I wrote an email to someone, then didnt send it and made it a blog post

I have written this email as an excercise in communication. I think that it makes more sense to frame it in a way that communicates to someone else, I have a blog that records my memories and feelings throughout the day. One problem with my blog is that it can end up being repetitive, like an awkward conversation between not very good friends who talk about something such as a memory which is the only thing that holds them together (extended analogy-  homeric writing device).

I need to contact someone, and while I have lots of friends, few of them I really trust, fewer still I trust with the truth. The mind has ways of tricking itself, so being 'honest with myself' has its limitations.I trust you because you might have comparable or relatable experiences to mine, plus (as arrogant as it makes me as a person), become a doctor makes you a doctorate holder, thus by my twisted rhetoric, you have an authority that I can't trust others with, even most medical doctors.

This email may read as some kind of bleak note or moment of insanity, but I assure you it isn't. In fact, I had a great day today, all of the factors came together for a great day. I went paintballing with some friends, then later on we went to see a film, had a drink and they later went on to a guy's flat for more drinks. I decided to go home after the drinks and before the flat. I felt that my anxiety was tested enough. I had nothing to prove to myself, I went out to the film on a spontaneous basis. They are good friends, that normally means they are the kind of people you want to be around when times are good, who talk about superficial stuff and do blokey things like pranks and wield (legal) guns such as in paintballing and airsofting. I learned not to trust them with being myself.

I had a trigger today. I was watching an episode of House (the tv series), and at the point in the series, House was dealing with a psychotic effect of long term painkiller usage, yes, House was in a mental hospital. I suppose it triggered for me because the experience was painfully similar to my experience. It's a memory that always gets me angry when I revisit it, although watching the episode and thinking about my experience does not make me feel angry, but perhaps something else. I'm not sure how to describe it but it was certainly upsetting.

I like House, not just because he's Hugh Laurie, but because he's a doctor who takes a philosophical approach to his work, patients are problems, conceptual puzzles to be solved, much of philosophy uses this kind of reasoning, I suppose I see an unintentional aspiration to a character like that. Another triggering moment was that earlier today after paintballing I had a leg injury (related to a recurring injury) and I have had a few recurring injuries (ACL ligament, left knee) and for a few weeks i've been walking with a limp, and I've had problems with moving my legs: it doesn't do what i want it to sometimes. It seems such a strange issue because I don't think its a real medical problem, but its in my head. A superficial comparison to House was also made in my head.

I'm going through counselling at the moment to deal with my eating disorder history. Because my counsellor is not very helpful, I normally frame sessions beforehand like excercises. I am good at using digressions as an avoiding technique in a conversation, but also I find digressions helpful to say what I really mean (see House episode reference). I am dealing with the past, I am dealing with mistakes, I am trying to accept mistakes. I am trying to see decisions and experiences as both good and bad. Memories of specific periods of my life are both good and bad. The wrong judgment is when you see it as univocally (cannot find relevant word so used medieval term) good or bad. With the bad also came good things, and sometimes I miss the good things about what was an otherwise bad time. This kind of 'sober' approach to my past is how I am trying to frame it. It's not about simplifications like how everything turned to shit but its more an acknowledgement that there were both shitty things and not so shitty things. This also makes me feel guilty and responsible for certain decisions, as seeing things in extremes makes my memories seem almost justifiable, or some kind of inevitable process. I was responsible for what happened, and I had flaws, I want to try and work on those kinds of things, and many of these flaws will put my in uncomfortable positions and feelings.

An example of a 'sober' approach is that I try to acknowledge my vulnerability a little bit more, often I find that getting angry or overly analytical is easier than accepting that I feel scared, uncertain or out of control. I used to be an arrogant person (as you very well knew), and I think that I realise that if I were truly happy in the world, I'd be an arrogant person again. My decisions had implications which have knocked my arrogance down a few pegs, I am eating my own humble pie, and I have only myself to face for it. This is another example of sobriety, I could blame others, or overly blame myself. I am also willing to reflect on my feelings about memories with a different gloss. Many of my friends think of me as a nice and caring person. I suppose that I am, but after a whole lot of gruelling experiences and being reduced further and further as a person until the only thing that I can hold on to is my vulnerability.

My friends mostly know that I'm having trouble finding a decent job, or getting into a PhD. They see that I am determined and pity me. I feel that many people pity me as a victim of circumstance. I wonder if I really am, or if I just was not determined as them in life. I then am led to feelings of entitlement: namely, that I am entitled given all my reading and activity and effort to a better situation, but so many people end up with better, for so much less effort. Perhaps this issue I cannot be 'sober' about. When I think about how people 'pity' me, it makes me tempted to purge.

I feel isolated in a variety of ways. I feel isolated in that many of the insights I have had about human character (sometimes people may call this life experience) can be distilled in reading many works of literature: George Eliot, Spinoza, Kant, Homer, all I need is a reference to make greater sense of what is going on in my mind. The acceptance of my flawed arrogance and being broken down to humility is an instance of what Aristotle calls Magnanimity in his account of ethics, for example. I feel isolated in that I do not think many people understand. Perhaps you do not (I don't expect anyone to), but more people feel sympathy than empathy. Perhaps the one thing that isolates me is a  certain thought process.

If I thought that there is some problem, and address the issue as a problem, you can also see it as something to 'fix'. Many problems people see as fixable, romanticised notions of love where the partner can 'complete' you, or what I come across often is a girl who feels some kind of attraction to me being 'tortured' and wants to fix me. Experience, plus literary familiarity tells me that this kind of relationship ends normally in the following way: other person 'fixes' but then their need to fix still remains, and the dynamic of said relationship falters. I am tired of the notion that I have a problem that can be fixed by one thing. I realise that real life is more a matter of dealing with the boring as well as the glamorous, as well as realising that novelty of the new lasts until it becomes routine. I am not interested in being happy as an important goal, I realise mainly that there are an assortment of experiences that make life fun, and then lots of boring things that need to be done.

I also realised that I do not feel excitement very much, or hope.