Thoughts on Confidence, 11/23/2013

I'm trying to wrap my brain around something that I can't really come to terms with. How is it that, in the span of a few days, I can be told from strangers that I should work in radio, asked out randomly by members of the fairer sex, and even be teased about for an amateur model photo shoot... but still can't cling to one iota self worth?

Long-winded questions aside, I just don't understand. Sure sure, we've certainly been through this familiar song and dance a few times before, but it just doesn't seem to resolve and go away.

Thinking through the various steps of why I think this and feel this way, still brings no edible knowledge fruit. Usually when one rationalized his/her fears, those fears vanish or subdue themselves in the face of plain and simple logic. I know the answer to 2 + 2 is indeed 4, but the math still doesn't add up. Does this make any sense?

There is no reason I should be this way. There is no reason I should be plagued by this constant wheezing wind of emotional turmoil and the distilled fear of dying with lack of an interesting story to pass on, let alone anyone that wants to hear it.

Upon reading these poorly crafted strings of words back, all I can seem to tell myself...

Suck it up you chump.

What is self-esteem anyway? Do the charismatic individuals you see walking in the world amongst you really even have charisma? I'm told constantly that I'm a very outgoing and charismatic person; that I have the means to be a politician or motivational speaker, but I can't for the life of me agree with any of this.

The truth? I'm just faking it. Constantly fabricating this wall around the nervous scared boy that I really feel I am. The whole conversation puts the idea of confidence to scrutiny. Is it courage to be completely scared out of your wits, but jump into the lion's den anyway? Should it be blamed on depression? Should it be blamed on anything at all?

I feel like I'm forcing myself to find these answers out on my own. For what good, I do not know. I desperately crave social interaction, social support, and the like. I just don't feel it's really solving anything to push these problems on someone else to help solve. Will I come out of the pit wearing a new lion fur loincloth or will I spend the last minutes of this crazy ride in the various damp confines of the pride's collective stomachs?

Time will tell I guess.

Eleanor Roosevelt once said "No one can make you feel inferior without your consent."

I don't give my consent, yet still judge myself lacking. Logic be damned.

On Your Lonesome

How do we cope with loneliness? Do you embrace it and try to defeat it by remaining alone or does winning the fight involve leaning on compatriots and peers? I'd like to hear of someone with the mental fortitude and steel resolve to overcome loneliness... alone.

I often attempt to best this beast by facing it head on. Is that even an option? Is it possible to stave off the hordes of negative thoughts and ideas when you have no camaraderie to rely on for moral support?

At one point I wholeheartedly thought so. The power of the human brain is an astonishingly amazing thing.

Part of my fragile psyche believed(s) that it is indeed possible, with enough self induced brainwashing, to trump the feeling of being alone and impossibly disconnected from the world and its inhabitants.

Sometimes, I believe that's why we seek out romantic relationships. I believe that, unless you're in the small minority of lucky individuals who doesn't need social interaction, each of us NEEDS at least one other living (non-fictional) person to bare your soul to.

Therein lies another prong of this tangent. Is it fair of me to ask another individual for help with my baggage? The manly man inside of me believes, to this second, that there are crosses for each of us to carry, alone. I think, I think that...I think...anyway, that it's not unfair to expect someone to hold the door for you while you tote around your big, proverbial, invisible cross.

If you're any half-way kind of decent, you'll open the door for someone with full hands. It's no different if the door is imaginary.. and the cargo is a big made-up lowercase T.

Then again, sometimes the act of surrounding yourself with support still does nothing to sate the feelings of emptiness and the vast void of space around you. Sometimes the dog robs me of my capability to connect with other individuals, regardless of how hard I try.

Always questions, few answers.

Back to the point, if there was ever one to be made. There is nothing wrong with accepting a little bit of help to deal with issues of the brain and heart, just don't use people as a crutch. You have to be able to stand on your own to provide a positive impact on the world.

I'd also like to talk about fabricated confidence sometime. Self-defeating thoughts that prevent me from asking a brilliant beautiful girl out, or facing a crowd of people... is this even depression or some other character flaw? Maybe tomorrow.

Stagnation and a Bandicoot

It's been a while.

I've seen my share of ups and downs this pair of months since I've mentioned a word. I've come to realize, now more than ever, that I will never truly defeat this beast; only run far enough ahead of the monstrous canine to catch my breath for a brief respite.

A metaphor that keeps cropping in my mind involves Crash Bandicoot, an old PlayStation mascot. Crash, our unlikely protagonist, finds himself fleeing from a giant boulder of crushing death. The unique gameplay in this level (at least at the time) includes Crash running towards the camera, moving closer to the player. The gamer doesn't see what obstacle he has to avoid or pit to circumvent until seconds before it appears. The focus is always on the looming deathball rolling ever more rapidly in your direction.

This is what I've succumbed to. I can't see what's in front of me. I don't know where I'm going. I don't even want to write about it anymore. These words ring with nothing but yawn-inducing boredom to me; it's becoming a struggle to make myself believe I don't come across as a distracted youth making fart noises.

That's the thing about this disease. I steals my confidence, my drive, my motivations. It robs me of my convictions and persuades me to give in to stagnation.

 Stop moving and I stagnate.

If I stop running I'll get my innards squished out by the spherical hazard, but I'm becoming increasingly tired of holding down my left analog stick, so to speak. I realize that the only way to get back the guy in the mirror that I can stomach looking at is to continue to move forward, even though the vast majority of myself is yelling for the white flag. It's not worth it. Why try so hard? You're better off just sitting in stagnation, in this mind's mire you've been cursed to inhabit. Why waste energy if you'll never make it to firm ground.

...there's the catch though. I know there are dry islands in this muck. There are places where I can wring out my socks and make heads or tails of this "life" thing. However, I can't stay at these places forever. I have to jump back in to the mud and move forward again, away from this monster of a boulder, or boulder of a monster, whatever it is. I know this, I just don't want to put in the effort.

Procrastinating the end of my own stagnation.

I could list all the ways in which I've fallen off the wagon lately, all the progress I've made and then subsiquently lost. This serves no purpose to repeat. Mistakes were made. Mistakes will be made. I believe the only thing I can do, the only thing anyone suffering this disease can do, is to continue to get your socks wet.

Hypocritically, I currently dwell on my mistakes. I currently wade in my self manufactured sludge of lethargy. Realize that I know this is no way to live or even exist. There comes a time soon where I need to get over myself and move forward. It's either that or we just decide to give up entirely.