the State for mental health service availability; local health networks don't do outpatient psychiatric services unless we get admitted to the hospital for mental health reasons, which we really don't want to happen!)
Life is amazing and beautiful and something to be witnessed. We shouldn't scare ourselves with the negatives that lurk within the Deep Web, like Cthulhu being held in the deepest and darkest depths of the sea, waiting to be released to cause chaos and world destruction. Instead, we should figure out a way to either get the fuck away from the metaphorical sinkhole of despair, or just stop it entirely.
As much as it hurts, just talk to Mom and Dad about it. Or your sister; they'll understand that you're feeling hurt inside, and that you want it to stop but are scared to do so.
They're walking similar paths to yours, and they can't help you unless you tell them, unless we muster up the courage to just say the following four words: