Attacking the seratonin suckers
I've been frozen, locked in place, emotionally, for years in denial of the great painful events - events - that I should have let go years ago. But I stopped diarying, really, in 1982, when the pain all started, and only kept fragments going since. There were system crashes that took out part of it in 88, circumstances that made it impossible to write in most of 92-93, stolen at the end of 93 - writers block from 93-02...
- My parents nearly got divorced when I was 16.
- My first love left me for no reason I understood.
- The second girl I ever really loved? I had to pull her out of a crack house in 93, and failed to get her clean, then. We finally got together in 99, we still had that magic connection - she had cleaned herself up - and it was right right right and wrong, wrong wrong - we broke up and then I watched her become an alcoholic. She was the "Rhysling" in Rhysling and me.
- In 96, After a hacking attack at ICANECT, the FBI locked me, the VP in charge, out of the investigation. I was a suspect, and I was innocent. After 2 months of isolated agony, they offered to let me get in the game if I modified sendmail to let the rest of management censor the email on the day of the last extortion attempt. They sat there, happily reading everyone's mail "to protect the company" from bad pr from the cracker - while I slowly slid down the wall in realization of what I'd done to get back in the game. I'd compromised my principles.
- I really do have some basic ADD-like disorder which makes it hard to focus, and sequence events, and to deal with, understand, pain like this.
- Code I wrote was responsible for delivering 6 billion banner ads. I've annoyed every human being on the internet 60 times.
- My job was really frustrating. It was a mismatch of my ego and ability vs available resources. Not that it was apparent from the outside. From the outside I must have looked like an idiot/savant, or maybe just an idiot. My mind was malfunctioning, I could scarcely put together a coherent sentence while talking.
- I got the house of my dreams and all this baggage spilled out. And I couldn't sort it out. I couldn't touch it.
- I didn't manage to save josh from himself. I had to kick him out of my house... and state
- Uncle Bill's other helicopter was the Blackhawk, a killing machine.
All this pain has been locked up inside, unexamined. It comes out of me in weird ways and times. It warps my worldvew. I've been spending most of my mental energy NOT thinking about them, and the rest - grieving over them. The last time I tried to take on my past, 10 years ago, all these other people hit me with their needs, and I was driven to solve their problems, not my own, until I had nothing left to drive. I've felt like it was all happening again - and that last personal examination of my soul ended rather badly.
There, I wrote them down.
In the movies, once the patient has come out and acknowledged their deep inner sources of pain, they are miraculously cured and happily ride off into the sunset.
I still wrote them down, I know I will have write more on each. But, now: It's all in its filing cabinet. I can look at one, one, try to grok it in fullness and let the hurt slip away.