2. The Folklore in The Stuff That's Not Interesting But Is The Most Interesting Stuff I'll Write

My time in Sacramento very much reaffirmed how depressed and angry I have been in SoCal. There are multiple reasons that people think that I might not have been able to retain my high spirits but I think I have it down.

When I was home and hanging out with TJ, there was an interesting moment where I was whining.... which unfortunately had became a regular habit of mine in SoCal. The whining mostly had to do with the fact that I didn’t feel like I was equipped to do anything post-graduation. TJ kind of looked at me like I was crazy and started giving me a pep-talk. Beyond the pep-talk, he started remarking on some of the things that I’ve accomplished.

I’m someone who functions almost completely on ego.

It reminded me of this episode of Star Trek: Deep Space 9 where these primitive villagers were afraid of this monster. They relied on a storyteller to tell the story of how they had previously beaten the monster. Of course the scientists determined that the monster was not real at all, but the fact that they believed it to be true meant that it didn’t have to be true, because it ruled their behavior just the same.

I am the same way.

My feelings about myself have always been propped up by the aura or mystique that the stories about myself have created about me. It’s part of the reason I have my nickname and my great stories… But there haven’t been any great stories since I’ve been down here. There has been nothing new in my life since I came down here. There have been no crazy radical adventures, or at least adventures that contribute to the folklore of ~Octopussy~.

The belief that all of my greatness was behind me truly began to weigh me down. I know this sounds stupid, but it’s really not that difficult to grasp. I’m fairly fragile when it comes to psychological things.

This morning I had a full-fledged panic attack and almost passed out. I knew this would happen when I made a specific choice. You see, I signed up for badminton class. I was extremely good at it when I was in high school and I really wanted to do something fun during my last quarter at school.

But there was another reason. I wanted a safe context in which to explore an issue I have been having for the last several years. Our school built a gigantic gym for the students. It’s a multi-million dollar complex that is meant to boost student interest in fitness. It worked.

I figured since it was free (not really, my tuition fees went up $1000 to pay for it) I might as well give it a try. Well, it was some time in October, and I had a panic attack when I was approaching the building. As I talked it through with a few people and talked with a counselor, I discovered that I have an intense fear of gyms, locker rooms and anything relating to environments of athletics. It stems back to my high school days when I was frequently humiliated in the locker room due to my… faggotry.

I signed up for badminton. I’m not going to let some fucking crazy psychological fear stand in the way of doing something I need to get done. I had pretty much done a full day okay, but when I realized that I would have to shower, I quickly got dizzy, light-headed and nearly collapsed. It didn’t help that when I was realizing this, the soccer team was in the showers (directly next to my locker) and some of them knew me and tried to have a conversation… Never in my life have I worked so hard to look only into someone’s eyes.

As I was going through this, and people were watching me, they were quite startled that I was rattled by something that they believed to be very simple.

People who have genuine trauma in their pasts are more-likely to be traumatized by fairly simplistic things. Systemic abuse is like a tattoo that we wear with us every day. They are wounds, sometimes healed, sometimes fresh.

That’s the thing about folklore. Just as there are stories that build me up, there are stories that break me down. Whenever I get taken down a notch, gather ‘round and take a seat: I’m going to tell a breathtaking story of my survival.

Because that’s how I survive, by reminding myself and others of these stories.