The Difficulty of Inertia

I'm always dealing with a feeling of inertia. I don't know from where it comes from, or what it means. Is it depression? And yet it's not a very overpowering one. I've felt depressed before, but this feeling isn't quite depression. It's rather the absence of drive: something motivating me into activity.

In an earlier post, I mentioned my need to open myself outward to the world of objects. And yet, I feel critically involved in my own world. All I seem to feel is the inertia, so much so, I think I would be either mute, or arm-twisted into speech by my moribund tendency to stress my voice during speech. My speech has literally become that intermixed with the tendency to stress. Also - and this is of the greatest salience - my tendency to stress as I speak is really just a symptom of my tendency to watch myself as I speak. Somehow, in my head, I began to experience speech as something which occurs while watching yourself. It is infuriatingly sticky - I only have flashes now and again of what a normal approach to speech is actually like.

What a normal approach feels like: It feels spontaneous. I think, and then an instant later, almost simultaneously it seems, speech emerges from my mouth. Consciously, I am hyper-focused (or "in" the words I speak) on the subject matter, while ignoring, or only tacitly receiving an impression, how I spoke. I may say "Hey Ash!" to my sister. In my mind, there was the simple recognition that my sister had come home. Instantaneously, without hesitation - without the presence of any other thought in my mind - MICHAEL speaks. The words emanate from a core too mysterious to be watched, it seems.

I know this is a genuine state. I know it is not "beyond" my capacity. I am not forever estranged from feelings of confidence, and from the ease of living without worrying. But as it stands, I fear I need more than what I have. I daily struggle. I find it exceedingly difficult to enter speech without preempting myself. Its as if the obsession stands ready like a bodyguard, or a sentry, at the door of my mind. I try to ready myself: think THIS way, and by saying that to myself, I simultaneously seem to confirm the presence of the problem. My mind is STILL IN THAT MODE. I want desperately to live in the world of objects, but it seems such a perception is underlined by an attitude - a perception of reality conducive to ones overall state of self.

So it seems to be double tiered: I need to focus outward onto the world of objects. That needs to be the flux of my attention. Secondly: I need to feel secure as me. Partadoxically, the first need is impersonal; by stressing the mode in which reality is experienced and understood, I enter a confident state of mind; my voice emerges strong, natural, in short, it feels and sounds like me. On the other hand, one should be able to understand himself as an "I", as an individual. If someone looks at me, I should be able to endure their stares without fretting over possible reasons. The former state - the outward focus into the world of objects - is a symptom of someone who is secure in their body, and secure in their self image, which is the latter state.

Sometimes, I don't know which to emphasize, or where to begin. I feel as if the "be in the world" of objects is the right way to go about it, but then I discover that my insecurity can get the better of me. Its used to feeling scared, in this or that situation. My brain has little compartments of memory dedicated to just these situations, evoking just these responses. So sometimes I'll try to buttress my self esteem: you can do it Mike! You know you love yourself, you care for your well being, you want to get better! But then when I act, I am unwittingly involving my insecurities in my speech. In short, I am self conscious while speaking.

Obviously, I understand that I am seriously over-thinking all this. I know my understanding is complex, and probably quite accurate in its conception of the relationship between personal and impersonal forces; but still, people cannot and should not think this deeply about things. It dissolves the process of living into truncated facts. It forgets the flowness of things; the naturalness of every moment. I want to wholistically connect with the world, but i am stuck in my thoughts, feelings, and neuroses.

I of course can never lose hope. I believe that I will get out of this. I need, and want to believe.