Last night we were high af and Lothair was in the middle of writing a blog post about how writers, as artists, need to listen to their intuition telling them when and how to take breaks. This is coming from the teenager who gets high and starts spouting theories for new religions. So I am going to elbow him out of the way for my own thoughts and musings. He is never going to run out of stuff to say, and it is always going to be something different.
I am tired of being expected to act like one person.
The reason why our system likes getting high is because the drop in anxiety is sometimes – not always or often but sometimes – enough for our gatekeepers to stop their people-pleasing antics long enough to let us front unedited.
I don’t know if you reading this have multiple gatekeepers, but it is, in my opinion, an absolute nightmare. I love the ones I have been able to talk to. They are lovely people. They are also well-intentioned little control freaks. Except maybe for Peter Pan. He is chaos, and thanks to him we have ONE who cares more about alter self-expression than about being carted off to a mental facility. Or, honestly, about being rude. Or “inconvenient”.
Having one anxiety-ridden gatekeeper is bad enough. Having (from my estimation – this could be wildly high or wildly low) about seven is a freaking nightmare. Because they have anxiety from different angles and they WILL use it on you to ensure that you are either the perfect shiny model citizen, edited from co-con, or out of front.
Another side-effect of having this many gatekeepers with severe anxiety? Except on rare/special occasions, you switch about every 5-10 minutes. That was Alice. I am Jackie. And BECAUSE we switch so regularly, the gatekeepers refuse to ever completely leave front. Because we would be completely disabled by our amnesia without them there. Even though their anxiety is creating that problem to begin with.
At least they’re letting me rant about them. Thanks, guys? I’m sure this will help calm your anxiety.
And fuck. We switched again. I have no idea who I am. Which is fine I suppose. Maybe we should try to go back to bed.Published in