Opening the last draft of the latest story I'd worked on, it was a bit sobering to realize I went all of last year not touching any of it, even though I was about halfway done with the story by the time I stopped in late 2017.
I'd like to say it was some grand stroke of inspiration and motivation that got me back in the saddle, but instead, I started getting the itch again after watching, then rewatching, the Netflix series, Altered Carbon, in the span of about two weeks.
Editorial Note: BTW...if you ever liked cyberpunk sci-fi and/or noir detective stories, I highly recommend you check that series out. It was like watching the best Shadowrun campaign I never got a chance to play in my RPG days.
But no sooner did I dip a mental toe back into that pond then the same things that drove me out of it in the first place started rearing their ugly heads, reminding me that not only had they not gone away, but they were just as entrenched, if not more so, than they'd ever been.
As bad as living with Depression is, by far the worst part is the very real existence of intrusive thoughts, and what they can do on even the most bearable of days.
It took about five minutes or so of staring at my keyboard, trying to figure out what to put down on digital paper when I began feeling all the same things that have historically made me walk away from my keyboard and try escaping into something, anything else that would get them to just shut the hell up again.
The message never changes because it's never had to. It's a never-ending, cacophonous din of every thing I've ever been told, either by someone else or by myself, because I can never seem to be satisfied with even the process of creating something, let alone the finished product:
"What are you doing?! You DO realize this is complete and utter crap, what you're doing, yes? NO?! How can you not see that?! Everyone else does! They've been telling you that your whole life! Why do you think no one cares about you anymore?! This is why! You keep trying to ignore it and telling me I'm wrong, but look at where you are and what you are!
This didn't happen by accident, you know, and don't think for a second this isn't COMPLETELY your fault, either! You're the reason no one gives a damn about what you're trying to do here, so just do us all a favor and quit while you're ahead, so you can spare us all the embarrassment of having to be honest in telling you that both it and you are total and absolute failures beyond any and all conceivable measure."
I'd like to tell you this is a fairly recent development, but my brain's ability to know exactly which buttons to push in order to totally sap me of any energy that I could use for something physically or emotionally positive has been around for far longer than even I probably realized.
When I was younger, as bad as these mental intruders could be, I was lucky enough to have them balanced out by being around friends, family and loved ones who offered some degree of counterpoint. As I've gotten older and had to adapt a more socially isolated life though, that ratio has swung further and further away from what helped keep it in check, in favor of declaring open season whenever I can muster the energy needed to even start a project.
Editorial Note: I know this is going to rub some of you the wrong way, but I can't continue to ignore the pachyderm in the parlor, either. Having people over the years who offered to help me with some of my projects then turn around and not only back out, but do so without any explanation, acknowledgment or apology did not help in any way, shape or form.
And here's the kicker no one seems to quite get, no matter how many times I try to explain it to them:
The harder I try to shut my intrusive thoughts up and shut them out, the harder they push back until I inevitably cave in and get tired of fighting them.
Why? Because dealing with them all the time is nothing short of exhausting.
An article I read on the subject a while back summed up dealing with it thusly:
"Intrusive Thoughts are unwanted thoughts or images that you find distressing and/or disturbing. These unwanted thoughts are known as obsessions. Intrusive thoughts can also result in compulsions, which are the things you do to help you cope with the unwanted thoughts."
One of the things I've realized over the last few years is that my intrusive thoughts don't just apply to things I once found any emotional fulfillment in. They apply very much to people as well.
The most obvious example of this, of course, is the relationship I had (for lack of a better term) with Ghost.
When I say I'd love nothing more than to be able to forget all the things that connect us, I'm not paying it any small degree of lip service. There's one small problem, though.
It doesn't matter what I am doing or where I am at any time during the day. I could be doing something that in no way whatsoever has anything to do with her and out of nowhere, my brain will start carpet-bombing me with a million intrusive memories, images, thoughts, feelings, and every single way I wronged her, whether I meant to or not...and here's far and away the worst part that I've had to explain more times than I can count.
I can't turn it off. Ever.
Now before you start trying to tell me how that's incorrect, here's the reason why you're wrong. Intrusive thoughts are subconscious constructs, therefore I have no way of controlling when or how they decide to manifest.
It's a big part of the reason why I've struggled so much with insomnia and sleep deprivation over the years. There's nights where I can be on the verge of passing out and then have to spend the next however many hours grappling with my subconscious, because rather than giving me things to dream about, I get a seemingly endless string of intrusive thoughts instead.
Even when I was on medication and working with a therapist, they were always there, and whether I like it or not, they're always going to be. Like psychological apex predators, they'll find some dark corner of my mind, waiting for a moment when my attention is focused elsewhere so they can strike.
And to complicate matters further, is the reality that my whole reason for writing in the first place, has always been to try making sense of this ever-present maelstrom that's been floating around in my head for as long as I can remember by channeling it into fictional constructs. That means, whether I like it or not, having to tap into both the thoughts and feelings I need to deal with and work through, and the same intrusive thoughts that are doing all they can to keep me from ever getting close to them.
But how can I hope to do that when my mind pulls out every sadistic stop it has to make sure that never happens...?
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