Egglaying Arm Greenwich Conspiracy
My shoulder is not speaking to me, nor my arm laying eggs, but I would very much like the fairy godmother to fix the mental problems that I have been avoiding for the past four or five years: depression, low self-esteem, zero confidence, inability to function outside of fantasy - before I have to actually finally face up to them myself.
Facing up to them seems to amount to 'snapping out of it' or 'knuckling down' as various voices have told me whenever I've tried to express to others how I feel, which only makes me feel like a greater failure because I cannot. Things that others find easy, I find hard and even impossible. And vice versa, for some reason.
As a kid I always found it easy to do trigonometry, algebra and physics, but hard to speak to people, to make friends and be happy. The trouble is that it turns out to do the first lot of things you need to be able to do the second lot first. I think for a proper job, as opposed to silly dream distant future job, like being a writer, I would quite like to have done something with physics. I liked physics. I really did. I just couldn't do it - not because it was too hard, but because I could not do it, the way a prisoner could in theory run chasing after birds but is stopped by the prison bars. I had no energy. I couldn't do anything at all except read books (about fifty in that one year). I was too unhappy.
So I gave up. I expected to just cease to exist then, somehow, but of course it isn't that easy. Instead I ended up doing a Computer Science degree at a third-rate university, because I could do it without even trying. Only now that's over, I have a first in Computer Science, still without having to do anything, without having to try and learn how to make my own energy or happiness, without having to engage with reality on anything but the most superficial and abstract levels.
And now, to use my degree and take control of my finances, I must get a job in IT. I can't imagine anything worse. I wish now that I had become a physicist instead, but that's not possible, not until I'm fixed: turned somehow into a normal person. And I have no idea how to do that. I want drugs and therapy, but I'm afraid that I'm not actually depressed or avoidant or any of these things I think I might be. I'm worried that the only thing wrong with me is that I'm a useless person, that I am like Lord Jim: simply 'no good', and the only solution is to snap out of it or knuckle down and because I cannot, then... I don't know what. Turn myself in to the Life Police. Confess to being a failure in the first degree.
I'm not sure that I should post this. I'm in a bad frame of mind and this is so fucking LiveJournal, but here it is. The history of what is wrong with me, submitted to the internet like an error report from HijackThis.