I'm Not Ready Yet

 Not sure what to write about tonight, but I wanna stick to it. It occurs to me that I could use this time to write fiction...and maybe I will at some point, but not at the moment. I don't think I'm ready yet.

I was originally considering writing about the frustrations I have with social media, and it's overall effect on my mental health (spoiler: it isn't good), but I'm not sure I have the strength anymore. Besides, I was taken off guard with a surprising schedule change, in which I now have a three day weekend coming on actually on a weekend, which is extremely odd.

I don't think it is a permanent thing (as some of you might remember, I mentioned wanting to try and get weekends on off on an earlier post, but I have not approached anyone officially about making that happen), just based on how busy the hotel is, but it was surprising.

In that earlier post, I talked about wanting to use said weekends to maybe get out more, maybe try to date, some sort of effort to be connected to the world, and it occurred to me that I could use that three day weekend to go out and do something, but the idea fills me with a weird dread.

I'm not ready yet.

There's a film that I quite like, probably one of my favorite movies considering how often I watch it, called The Legend Of Hell House, an adaptation of the novel Hell House by Richard Matheson. Matheson wrote the screenplay for the adaptation, but they're kinda different. Both deal really heavily with the ideas of sexual repression, and hidden desires and taboos, but the film makes it very british. 

The plot of the film is a group of investigators and psychics are tasked with going to "the Mount Everest of Haunted Houses" to gain proof of "surviving personalities" after death. Roddy McDowell is one of the psychics (Mr.Fisher), the only one to ever walk out of Hell House alive, intact, and sane. It's a marvelous performance, very hesitant and timid, as he deliberately withholds his full energy from the investigation. At one point, he is asked to do a sitting, and he half-whimpers "I'm not ready yet." 

I've always admired the performance and the character (my favorite part of the film is when, after he is confronted about holding back and being called a coward, is him trying a sitting by himself, which ends up in him screaming and writhing about on the floor), but it's only now that I really consider the idea of relating to him. 

Fisher is a very haunted man. He witnessed horrors when he was a young man with talents and confidence ("You might have been hot stuff when you were fifteen, but now you're shit," the evil ghost taunts him) and is now reserved, reclusive, and withdrawn. He is still aware of his talents and abilities and virtues, but fears to use them because he knows what will eventually happen ("I know the score: You DO NOT FIGHT this house!" he cries). And, as I mentioned above, when he *does* decide to use his power, it nearly destroys him. That's me in a lot of ways (not the "talk to ghosts" stuff, so much) these days. I don't speak at a high volume much at all anymore (outside of podcasts and having to yell over noise at work), I am hesitant to reach out with my feelings, and I could use all of my talents and abilities, but I know they only bring pain with them.

However, I am doing this blog, which is the first thing I've written in a very long time. I'm trying to prepare myself, to bring back a little bit of the "hot stuff" version I was once upon a time. But I am not ready yet. To actually go out into the world and try to be even a resemblance of the guy I used to be sounds way too damned hard and will bring far too much pain and doubt.

Eventually, Fisher does become the hero of the film, going up against the evil Belasco and eventually defeating him by reminding him how short he was. It's an odd movie. Makes sense in context. But that's essentially it. Fisher steps up, after a few deaths, and confronts the bad guy (with a lot of yelling and cursing) and comes out on top. So maybe there is hope for me yet on that score.

For now, I'm not ready yet. Not to try and be social or make new friends, or try to date (Jesus, what a terrible idea that would probably be right now)...I have too much more work to do on myself. Too much self-inventory and discovery and reckoning to be had before I can be of much use to anyone else. But I think the power, such as it is. is still there. Eventually, maybe, I can open myself up to it more without screaming and falling over, but I'm certainly not there yet. For now I'll remain the weird, quiet know-it-all in the corner delivering all the exposition and hiding his libido. 

So, it will be a quiet three-day weekend. With Werewolf movies and weed, most likely. Maybe I'll get some sleep. I did a little better with the sleep schedule today, but not by much. I'm hoping this coming morning goes well, since I have a podcast recording and I hate bringing half-assed (or artificial) energy to those. Both of my cohosts deserve better. In general, but in this case I'm talking about energy. 

I don't think there's anything terribly wrong about feeling unprepared to really open myself up to humanity again. At least nothing I should be ashamed of, at any rate. I used to be okay at it, maybe even good at it, and maybe I can be again eventually. Just not right now. And I'm choosing to allow myself that time, even if it does seem a little cowardly and cheap, as it does with Fisher in the first half of the film. But I do know the score. You do not fight this house. At least not when you're feeling weak.

 Eventually, I'm sure I'll go yell "You little bastard" at ghosts again.

 (See what I did there? Ghosts are literal in the film, but figurative when applied to my situation and....ah, you get it, that's what I do, make vague references and I kid around)