hissingcockroach: (Default)
Because egotism and a thirst for attention are among my awful flaws, I find myself really wanting someone to read this blog. But if they did read the blog, and I knew about it, I would feel obligated to post, and then it would be too much pressure and I might stop posting. I guess my ideal reader would be someone I don't like very much, who also doesn't like me very much (so I suppose this imaginary reader is just hatereading this thing? I haven't really thought this through.)

I suppose if I want someone to be inspired by my struggle, or indeed care about it at all, I should go find a forum of some kind to post on. But I have no idea where to look for that sort of thing or what the norms are if and when I find it.

Edit: I went and added some Interests to my profile to increase the chances someone would stumble across it. I am the most pathetic person in existence.
hissingcockroach: (Default)
I've been unnecessarily paranoid about obscuring as many aspects of my identity as possible, but I suppose that it's okay to mention that I'm disappointed in the results of the recent presidential election in the United States; that only narrows it down to about 50% of the US population, and it's already obvious I'm in the US because I write using American spelling and idiom. Anyway, for a brief shining moment there, I was upset for a reason I couldn't blame on myself. It was paradoxically pleasant.

Now I'm back to my resting state of bitter self-hatred and ineffectuality, though. Oh well, it was nice while it lasted.

I've been thinking, though, about truth, and self-assessment, and the ways in which recent events have proven that having an unrealistically high self-assessment does not seem to be a barrier to success. Having an unrealistically low self-assessment, on the other hand, does seem to present problems--at least if you react to it the way I tend to, which is to say, by curling up in a little ball of self-hatred and wishing I didn't exist. (I guess I can say "wishing I was dead" here. I reflexively euphemise my suicidal ideation because I don't want to worry people, but no one here knows me so I don't have to worry about it. I'm really not going to commit suicide, both because it would devastate my loved ones and because it has such a high probability of leading to long-term disability instead of death. But I do think about it a lot and I wish I could talk about it more without worrying about getting carted off to a mental institution.)

So anyway, I want to take a break from self-criticism to state some positive things that I intellectually believe to be true, even if I find them emotionally unconvincing:
- I am somewhat competent at a lot of things, even work things.
- Most people I know like me, or at least have positive feelings toward me. They would probably have a positive reaction to me reaching out and making social contact, even if I am not very good at it, even if it has been a while.
- I care a lot about doing the right thing, possibly too much, even though I fall short sometimes
- There are many people who procrastinate just as pathologically as I do, feel just as much self-pity, and are generally broken in similar ways. I am sure no one is broken quite exactly like me, but I have compatriots.
- Sometimes I will fuck up and that's OK. Sometimes I will even fuck up over and over and over again, apparently never learning anything from my mistakes, and that is STILL okay because it turns out that humans are very prone to that sort of thing and I am, among other things, a human. In the event that someone looks down on me for fucking up, well, there is nothing I can do about that, they are entitled to their opinion.
I am one single fucked-up human being and I cannot save the world and I cannot do everything perfectly and I cannot make everyone like me or respect me.

Basically, I tend to shut down upon trying to do anything useful because it reminds me either that I haven't done the thing yet, or I don't know how to do the thing, and therefore I am THE WORST, and I shrivel up into a little ball of anxiety and self-hatred and can't do the thing. It's very self-defeating.

I mean, let's posit that I am indeed the worst person in the world--well, I've ruled out suicide, attractive as it is, so that leaves just continuing to muddle through and do the best I can while being the worst person in the world. I mean, really, if I manage to get anything done whilst being the worst, laziest, most cowardly, most procrastinate-y person in the world, that's pretty impressive, isn't it? I should get a gold star.
hissingcockroach: (Default)
I spent eleven hours today, from around 4pm until I gave up at 3am, sitting in my office actively not working. Just surfing the Internet. I made that decision not to work once every 3 or 5 or 10 minutes, the duration of a distraction; I sat at that crossroads between productivity and procrastination upwards of one hundred times and decided not to work basically every time. That is objectively mad.

I feel like part of the problem is getting bogged down deciding what to work on--a small but important part. I will think on this.

creatures

Nov. 6th, 2016 05:59 pm
hissingcockroach: (Default)
I added a user icon. I chose the name of this blog because a despised creature named after its primary method of complaining seemed appropriate to the theme. But in reality, I think hissing cockroaches are pretty cool animals--so there's some secret hope for redemption there, I guess.

It occurs to me now that it might have been more appropriate to pick an animal that is outwardly acceptable but has little-known awful behaviors. Being despised by most but secretly pretty cool, like a cockroach, seems preferable to being outwardly tolerable but secretly abhorrent, which seems closer to my current situation. I guess even in this blog devoted to how shitty I am, I managed to sneak in some undeserved self-regard.

When I was a kid, my fantasy self was often a big toothy monster that scared everyone away except for the occasional brave soul willing to try to befriend it. Maybe that's what I should aspire to.

sloth

Nov. 6th, 2016 03:48 pm
hissingcockroach: (Default)
You know, it was 7.5 hours from when I woke up this morning to when I bothered to get off the couch and shower and put on some pants? I continue to disgust myself. I can't tell anyone the extent of this affliction, I'm too ashamed, and too convinced that if I really cared enough I could just stop, just be a normal person who can live a normal life. But I'm too in love with my pain, or something. I'm not sure if broadcasting my self-loathing to the void on here really helps, but at least it's a chance to articulate it.

I just don't have anything to live for. I don't want anything. All I have left is stuff I want to avoid--embarrassing myself, hurting my loved ones--and I'm afraid that even that is getting worn away over time.

They say you're supposed to have self-compassion, but while I can intellectually see why that's helpful, it's always sounded wrong to me. Not sure why. Just sounds like an excuse. They say, would you treat a friend the way you're treating yourself? And my response is, of course not, but I can't see inside my friend's head. If I could see inside their head and they were being as slothful, self-pitying, and excuse-laden as I am, maybe I WOULD call them an asshole.

Narratives

Nov. 6th, 2016 01:19 am
hissingcockroach: (Default)
I continue to be 99% The Worst. The 1% there is because I actually managed to get a little with dinner yesterday, and did laundry today. The other 99% is because I am so terrible that those count as accomplishments. Still failing at paying bills, several other overdue with projects, keeping in touch with friends, cleaning house, and innumerable other things.

I don't know, though--keeping this journal is making me think that I'm somewhat attached to the narrative of being the worst. It's more dramatically satisfying than being merely sort of meh. I need to come up with a grand narrative for my life that allows for drama while also allowing for me to be mediocre at things sometimes. Why the fuck are you clinging to the drama, I hear you say? Because I refuse to be boring, dammit. If my life didn't have some kind of narrative arc, why should I even bother to keep living it? (...said hissing cockroach, dramatically.)
hissingcockroach: (Default)
What a great start to National Coping Month. I got distracted and then I got sleepy and then I was like, fuck it, I'll do it tomorrow. Tomorrow Me must be a fantastically energetic and responsible person, given all the things I delegate to them. It's really impressive how much Tomorrow Me is evidently able to get done. God, I'm such a fuckup.

On the plus side I, like, actually accomplished some work at work today, which I haven't done in a while. It's pretty pathetic that that's an accomplishment, but there you go.
hissingcockroach: (Default)
Haven't posted here for a while. I guess I gave up on it. Like I give up on everything! Because I am too dysfunctional even to do things I enjoy, let alone fulfill my actual responsibilities!

(I don't know why screaming self-deprecating tirades like this into the void is so appealing in this venue. Maybe because there's nowhere else i can do it.)

Anyway, all my functional friends are doing this National Novel Writing Month thing. Obviously I have no hope of being together enough to do that. But I thought maybe i could do my own private National Coping Month, where every day I do something i have been putting off for weeks and then blog about it here. National Coping and Journaling Month. NaCoJoMo. Except it's not national; I'm not even planning to tell anyone else I'm doing it because I'm so fucking embarrassed about the kinds of things I've been letting slide. So more of a PerCoJoMo.

Today's thing was doing that with project I've been putting off. Tomorrow's thing will be the OTHER with project I've been putting off. God, I'm such an irresponsible shithead.
hissingcockroach: (Default)
I desperately do not want to pay my bills. I have the money, I just hate doing it. But I've put it off for a month now which means I'm probably paying some serious money in interest and fees, so I gotta do it. I can do this, I am hardcore.
hissingcockroach: (Default)
Here's a fear: fear of thinking about work. If I think about work, I'll think about the ways in which I've failed at work. And if I think about the ways in which I've failed at work, I'll imagine the contempt in which my colleagues hold me and the fact that I can never get back into their good graces. And I'll think about how I'm too old to start over in a new career and I would be bad at it anyway, and I see the rest of my life fall away into an abyss of meaninglessness caused by my own cowardice and sloth.

Isn't it impressive that my mind can spin that much existential dread out of a stupid listicle about my field, or a five-minute work assignment? I should write plays or something.

Anyway. Here goes. I'm going to face the abyss and think about work. I'm even gonna start on a work project.

...okay, first attempt got derailed. "I didn't know Windows 10 came with Minecraft installed."

Second attempt: got as far as opening the program, then I had to go look something up in email and I ended up on a blog that led to a Wikipedia spiral.

Third attempt: I wrote two paragraphs before noping out and distracting myself. At least this time I noticed the distraction while it was happening, even if I did fail to stop it.

Fourth attempt: I think I got distracted again in the middle, but I finished this five-minute task! It only took me like forty minutes!

Chalk this one up in the SUCCESS column. Let's see if I can keep it going.
hissingcockroach: (Default)
The trouble with being the Worst Person Ever, of course, is that it doesn't give you a lot of motivation to change. Even if you do a lot better, you'll maybe make it to "Bottom 10% Of People Ever", and that just doesn't seem like a great incentive. May as well keep being Worst, at least it's distinctive.

I started this blog--which presumably no one is reading, but which, like all public web pages, has a potential audience of billions--on the advice of my therapist. I was complaining about how all my fears are of stupid, mundane, nebulous things, like talking about my emotions or doing anything blameworthy ever or associating with groups of children. You can get help and support groups for fears of public speaking or spiders, but I don't have those nice concrete fears. I fear that people are secretly judging me, and that's not a fear it is possible to confront, insofar as I'm not telepathic--and if I started going around asking people "Are you secretly judging me?" I expect the answer would be "well, I am NOW, you paranoid dumbass."

Anyway, my therapist suggested that maybe I could present my little fears to the world and work on overcoming then for an audience, because I actually live for attention. You, my imaginary audience, are supposed to help me with my imaginary fears by daring me to overcome them--and perhaps overcoming my fears in this performative way will give me the incentive that just "not being the worst person in the world" somehow can't provide.

So, imaginary audience, dare me to do some shit.
hissingcockroach: (Default)
I was feeling pretty good today! I had a meeting with my boss where I explained a bunch of stuff I was going to do. My boss didn't even ask me about all the shit I was supposed to have been doing for the last week. I came out of the meeting ready to be productive!

Then I once again didn't do a single thing. Fuck me.
hissingcockroach: (Default)
So here's what I did today: I called in sick to get an extra day so I'd have SOMETHING to show my boss, and then I did--guess what?--absolutely nothing! This may be a new low.

This has been an impressive week for me, procrastination-wise. I think I may actually have gone the entire week without getting a single work thing done. I mean, that takes dedication. I've definitely put in my 10,000 hours on procrastinating. I guess I should make that my new career. You'd think I'd get bored of it.
hissingcockroach: (Default)
Oh, another thing I haven't done: go through my two weeks of accumulated mail. There could be anything in there. Probably isn't, but could be!

I hate this. I usually pride myself on being a fairly capable person, but the days the smallest thing will make me throw up my hands like "I'm all out of cope! Can't do it!" I suppose that could be related to how I like to call myself the worst person in the world (or earthier epithets like "shithead" and "dickface") at the slightest provocation. I'm not afraid of heights or spiders or public speaking, but I'm somehow paralyzingly petrified of the mere possibility of making a minor fuckup. Because the worst a spider can do is bite me, but a fuckup can conclusively demonstrate that my whole life is a lie and I'll never amount to anything. Because I'm a shithead and also the worst person in the world.
hissingcockroach: (Default)
I am badly, badly addicted to the Internet. Or, arguably, I am addicted to reading. I have spent literally about sixteen hours today mainlining words off news sites, Reddit, wikis, and anything else I can find, with occasional breaks to play stupid phone games (and sometimes slightly intelligent phone games, as if that's better.) This habit is why I am the worst person in the world. I have been addicted to reading since I learned to read, pretty much.

Things I am avoiding right now:

- providing extremely simple $workthing to $colleague1 who has been waiting for it for three weeks
- providing marginally more complicated $workthing to $colleague2 who has been waiting for it for three *months*
- paying bills
- booking plane tickets for Christmas
- booking hotels for $conference
- booking plane tickets for $businesstrip
- making an appointment with my new personal trainer
- sending out invites for a board game night
- turning in 2 weeks of timesheets
- probably a bunch of other shit because I am the worst person in the world

I DID manage to make an appointment to get $medicalprocedure done. That is a thing I have been putting off for ages and I did it today, so go me.

Tomorrow perhaps if I put my mind to it I can book plane tickets for $businesstrip and finish $simpleworkthing. TBH, though, I should probably think smaller. Can I open up the travel website? Can I copy and paste some numbers from one file to another for $workthing? Can I successfully spend five minutes alone with my thoughts?

Tune in next time. Or don't. I advise don't.
hissingcockroach: (Default)
So this here is my blog that I have set up for Mental Health purposes. It will be self-indulgent and self-pitying and I will use it to give myself way too much credit for overcoming my bullshit fears, so you probably shouldn't read it. But the fact that someone out there could theoretically be masochistic enough to read it gives me more motivation to post, which is why I'm putting it on this public forum.

My brain thinks I'm the worst person in the world and you probably should too.

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hissingcockroach

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