Repost from the old site.
Ok readers, this is the post where I get to unload all my psychopathological bullshit on you! Read it if you dare. You, readers, get to do therapy on me! Yes, you too can be a therapist, all you have to do is read about my problems and give me some non-lethal advice. Anyone can be a therapist, even Aunt Jane and Uncle Horatio! You can be one too!
Ok, here goes.
No one ever tells me this, but I’ve analyzed my problem as I’m not nice enough. Now, that may be totally in error, but that is just my analysis. Hardly anyone has ever said, “You know, you are a total asshole and that’s why almost everyone in the whole world hates you.! It would have been nice if someone would say that, if it were true, but sadly no one ever does.
So, I see it as this: It seems like I used to be a really nice person, and it seemed like everyone really liked me a lot. Now I know that sounds weird and stupid, and most people do start laughing when they hear that, but bear with me. These are just subjective opinions, and the have value in that. Most of my views of others have been right on most of my life: I don’t distort others’ views of me.
Now, it seems like the problem is nowadays I am an old grouch or something and I am not as nice as I used to be, and it seems like people like me way less. No one ever gives me the finger or starts throwing stuff at me, though actually that would be kind of nice, as any kind of interaction, positive or negative, beats a cold, “Get away from me”, or “I don’t want to know you very well.”
Now don’t get me wrong, I am not an affection addict. I don’t even really care if my friends hate me or not. Actually, I assume that they will probably hate me, but that’s ok. My position is that my friends are free to hate me all they want, as long as they keep on coming over, going in halves, not ripping me off in any way, being civil and nonconfrontational, smiling and saying pleasant things and whatnot.
I really do not care what they harbor in their hearts. I just want em to keep on calling and not kill me.
Truth is, there are people around all the time, coming and going at all insane hours, coming over and rummaging around while I am sleeping, it never ends. It’s an endless party. On the other hand, I wish I had more friends. Dumb, huh? I’m surrounded by fucking humans, and I’m dissatisfied, because I want to be surrounded by even more fucking humans. Does that make sense?
So, my diagnosis is that I am not warm enough in my heart. I am pleasant enough, I always smile, wish well, compliment, tip (generally), and try to be as totally friendly and unpleasant outwardly as possible. But inside, I am not necessarily feeling so nice. Well, I am feeling sort of nice and sort of not nice. Not that I feel like murdering the strangers I interact with, instead I have this weird mix of friendly and unfriendly.
So, obviously, not being a total moron and all, I try to keep the unfriendly at a minimum. Like 10% or less, who knows. Actually, the unfriendly is often more like “not warm” as opposed to out and out growing hostility.
My friendly feelings feel phony and empty, and I am afraid that it shows. I try all day to be as nice as possible, but the not-nice keeps sliming in under the carpet of my thoughts. It’s all day battle, just to be civil-minded. At the end of the day, I feel like a jerk. Another day where I could not get up the balls to be at least nice enough. Good job, Bob!
So anyway, I start wondering who is nice. Then I start wondering if anyone is really nice. Then I start wondering if people who say they are really nice are not secretly homicidal in their deepest of hearts. When someone says, “Mary Ann does not have a mean bone in her body,” does that mean she is actually that fucking nice, and is not secretly misanthropic in her casual and better moments?
The wondering goes on and on, and gets more and more retarded. Whenever I tell people the stupid stuff I worry about, they start laughing and say, “Why would anyone ever worry about that?” Exactly.
So then I try to get into the nice thing, but a lot times I can’t go all the way into the nice thing. I go like 80% nice, 90% nice, but I just can’t make that 18th hole, you know?
So I’m sort of riding on the wave of nice and not-nice, sort of like a wild animal that has been sort of domesticated, except that I am actually trying hard not be an asshole, and you know animals probably don’t do that, but who knows how a stupid four legged thing thinks anyway? Which is what I feel like most of the time anyway, to be honest.
So this is my problem, in a nutshell. I deeply fear that I am an asshole. Unlike most assholes, I really do not get into the role. Truth is I completely despise and my inner angel is always try to break free and shower the immediate environment with all of his heavenly and blissful love for all of humanity, or at least the half I don’t hate.
At the same time, I have started laughing all the time. I realize that that is a symptom of mental illness, but bear with me. I am trying not to laugh like a maniac or a loon. I’m walking around all the time thinking about funny stuff, about jokes I wrote and about jokes I want to write. Mostly scatological humor, but you know that’s the best kind there is in this shitty world of ours.
I’m aware that this implies that I think my writing is funny. A lot of people do not think it is funny, but that’s ok. Perhaps I have an odd sense of humor.
Well, I was walking into a house the other day, and I was laughing to myself under my breath like that cartoon dog Muttley, who I am actually thinking of starting to channel by the way. This stupid old man yells at me! I don’t even know what he said, but he appeared hostile. I hope he was not armed. I thought he was maybe saying, “Quit laughing to yourself, you fucking lunatic!”
Obviously the dude has no sense of humor at all. I’ll laugh all I want, all day and all nite, in car and in my room and even in church and I dare any of you weenies to haul me away.
I forgot to tell you, I added some new channels. I channel people, cartoons, spirits, whatever, you know, like those channelers. I receive direct messages and/or inspiration from invisible beings or spirits, as Wikipedia puts it. Mostly what I do is to let the spirit that I am channeling to actually enter my body and speak and act through it. It sort of takes over, and it is starting to make me feel like I have MPD.
So I added Wally Gator lately. And Wally hears that old, he takes over me, makes me grow alligator skin, and yells at the old man, “You’re a pitiful old man who probably can’t even get a hardon anymore!” Well, no one called the cops, so that was good.
And I took my 86 year old father to the audiologist the other day. He is still alive, which is totally amazing. No one would have ever thought such a thing was possible. But like a Great White Shark, my indestructible father could never die, and he became an elder. He also mellowed in his old age to the point where he got to be a nice guy most of the time for like the first time in decades.
So at this point, the guy is actually likable most of the time. I think I love my father again, but he will never believe this. Anyway, I’m laughing all through the hearing thing. The guy says words and asks my Dad to say them back, and my Dad fucks them up so bad it’s just funny.
“Sue sells stones,” turns into “Tuesday’s Weld’s shoes.” Now, that was actually funny. I had not even thought of Tuesday Weld in years and he says the name of an obscure actress I’m still in love with but forgot. I start laughing. And laughing. And I can’t stop laughing. Soon I’m laughing at the audiologist too. Hot damn, I’ll laugh at anyone else who sets foot in here too.
Dad tells me to knock it off, “That’s really annoying!” Another humorless man of rock! Boo! No fun! My Dad never did have much of a sense of humor. He could laugh all right sometimes, but mostly he just thinks laughing is silly and unbecoming a civilized human, which it probably is.
The audiologist starts saying all these wonderful things about my father, about how he loves him so much. I don’t know why he is doing that, maybe to counteract my laughing. The guy looks at my Dad, and says, “Your father is such a handsome man!”
Well, I look at my father, and he’s 86. He’s many things and some of them are even good, but I’m not sure he’s handsome anymore. Hell, hardly anyone over 80 is all that good lookin’ anymore, ya know?
So, anyway, he says, Isn’t he handsome! and beams, I look at my Dad and start cracking up. You have to admit, it is pretty funny. Well, my father looks at me like he wants to strangle me.
So anyway, I’m going around laughing all the time, but you know, you do that and pretty soon you are going to start laughing at all the people, too, because most people are pretty ridiculous and fucked up, let’s face it, right?
Well, anyway, I am not sure that is coming across very well, but some people think it is funny, I guess. A beautiful woman smiles, laughs and makes small talk as she strolls by, unawares I am LMFAO at her too, of all things. Also I feel guilty, like a complete idiot, for laughing at people. That seems just terrible. It’s just not nice thing to do.
I talked to some people about my laughing all the time problem, and they said that that surely must be one of the most fun mental illnesses to have and well, at least you are not suicidal, so it could be worse.
Someone else said, “Good, you are laughing all the time, that means you are happy!” Well, if that is true, then it is positive. Possibly I am happy all the time, who knows?
