Why I suck - a long and unpoetic account

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Non-Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic

Why I suck - a long and unpoetic account

Looking at myself, I see something subhuman. My thoughts are profoundly negative; I consistently think in cynical terms. Sometimes I'll hear benign laughter from a group of friends joking about something completely unrelated to me, yet in all my anxiety and insecurity it will sound somewhat threatening to me - I tense up in despair, as though it's directed at me.
I catch myself projecting negative emotions on a regular basis. Sometimes I receive weird looks that demonstrate to me how out of touch I am. I loathe compliments - I simply don't know how to respond; my judgement may tell me someone is being sincere but my cynicism will deny me the pleasure. Rather than mutter a simple "thank you" with a smile, I'll cringe, won't know how to respond and inwardly punish myself - all to avoid a compliment. I insist on being socially awkward and unsolicitedly self-loathing, perhaps frequently at the discomfort of others whom have the misfortune of associating with me while I'm in such a state.
Sometimes I'm happy. I'll laugh and joke with people. I'll have a good time and nod at their responses, smiling all the while. But usually at the back of my mind there's always a subtle echo telling me they don't really like me and think I'm strange. When I'm feeling unwell I'll go so far as to avoid eye contact with the very same people out of shame and guilt; go almost completely mute; in such a state I feel very cold and my lack of warmth outwardly shows. I'm zapped of all my energy and tend to treat the current task as a tedious chore with apathy and ahedonia.
In such a state I struggle to even smile and even if I succeed, my smile will seem disingenuous and my insincerity will weigh on my conscience (I'm a humbug). Sometimes I desire complete isolation and loathe any prospect of social interaction: my first instinct will be to disappear completely. Sometimes I want to run away as fast as I can and as far as I can - I'm a coward. Often I'll experience agoraphobia; I endure intense anxiety but still remain where I am so as to not concern, bewilder or disappoint the people I happen to be with. In such cases I'll usually resort to silent evanescence, mentally, wishing that I may shrink physically as well.
Other times I'll feel the desire to experience a social interaction, but out of shame and misery I will continue to self-efface; sometimes I'll even attempt to observe a conversation from my self-dug hole, as if a child looking up at grown-ups talking, and gain vicarious pleasure out their conversation, fantasising about genuinely having such a connection with another human being myself. But I'll recognise this for what it is: fantasy, and so I'll feel resentful and entertain sordid thoughts.
Recently I've been putting more effort into thinking positively. But most of the time negative thoughts simply can't be helped. Mood is a strong determinant of thoughts and in my opinion mood is a precarious, virtually uncontrollable phenomenon. I believe pessimism is a protective mechanism adopted by my brain to guard me from unnessary emotional hurt. I seem to believe if I allow myself to invest myself emotionally into a situation, my efforts will easily backfire. So I tend to resort to dry, unattached humour. My snippets might be received with humour or with blank, confused stares, or simply ignored. It's very hit or miss and people sometimes remark on how quiet I am. I remember one particular remark: "he doesn't talk much but he has some funny one liners". In another event a girl asked with curiosity why I'm so quiet and a guy responded with caustic humour "he just observes" with a particular emphasis on the word 'observe'.
When I look at a beautiful girl I'd very much like to talk to, I feel a deep sadness knowing I lack the courage and mental stability to pursue her or even just try to be friends with her: I'll continue to remind myself that I'm unworthy, a creep and a weirdo (read: Radiohead). That she's out of my league and doesn't want to associate with an ugly, sensitive, depressed, unconfident and insignificant cretin. When I look at a dude I'd like to be friends with based on their character, I feel nothing but shame. I act cold to protect myself. I feel their piercing judgement like an icy gaze; they must think I'm strange to say the least - more like arrogant and snobbish. It hurts me to know their perception of me (projected or not) is far from the truth but I feel too helpless to attempt to change their perspective; so I'll usually surrender and self-efface, enduring the hurt as best I can so it may pass as quickly as possible.
I'm very self-conscious about my ability to hear and especially men whom have low pitch voices. Being so self-absorbed, I tend to not hear much and may resort to a virtually unresponsive state as described where I express little emotion and pretend to hear what's been said; this invariably leads to an awkward situation (I'm wholly familiar with), in which my unfortunate interlocutor will look confused and surely have thoughts of my being weird - "What's wrong with him?" Perhaps this is why I feel such apphrension at the prospect of engaging in social interactions and rely heavily on taking psychoactive drugs to alter my mood and perception. Taking certain drugs can make it infinitely easier to endure such situations.
Examples of such negative thoughts which regularly occur to me are as follows. Talking to someone, I'll think "admit it to me! I'm ugly. My acne scars are disturbingly unbecoming. I'm of an inadequate stature. I have an unflatteringly shaped head. I'm clearly incompetent and uncomfortably eccentric. I can't engage properly in a normal conversation. I'm usually not fun to be around. I'm intense. My voice is weird."
Based on my voice and the the manner in which I communicate, people immediately assume I'm foreign. "Which country did you come from?" they'll say, despite the fact that I was born in Australia and hardly ever left. I distinctly recall visiting a speech pathologist as a kid; the doctor's tone was stern, emotionless and professional and his process was eerily clinical (much like every psychologist and psychiatrist I ever saw as an adolescent). I was thrusted into a soundproof chamber facing a tall, clear glass window - looking through the glass I remember seeing my mother and the doctor looking back at me, their solemn countenances were blends of blank disappointment and morbid curiosity - as if viewing Frankenstein's monster through the bars of a jail cell, or witnessing a particular child whom had previously been mentally retarded, demented and physically deformed, whom was now demonstrating intelligence for the first time and therefore demanding respect (like in Kurt Vonnegut's Slapstick or Lonesome No More).
If you tell me anything contrary to my account, I'll surely reject it as magnanimousness, blind benevolence or pity. But I'm also aware how thoroughly negative I sound and that there is nothing at all wrong with having genuinely good intentions for someone else (so that it is wrong of me to criticise this - but it is simply how I feel, lest I make it known). In fact, when I'm nice to someone I feel somewhat hurt when they fail to respond, or worse yet display their disbelief for my genuine sympathy.
So I'm adequately aware that you, the reader, may be perturbed by my account. You might agree (and my perverse nature would probably feel gratitude for your agreeance) but more likely you will disagree and see my views as extremely neurotic and disturbed; at this point it should not be difficult to deduce that I am mentally unwell to say the least. But this conclusion to me is only a broad characterisation and means little. Although I understand many of my opinions may be irrational and ill-founded, that I am out of touch and perhaps delusional, I see truth in it all and have a strong conviction to express how I feel in veracity - for my own benefit.

Why I suck - a long and unpoetic account

Looking at myself, I see something subhuman. My thoughts are profoundly negative; I consistently think in cynical terms. Sometimes I'll hear benign laughter from a group of friends joking about something completely unrelated to me, yet in all my anxiety and insecurity it will sound somewhat threatening to me - I tense up in despair, as though it's directed at me.

I catch myself projecting negative emotions on a regular basis. Sometimes I receive weird looks that demonstrate to me how out of touch I am. I loathe compliments - I simply don't know how to respond; my judgement may tell me someone is being sincere but my cynicism will deny me the pleasure. Rather than mutter a simple "thank you" with a smile, I'll cringe, won't know how to respond and inwardly punish myself - all to avoid a compliment. I insist on being socially awkward and unsolicitedly self-loathing, perhaps frequently at the discomfort of others whom have the misfortune of associating with me while I'm in such a state.

Sometimes I'm happy. I'll laugh and joke with people. I'll have a good time and nod at their responses, smiling all the while. But usually at the back of my mind there's always a subtle echo telling me they don't really like me and think I'm strange. When I'm feeling unwell I'll go so far as to avoid eye contact with the very same people out of shame and guilt; go almost completely mute; in such a state I feel very cold and my lack of warmth outwardly shows. I'm zapped of all my energy and tend to treat the current task as a tedious chore with apathy and ahedonia.

In such a state I struggle to even smile and even if I succeed, my smile will seem disingenuous and my insincerity will weigh on my conscience (I'm a humbug). Sometimes I desire complete isolation and loathe any prospect of social interaction: my first instinct will be to disappear completely. Sometimes I want to run away as fast as I can and as far as I can - I'm a coward. Often I'll experience agoraphobia; I endure intense anxiety but still remain where I am so as to not concern, bewilder or disappoint the people I happen to be with. In such cases I'll usually resort to silent evanescence, mentally, wishing that I may shrink physically as well.

Other times I'll feel the desire to experience a social interaction, but out of shame and misery I will continue to self-efface; sometimes I'll even attempt to observe a conversation from my self-dug hole, as if a child looking up at grown-ups talking, and gain vicarious pleasure out their conversation, fantasising about genuinely having such a connection with another human being myself. But I'll recognise this for what it is: fantasy, and so I'll feel resentful and entertain sordid thoughts.

Recently I've been putting more effort into thinking positively. But most of the time negative thoughts simply can't be helped. Mood is a strong determinant of thoughts and in my opinion mood is a precarious, virtually uncontrollable phenomenon. I believe pessimism is a protective mechanism adopted by my brain to guard me from unnessary emotional hurt. I seem to believe if I allow myself to invest myself emotionally into a situation, my efforts will easily backfire. So I tend to resort to dry, unattached humour. My snippets might be received with humour or with blank, confused stares, or simply ignored. It's very hit or miss and people sometimes remark on how quiet I am. I remember one particular remark: "he doesn't talk much but he has some funny one liners". In another event a girl asked with curiosity why I'm so quiet and a guy responded with caustic humour "he just observes" with a particular emphasis on the word 'observe'.

When I look at a beautiful girl I'd very much like to talk to, I feel a deep sadness knowing I lack the courage and mental stability to pursue her or even just try to be friends with her: I'll continue to remind myself that I'm unworthy, a creep and a weirdo (read: Radiohead). That she's out of my league and doesn't want to associate with an ugly, sensitive, depressed, unconfident and insignificant cretin. When I look at a dude I'd like to be friends with based on their character, I feel nothing but shame. I act cold to protect myself. I feel their piercing judgement like an icy gaze; they must think I'm strange to say the least - more like arrogant and snobbish. It hurts me to know their perception of me (projected or not) is far from the truth but I feel too helpless to attempt to change their perspective; so I'll usually surrender and self-efface, enduring the hurt as best I can so it may pass as quickly as possible.

I'm very self-conscious about my ability to hear and especially men whom have low pitch voices. Being so self-absorbed, I tend to not hear much and may resort to a virtually unresponsive state as described where I express little emotion and pretend to hear what's been said; this invariably leads to an awkward situation (I'm wholly familiar with), in which my unfortunate interlocutor will look confused and surely have thoughts of my being weird - "What's wrong with him?" Perhaps this is why I feel such apphrension at the prospect of engaging in social interactions and rely heavily on taking psychoactive drugs to alter my mood and perception. Taking certain drugs can make it infinitely easier to endure such situations.

Examples of such negative thoughts which regularly occur to me are as follows. Talking to someone, I'll think "admit it to me! I'm ugly. My acne scars are disturbingly unbecoming. I'm of an inadequate stature. I have an unflatteringly shaped head. I'm clearly incompetent and uncomfortably eccentric. I can't engage properly in a normal conversation. I'm usually not fun to be around. I'm intense. My voice is weird."

Based on my voice and the the manner in which I communicate, people immediately assume I'm foreign. "Which country did you come from?" they'll say, despite the fact that I was born in Australia and hardly ever left. I distinctly recall visiting a speech pathologist as a kid; the doctor's tone was stern, emotionless and professional and his process was eerily clinical (much like every psychologist and psychiatrist I ever saw as an adolescent). I was thrusted into a soundproof chamber facing a tall, clear glass window - looking through the glass I remember seeing my mother and the doctor looking back at me, their solemn countenances were blends of blank disappointment and morbid curiosity - as if viewing Frankenstein's monster through the bars of a jail cell, or witnessing a particular child whom had previously been mentally retarded, demented and physically deformed, whom was now demonstrating intelligence for the first time and therefore demanding respect (like in Kurt Vonnegut's Slapstick or Lonesome No More).

If you tell me anything contrary to my account, I'll surely reject it as magnanimousness, blind benevolence or pity. But I'm also aware how thoroughly negative I sound and that there is nothing at all wrong with having genuinely good intentions for someone else (so that it is wrong of me to criticise this - but it is simply how I feel, lest I make it known). In fact, when I'm nice to someone I feel somewhat hurt when they fail to respond, or worse yet display their disbelief for my genuine sympathy.

So I'm adequately aware that you, the reader, may be perturbed by my account. You might agree (and my perverse nature would probably feel gratitude for your agreeance) but more likely you will disagree and see my views as extremely neurotic and disturbed; at this point it should not be difficult to deduce that I am mentally unwell to say the least. But this conclusion to me is only a broad characterisation and means little. Although I understand many of my opinions may be irrational and ill-founded, that I am out of touch and perhaps delusional, I see truth in it all and have a strong conviction to express how I feel in veracity - for my own benefit.

 


Submitted: December 27, 2020

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JE Falcon aka JEF

You have good sentence structure, that's a start.

Sun, December 27th, 2020 12:57am

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