If Only I Were Still Plugged In

I have long rambling conversations with myself in my head. I’m clear and eloquent and passionate.

Then I sit up and try to translate it onto the website, or on paper, and it all falls apart. My hands can’t keep up with the words pouring through my thoughts.

I’m lost in my own mind.

I try to talk eloquently on here, but it always breaks down in the process. I want t o give anecdotes, or maybe even some insightful little blurbs, but it always turns into this rambling sprawling jumble of bitterness and regret.

I’d like to tell stories, instead of just escaping to whine on here when I have a breakdown. Maybe I can start doing that. Once a week. Pick a memory and just lay it bare.

These thoughts are coming from listening to Just a Geek by Wil Wheaton.

I have been a fan of him since I saw Stand By Me in seventh grade. In fact, wanting to see more of his work is what started me on St:TNG in the first place. I have never understood the whole Wesley animosity. See, I was a kid who was smarter than all the adults around me too, so in Wes I saw all my own possibilities. And I still have that feeling of “He’s just like me,” even now, with the actor himself  as I listen to him detailing the highs and lows of his life as he struggled with anxiety and self-doubt and trying to find his place in a world who hadn’t caught up with his awesomeness.

I now want to say “Not that I’m saying that I’m awesome too,” hiding myself behind dissembling and waving hands.

But the thing is… I’m not a bad person. I’m preoccupied, depressed, anxious, and totally out of shape, but that’s not the whole me. I’m also funny, enthusiastic about things I enjoy (when depression hasn’t sapped me dry), and kind.

Nathan and I were talking the other day, and he said that people like me more. And I stopped. “Nate, it isn’t that I’m more likeable,” I told him, “I just work my ass off trying to be what they want and expect me to be. It’s definitely not easy. It’s fucking exhausting, and I have no idea how to just relax and just BE.”It’s the truth. And it’s exhausting and sometimes miserable, and I even do it with people I can’t stand and if I were anyone else I wouldn’t give a crap about what they thought of me, but I can’t not do it.

There was another thought that ran through my head, but by the time I finished with the last paragraph it had already swam away and I have no idea what it was.

Time to wrangle the kids up, then sleep for a bit. Maybe I’ll have a good dream. One good dream?

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