Link to Part 11

Boy, that last post sure ended on a down note, didn’t it? I’d love to be able to turn it around here, to say that things are much better now. Believe me, the last thing I want to do is compound that downer ending by denying you, the reader, a happy ending or even some sort of catharsis to give everything you’ve read perspective. But there is no happy ending. Or at least, not yet.

If you take anything from the preceding eleven posts, I hope you are able to discern that I’m not a bad guy. Or at least, I hope that’s how I come across. Despite my glaring flaws, I genuinely believe I’m not a bad person. That’s not to say that I’m a good person, though I do hope that I am. I certainly strive to do no harm, though I understand that simply not doing bad does not make one good. But at this point, faced with what I perceive to be signals from all over the universe that I’m a villain, that I’m the cause of all of society’s ills and that I should be wracked with guilt unto death, simply being able to see that I’m not a bad guy is progress. Simply declining to accept these signals has to be a minor victory.

And it’s not just cognitive distortion that tells me I’m a bad guy. Sure, some of it is cognitive distortion. Maybe most of it is. But it’s a fact that much of my family – that is, my extended family, not necessarily my wife and child – don’t take me seriously. To them, I’m still a pre-teen in short pants who can’t possibly know better than they do. That shit stings when you’re approaching fifty.

And that’s just the members of my family with whom I still have regular contact. I overextend myself in virtually all of my relationships. I give as much as I can – usually more than the other party does – because I am desperate to prove that I have value. I want people to stick around. I don’t want to be alone in my twilight years. Still, most people walk away. Friends get bored, I guess. Most relatives don’t return calls or texts. Maybe I’m just too weird to fit into their lives.

If that’s the case, though, I guess I don’t mind. I spent most of my life trying not to be weird so people would want me around. I tried to force myself into whatever box society said I belonged in. I denied most of the things that made me me, or at least downplayed them. I tried to be the same kind of guy that every other guy was. I pretended I gave a fuck about football. In the end, it didn’t make much difference. Maybe Trying-To-Be-Normal Jack was weirder than default Weird Jack.

Unfortunately, this means that I have little if any reliable social support, and in person I have virtually none. Not only does the inability to keep people in my life suggest that I’m a villain, but the lack of a social circle gives me time to ruminate. With no one in my corner to offer conflicting opinions of my worth, I’m free to entertain the notion that at best, I don’t have anything to offer, and at worst, what I have to offer is all bad.

If I was some sort of monster who abused his loved ones, who got drunk and made an ass of himself at weddings (or funerals), who thought himself better than everyone else, it would make sense for people to walk away. But I’m not some thoughtless husband who leaves dishes in the sink, forgets birthdays, and makes plans with the guys that conflict with anniversaries. Nor am I the sort of person who borrows money from a friend with no intention of paying it back and then hits on said friend’s wife without express permission to do so. I didn’t build a meth lab in the spare room and invite shady people over at all hours of the night to drop off cash and pick up a fresh supply. I don’t make casual racist comments and then act like a victim when everyone at Thanksgiving dinner calls me on it.

Not only do I not have these specific flaws, I’ve spent the last several months actively working on the flaws I do have. I’ve practiced mindfulness and let go of grievances I’d spent years dwelling on. I’ve learned techniques for managing my stress and anxiety. I’ve set and enforced boundaries with other people, which is something I’ve always found difficult and which those people are now being forced to respect for the first time ever. In a variety of therapeutic settings I’ve dredged up much of the stuff you’ve read about over the course of this extended series of posts. I’ve analyzed my flaws, and I’m working on fixing them or accepting that they’re a part of who I am. None of us are perfect, after all. This intense focus on my mental health may be the subject of a future post.

I almost wish I was a villain. If I was the kind of person who committed aggressions like the ones described above, then the loneliness and despair I’ve been dealing with would simply be a case of a villain getting his comeuppance. But since I’m not, none of it makes sense to me. So I guess that getting my head around the situation and accepting it – if not necessarily understanding it – is something of an accomplishment. I mean, it has to be, right?

I’m still trying to figure it out. When I do, I’m sure I’ll blog about it.

Oh, and much like The Obsolete Man, the title of this post also references The Twilight Zone. The episode in question, “It’s a Good Life”, involves a child with godlike powers and control over reality itself. Having isolated his small Ohio town from the rest of the world, he rules over the terrified residents. If you’ve ever seen the 1991 Simpsons Treehouse of Horror episode where Bart turns Homer into a jack-in-the-box, this is what it was referencing. Until 2016, “It’s a Good Life” was the single best argument for keeping power out of the hands of those too immature to handle the responsibility.