On Self-Loathing
This post acts is a post-mortem of this tweet, as well as a coming out:
While looking fucking RAD, it is in fact what death looks like. This is the death throes of my second computer monitor.
Superficially, here is why I had to cancel the game:
What was left of my door. This was after much debris cleaning and during repairs.
From a logistical stand point, I was unable to stream because I had just lost my streaming monitor and had to do extensive clean up and repairs.
From an emotional stand point, I was a wreck. There was clearly a storm that had to be calmed. There was no way I would have survived the stress of GMing the oneshot.
From a physiological point of view, I was working 16+ hour days at times, barely eating and barely sleeping. The day before I only had a few hours sleep, which is what really broke open the flood gates.
So, what happened? I spilled oatmeal. I was cooking a pregame snack and I dropped the oatmeal container, spilling it all over the stove you can see in the image. I immediately turned to my door and tried to kick it off its hinges. Thankfully that door is pretty shitty and the panel just popped right out, otherwise the damage would have been much worse. It flew into my room, breaking my monitor, and generally causing a huge mess.
Yeah but, that’s not really what happened is it? You don’t just go around trying to kick doors off the hinges over spilled milk and oatmeal.
This was an acute manifestation of an underlying chronic illness.
For a week or so leading to that moment was the perfect storm of compounding stressors. I was in crunch mode getting this website to be presentable on Friday, as well as prepping the D&D session on Saturday, as well as coping with the sudden reintroduction of various home stressors that had previously been absent. I was regularly working through the night until morning the next day, then up again in the afternoon or evening only a few hours later to continue working. I had fully inverted my sleep schedule.
And I hated myself for it.
I am very aware of my health and habits. I know what I need to do to maintain health and I know the steps to treat illness. All of this was preventable. And yet there I was, making things as hard as it could have possibly been for no reason other than I was being lazy and unorganized. How fucking pathetic is that? I was exhausted. All the barriers I put up between the me I present to the world and the me that lurks underneath had been whittled away, and I lashed out.
—-
(take a deep breath with me - in through the nose, out through the mouth. Its going to get rough)
Now I’m not usually angry.
That’s a lie I’m angry all the time. Every second of every day. Anger. Frustration. Disappointment. Hate. At myself. At my environment. At you. At things I can control. At things I can’t control. For as long as I can remember. And yet almost no one who knows me would take me for the angry type. I’m just really, really, good at masking it.
Anger and hatred define me. I am successful in sheer spite of myself. I teach myself everything I can get my hands on because everyone else is doing it wrong. I am kind because I feel sorry for you. I am generous because someone has to be. Everything I do is directly because of a specifically directed hatred and anger.
I am a high functioning, benevolent narcissistic sociopath.
It takes me a great deal of effort to shape all that energy into a person that is socially constructive. And when I was as self-destructive as I was in the week leading to that outburst, that shell becomes harder to maintain. And for one moment the real me burst through. The door became the target of all my pent up self-hatred, and I wanted to destroy it. Only because I am so intimately connected with my anger was I able to choose a door. If I truly lost control I very easily could have targeted myself or another person like when I was younger. But I quickly learned that only makes things worse.
Basic carpentry and I was able to refit the panel into the frame.
—-
(breath in, breath out. You made it)
The clean up afterwords was therapeutic. I was able to literally and metaphorically pick up the pieces, put things back in order, and fix the damage. This blog post acts as my Kintsugi. I will live with my experience publicly. I will hold myself accountable for my failings. I will grow as a human being.