Convoluted Logic Explained
Of all the natural disasters in the world, the one that feels so eerily familiar is the hurricane; particularly the eye of the hurricane. There’s this inevitability about it. The whole natural order of it; the inevitability of disaster manifesting from thin air right before your eyes. A survival of the fittest mentality. It can all be likened to a car crash or a divorce or an abrupt eviction notice or a freak accident of any random sort. Whenever I see it on one of those high-resolution satellite photos, the eye stares back at me like a black hole torn in space waiting to suck me thru the void and into the abyss. But when I look back, I see a human brain surrounded by the chaotic commotion its produces. Yes, you read that right. The eye of a hurricane is like a human brain.
The chaotic repetition that my life has become is a chain reaction of the madness my mind has produced. My life; a fucking category four. If it was like a tornado, at least I’d be able to claim I had some form of direction in spite of the hot mess I might’ve created for myself. But then my story wouldn’t be so entertaining, would it. You get caught in the path of a cyclone then you’re as good as dead. But that’s only if you have the misfortune of getting caught in the path. Once the hurricane hits the coast, it annihilates everything. And nobody’s safe. I’m the hurricane. My actions-every corrupt maneuver I make-are the rain and thunder and lightning and super high velocity winds and fatal flooding. My mind is the eye. Hence the brain. Only difference for me is that I’m not restricted to a specific time of year. My storm can hit while I’m sitting on the couch reading the Times. Why? How? Cause I’m too busy playing in my head. Always and forever.
I suffer from a slew of mental disabilities. Bipolar depression, attention deficit disorder, anxiety and form of autism called Asperger’s syndrome to be precise. For about the first 15 years of my life, I was unaware of any of this. And even when I finally came to receive a proper diagnosis, after years of therapy, I was bitter and morose about the whole thing. I felt uncomfortable in my own skin. I became nervous to look at myself in the mirror. I couldn’t see my own reflection. Instead I saw this vegetated creature with demented features and empty eye sockets staring back at me. I refused medication because I didn’t like the idea of being controlled like a robot. I refused to cope because I was too afraid to come out of denial and face reality. So instead I made my own reality. I did what I’ve been doing since I made my way from the cradle: playing in my head.
The way my mom explained it to me was that when I was around two or three years old, I started running back and forth from one end of the backyard to the other with a focused look on my face that was intensely staring at a toy hammer or a pencil I was twirling in my hand. Naturally, my mother became concerned. She would tear up and become confused because she simply couldn’t figure out what was going on with me. Nothing in this world is worse for a parent then being helpless for your child. So one day she masked her fear with a mothers smile, stepped out into the backyard and asked me, sounding as calm and casual as she could muster, “Hey Aly, what are you doing.” Without looking up, continuing to from one end of the yard to the other, as if stating the obvious, I squealed, "Mommy, I'm playing in my head."
It’s difficult for me to truly explain it in a way that can possibly make any sense to anyone besides me so I’ll try to break it down for you as logically as I can. In ASD terms it's called "stimming," short for self-stimulating behavior. Playing in my head is my stim. Playing in my head is what I do to avoid coping with my problems, my disabilities, my life as a whole.It's logical to me, but convoluted to everyone else. Instead of filling out a job application I’d rather go for a jog and listen to a gangster rap while thinking about living life as a cocaine kingpin who gets into shootouts with cops. When I’m alone and bored, sometimes I’ll pace or run back and forth while dreaming of a red desert, living on Mars as biological consultant, while being a famous actor with three different wives who plays as a pro-bowl safety for the Atlanta Falcons who has several run-ins with the law, while being heavyweight boxing champion of the world who may or may not have been involved in the murder of a neo-Nazi, while becoming a successful writer turned screenwriter turned movie director who calls out Donald Trump during an interview on CNN. And while I’m sitting in the waiting room at the doctor's office or I’m on line at the grocery store or when I’ve been sucked into a horribly boring conversation, these scenarios I’ve created in my head are so real. Like virtual reality. Only even more so... more lucid. As if I could reach out in front of me while out to dinner with my family and pick up the stack of nonexistent gold right off my dinner plate.
It’s a wonderful, deadly paradise I’ve created for myself where I can conquer the world whenever I want without getting out of bed. It’s the only way I know how to deal with my mental illness besides self medicating. It's convoluted logic.
As long as I’m playing in my head, I never have to worry about making a life for myself because I already have made an imaginary life for myself that doesn’t involve the stress of hard work and the pain of rejection and disappointment. And the sights I’ve painted are so beautiful. Lush green fields that spread for miles beneath a clear blue sky with snowcapped mountains in the backdrop that are twice the size of all seven summits. Big cities with exquisitely crafted architecture and skyscrapers that shoot pass the clouds and into space. Forests filled with trees that grow money and rivers of liquid opium. I’ve become so lost in this world of mine that I’ve let it consume me entirely from progressing in my life.
So that’s why I’ve decided to start this blog, so I can share my experiences and help people like you and me. I’m ready to defeat my demons and put my past behind me. But I can’t do it alone. I need help from others who are just like me, who know my pain, who understand what I’m going through. So let’s get together and pave the way for what can be a marvelous existence by using this haven of mine to relate to one another. With that, I welcome you to my personal version of convoluted logic.