Self consciousness, insanity and hope

  • Read at your own risk. This is probably invalid due to narcolepsy.
  • I can’t tell if its histronicised. One’s subconsciousness and its agenda are kinda powerful…
  • This is a sort of analytical report… it’s extremely rational. Perhaps quite open.

If you’ve so much as tried to interact with me, you would discover I’m a very odd person. I wouldn’t judge you for not following me, because my tweets, when they do pop up, are depressed, sour and laced with malignancy or excessive rationalizations. Unintentional, but the damage is done. I don’t just look cruel- I am, in effect, cruel. Not unchangeably, not just by my fallible perception, but definitely real. I sorta… accept things like that.

And it is my responsibility to purge my demeanour, by restabilising my life.
As said by a famous man (yep, Martin Luther King), we will be judged and remembered according to the inactions of the children of light, not the pervasion of darkness.

And it’s definitely haunting. No doubt about it. I look like a dead ringer for loner, school nerd, a heartless and uncaring scientist and cold hearted bitch. But I don’t believe I am. That’s not what I want to see. And that’s why my little crusade as a paladin continues.

I’m not there to be there, as others have been there to support me. I’ve barely reciprocated anything flowing at me. I’m not obligated, but certainly it’s what should rightfully be done and what I want to do. So why not, why haven’t I pulled back?

Sadly, being acutely aware of the issue doesn’t do anything. I’ve analysed it to bits and I’ve delved to the problem’s roots. And yet, I need to take action before anything resolves. And that’s the difficult part. So… theory!

The current one: Fatigue causes a state of near drunkeness where decisionmaking is limited. This changes how I act socially- faux pas/drunknslurred comments, hyperationality, grumpiness, losing empathy-responses, emoing, and whining. The fatigue arises from disrupted sleep: this theory states it is a manifest of an anxiety disorder.

This needs explaination. Many people believe I’m a perfectionist, and that’s that. I originally.didn’t, and still don’t quite agree. It’s more likely overcompensation for a set of estranged childhood habits and expectations. A sense of “the right thing” and “doing it well”. And coupled to a problematic lifestyle, thus raises panic. It means constant vigilance and watch over these problems. It encourages beavering away at those issues all day in a last ditch to sever the problems, kill them off and normalise the personality. And… it’s horribly draining.

I suppose this normally wouldn’t be too bad, because socially humans are able to resolve things. Logically, sleeping it off is the right action. However, vigilance obstructs that- writing at 4am here- and I still need sleep. Where from? Cue nap… and, counternap.

There are many things I dislike about my parents, but the thing I’ve taken to¬† despise is the daytime sleeping bit. I just don’t nap. It’s our old friend, “Hello, you’re awake, it’s bright outside, go work,” but paired with “gotta stay up at work” coulis and a side salad of “Hey, now you can’t sleep in your clothes, and it’s really hard to find those pajamas and stuff, so how about you STAND AWAY FROM THE BED, LITTLE MISSY!” (dramatisation but accurate)… well, the chances of a nap are… pretty slim.

The other thing actually relates more to why I don’t sleep in the evenings: because I worry too much. In a regular household, I would have somebody close to talk to without fear of stigma.

Brilliantly I was placed in a loner family, and we’ve already discussed how awful my skills at keeping friends and communicating on Twitter are. There is no outlet. Well, there are many, I just feel so embarrassed and burdening on them, not to mention messy. Come to think of it, my parents, while not directly abusive, are hardly amicable and prone to conflicts, which is hardly helpful.

So I keep worrying (I count 4h now)… and worrying… and worrying… until I slap myself in the face and go to sleep.

Wait, aren’t I supposed to have those feminine maternal instincts?
Well yeah. I’m no font of eternal wisdom, and the little fonts dried out in the tempests of hellishly rampant fatigue- they’re on the other side of narcolepsy.

I need those instincts, though. I want to synergise those instincts to help other people that I know, whether they be my students, friends or people. I know how they feel, and being unable to lend my ears and proverbial shoulder hurts me. They’re people, like me, whom I know and could help. And I can’t stand there doing nothing. Paladins don’t do that; they enter the fray and fight for fairness, justice and rights. My vision is just that, to fight for my justice, to seek and resolve society’s afflictions (coincidental, not transcribed-from-WoW-sans-zombies!). Call me idealist, but to be like a wallflower means little to me. Doing what needs to be done is what being a paladin, a cleric, templar or a guardian is about. And to that end, I’m devout. (Excuse the religious note, but those are my philosophic beliefs and they had to be stated. Kthxbai.)

Consider the following: lady with capable skills, wisdom and knowledge. Separated from her by a perspex wall is a young girl half her age – 12. She has the burdens and encumberments – a job, responsibility for leadership, decisions, independence, relationships – of the 24 year old lady, but the lady is separated from the girl and unable to help.

This is your TL;DR.

The girl and lady are in fact different spirits of the same person, separated by a… uh… narcoleptic wall… The youth yearns for guidance: she’s to stunned and confused to act. She has no idea how to break perspex. On the other hand, the lady knows what a maturing youth’s perspective is like. The lady knows that feeling; she was in that situation as a prefect and scholar during her time at school as well, herself yearning for guidance. She believed she had a responsibility to be a lady herself. Neither knows how to break the barrier. The only previous occurance was when the youth tricked herself into “the best way of helping them is sleeping yourself,” but it was fleeting and forgotten, assimilated by some judgement or other. They do remember that moment, but it’s fleeting.

Well, look, I used to joke I was mad. I was, of course, in innocence of my condition… but this… thing is very real.
Because of the abject failure of most other mediums, I turn to you, interwebs (now this could be trollishly dangerous). I don’t think it’s fair to force you to make judgement, but I would definitely appreciate it. Hopefully, the answer is the breakeven out of this suffering…

So! My main dilemma is thus; where could I find guidance so I can plan and execute this task? Counseling? I’ve yet, of course, to regain my parents’ support and that likely won’t happen for a while (a later research topic)…

This isn’t a test and you won’t be graded, class! The intent isn’t to condescend upon you, patronize and then laugh in your face when there’s an answer above. There isn’t. (I personally considered the one in the scenario but haven’t found anything conclusive, yet. Sooo, uh, don’t copypaste it back to me?)
The intent isn’t to socially engineer a team of analysts for me, neither. I don’t want people doing it for stuff (cookies maybe). I don’t want people to feel obliged. I’ll be analysing internally as well, but it is always helpful for a second opinion on big decisions.