2024-04-27

Back to Reality

The Story

Last night I met up with a bunch of guys from work. We sat and we smoked and drank… and I couldn't bring myself to connect. Not that I secluded myself away, it's was more of a resignation. I couldn't find a fuck to give. The Old Me would have been so anxious, trying hard to be liked and be part of the group. Now? I just didn't care. I focused on the music, mostly. And it was okay.

And when it comes to girls… A part of me still wants a girlfriend, but that "part" is mostly just my dick. I get horny and want to have sex. But when I try to actually imagine it, there's nothing and no one that interests me. I used to have fantasies, and I used to enjoy porn. Now I just can't. I masturbate to the same old shit I always did, but it's mostly just aide to get an erection going. Once it's up, I just enjoy the physical sensation, cum, and move on.

When I imagine myself in an actual relationship with any woman in my life… I just can't. I don't see any of it working out. It all seems like it's going to be just a lot of stress and lying and bullshit, before inevitable heartbreak. I don't want to compromise my own individuality and my own time for anyone anymore. I've already been there. I've done that. I'm done.

I actually turned down a girl just two weeks ago. This is insanity. The Old Me would've never ever done that. When I see a happy young couple on the streets, my emotions are so different to what they used to be. I'm so ambivalent now. When I look at them, especially if they're good looking, I don't get jealous, I just feel a vague sort of pity. It's so vacuous. "Love" is just the addiction to happy chemicals secreted in the brain, something that we evolved to get us to mate. There is just nothing there. The human connection I crave is not there.

Vanity of vanities. All is vanity.

Intermission: Cluster B

I suspect I may be a narcissist. Or borderline. Or histrionic. Or have some other sort of Cluster B personality disorder. I read a lot about it from a semi-heterodox psychiatrist, and his exploration of how these impact self-identity. That guy talked to and reviewed interviews/sessions with literally thousands of patients. A big part of these disorders is the creation of a False Self to obscure and shield the True Self. This is the first time I ever seen anyone describe this phenomenon (in detail, and very accurately!), one that I've been living with for as long as I remember myself. I always separated who I "really am" from the identity I "put on" when I'm with people. I always pretend I'm someone else, often a different someone for different people. This isn't even just acting, or lying, or normal social alignment (which everyone does), because these social masks become fused to me in the moment. I genuinely forget that "true self" when I'm around people, and cannot reconnect to it. The guy also described how strongly these False Selves relate to Dissociative Identity Disorder, which, again, is something I long suspect about my psyche.

According to his theories, the main difference between Cluster B disorders is how well developed the False Self is.

BPD

For crazy BPD whores, the False Self's development is arrested at an early stage, and so both identities are weak and shifting and often take turns being in the driver's seat, and sometimes both disengage and the borderline person experiences dissociation and even mild psychosis (mostly when it comes to memory).

Psychopathy

For antisocial psychopaths, the False Self is so well-developed that the True Self ceases to exist entirely. In the words of the American Psycho:

There is an idea of a Patrick Bateman, some kind of abstraction, but there is no real me, only an entity, something illusory, and though I can hide my cold gaze and you can shake my hand and feel flesh gripping yours and maybe you can even sense our lifestyles are probably comparable: I simply am not there.

This is the pinnacle of Cluster B's development. A psychic shield so well-developed, a shell so thick, a barrier so strong, that it completely overtakes whatever it was ever meant to defend. Antisocial people do not even have real emotions, only the "cold emotions" of a calculating machine. They may understand they're "supposed" to feel sad, or happy, or angry, and so they do on both an instinctual level (id) and on the social level (superego), but they never actually feel those emotions as actual sensations in their stream-of-consciousness (ego). There is just nothing for the emotions to act upon – there is only the False Self.

Narcissism

So, finally, we reach narcissism. Narcissism is in the middle. The False Self is more developed than it is in borderline individuals, but unlike psychopaths, the narcissist's True Self is still there. It's weak, atrophied, tucked away in a psychic sub-basement, only accessible in extreme circumstances or through deep and painfully honest introspection, but it's still there.

The development of the False Self is the defining feature of all Cluster B individuals. In this sense, these personalities are really just a spectrum. This is why they never exist as comorbidities. Borderline people are just failed narcissists, and narcissists are just failed psychopaths. Histrionics are a middle step between the borderline and the narcissist.

For the narcissist, the False Self is the one they love. It's a carefully cultivated identity that they adorn with all the qualities and achievements the neglected True Self failed to develop. The idea that narcissists are just egoists who "love themselves" is completely wrong. In actuality, narcissists hate themselves. They hate the real person behind all the masks and lies and grandiosity and faux-generosity and pretensions. They hate the rotten core at the bottom-most reaches of their hearts, and so hope to smother it with an ever-inflating outer ego.

Back to Reality

So I write this the morning after spending almost all night alone in the park, drinking and reflecting. I am alone. I have always been alone, and in the past few months I've come to slowly accept that I will forever be alone. I will always be trapped in my own skull, unable to penetrate or be penetrated by the minds of others. I have no ability to create genuine human connections – all openings have been sealed off, as a defensive measure against the scrutiny of my family and the bullying of my peers. My mind is an impervious castle, with multiple layers of defense, citadels within citadels, and buried labyrinths stretching deep into the unconscious. I used to take pride in the firmness of my walls and the depth of my moats. But now I realize something that I should have realized two decades ago: This castle is my own prison.

A lot of things have changed over the past six or eight months. A series of psychic blows that have completely reoriented my entire worldview. Or, perhaps, it's best to say they uncovered things that were always there, but that I chose to ignore.

Am I dead inside? Probably not. But I'm tired. Tired of the lies and tired of the chase. I still care about how others perceive me, but instead of lying and pretending, I now simply disengage. I no longer crave any and every social interaction. I don't want attention, and I don't want the sick admiration and valuation that I thought love would provide. I try to listen to myself and ask: "Am I actually enjoying myself? Do I enjoy talking with this person? Do I enjoy spending time here?", and the answer is usually no.

On the other hand, this newfound perspective also opened me up to other things. Sometimes I catch myself feeling that I want to go or stay outside, simply because the weather is pleasant. I enjoy music on a level I never did before. I like just lying in bed, listening to the birds outside. The terrible fire that used to animate me and push me to seek endless dopamine rushes seems to have died down. And when it comes back, I recognize it now, and know what is happening; I just sit down and force myself to read a book.

I spent 15+ years living through my computer. I played video games, watched videos, picked up and dropped dozens of little projects, wasted thousands upon thousands of hours on forums and imageboards and Reddit and Discord. What was it all for? I used to take care of my digital possessions. I accumulated so, so many files over the years, and some folders that can be traced back to when I was 9 or 10. I took extreme care to back everything up. I used to believe that in the event of an earthquake or a war, if I were to become a refugee, I must grab two things: My passport, and my external HDD. Because, in some ways, all that digital garbage was me.

And now I stare at my 8 terabytes of accumulated trash, and wonder: For what? What is the point? I've almost never actually went back and used any of this. I don't care about Touhou anymore, so why do I have tens of thousands of artwork files and music albums? I don't give two shits about 4chan anymore, so why do I keep a dedicated folder for all the memes and reaction pics? I don't even play video games anymore, so why do I keep all these pirated installation files? The saved YTPMVs, the shitty Gmod and TF2 maps I used to make, all the visual novels I never read, download archives I never revisted, entire web 1.0 websites I mirrored and never even opened or read.

Vanity of vanities. All is vanity.

I don't feel better or wiser for having done any of it. I think I enjoyed some movies, and maybe a few TV shows, and some books were fun to read. But honestly? It was all a waste of time. Everything was a distraction. Very few works of art or media have actually stuck. I can barely remember anything. It's all just trivia, stuff for small talk with equally pathetic individuals. Hundreds of anime shows watched… just so I can have something to discuss with the office incel? My Steam library is a witness to my wasted youth. My Minecraft worlds are a testament to my years of seclusion and depression.

I never actually made anything. The things are made are as ephemeral as all 1s and 0s.