Retro-Blog: August 20, 2008 (Age 45) - Human Implosion

Caution: Stay Well Back: Human implosion in progress  The alternate title for this post was "Emo Implosion", but that sounded too much like a themed night at a club. The playbill might read something like: "Drag yourself down to Mopey's Pub every Tuesday night for EMO IMPLOSION, a showcase for the most depressing and marginally talented local singer-songwriters available. All ages! Any patrons making eye contact with the staff will be ejected. Goths and other poseurs welcome. Complimentary beatings upon exit provided by a local college athletic fraternity." But seriously. "Implosion" seems the most apt term for what I am experiencing. In building demolition, as you may well know, the art of implosion is remarkably subtle. The margin of strength by which most buildings stave off their inevitable surrender to gravity is often very slim. Only a few small charges in strategic locations, triggered with the right timing, can reduce a seemingly substantial behemouth to rubble in a matter of seconds. Human implosion is similar, but a little more mysterious. It seems that an accumulation of minor and seemingly random and disconnected emotional injuries, often inflicted casually and unknowingly, can sometimes hit just the right weak spots at just the right times to put a human psyche into a sudden and utterly helpless self-destructive freefall. Detailing the placement and nature of these injuries is irrelevant, as there was seldom any intent to do harm in the first place, and nobody could have seen how each little chip and crack would add up to such a complete collapse. Speaking of collapse: I'm going back to bed, which seems to be my answer to everything lately.  My condolences to those who do not have this solution available as an immediate option. [Editorial Note 2015 (Age 52): There you go, a Retro-Blog from beyond the adolescent years, yet seemingly not beyond the adolescent psyche.  Re-posted today because this is once again how I feel right now and I can't really improve on how I expressed it some six years ago.  The only change is that sleep is an elusive escape.  When I first wrote this I was still experiencing significant somnolence as a side effect of clonazepam.  Since then I have built up a significant resistance. Sleep is difficult to achieve and maintain, especially when I am preoccupied with anxiety over upcoming events, or regret over past action or inaction.]