Consistency & Certainty

10th Apr, 2025

I'm not real good at consistency, as it turns out. But then, the last 5 days have hardly been consistent themselves.

Most of those potentially reading this are fully aware of what I'm referring to, so I don't think I'm gonna get into that too much if I can avoid it. But that said, I'm not really sure what I am here to talk about either.

Life feels tenuous at the moment. I'm anxious almost all the time, which makes it nearly impossible to picture what the next week, day, or even hour is going to look like. It's either a smeared blur of subverted expectations, or it's a worse case scenario that I know in my heart won't come to pass, but nevertheless dominates my conscious predictions.

I'm not a fan of uncertainty. Even saying it like that is a hell of an understatement, and alas it's becoming more and more evident lately. I knew it about myself already, but I don't know how to escape it or tolerate it when it happens. And recently, friends have been pointing that out too.

I don't like not knowing things. I have to believe I'm not naturally like this, at least not to this extent. I've always been incredibly curious, about everything, and I'm more willing to believe that whatever mediocre traumas I've been through have taken that, twisted it full of fears and childish terrors, until its founded more on those than on the wonder and joy that it should be.

I also talked to a friend¹ today about the nature of and differences between the feelings of jealousy and envy. We had a pretty solid joint understanding of them, although they rephrased it a little in a way I liked.

Jealousy is the feeling of wanting to have something, exclusively - it is mine, only mine, and you may not take it from me. I live in fear that someone will or is attempting to do so.

Envy then is the feeling simply of wanting something, not necessarily at the expense of others - I see you have something good, and I don't begrudge you that except that I want it too, goddamnit.

I'm pretty happy, in a morbid way, that despite my mixing of the two terms it is usually only envy that I experience. Jealousy is a term I use because its inherently uglier to me, and alas that I am quite an asshole to myself. But it's not usually what I feel. I am almost always happy for those around me, I enjoy their joy and I want the best for them. That spark is always present.

Unfortunately, it's also so often eclipsed by that common refrain: What about me?²

I don't think the feeling is usually particularly reasonable - in fact, more often than not I know it isn't. I get lost far too easily in what I don't have, for all that I try to practice gratitude.

And I am grateful, always, for the presence of those I love and who love me, for their actions and words and kindessess and simple affection. I would be dying much faster without them. I would know much less happiness. I only wish it was not such a struggle to cling to those conscious thoughts, when the demons begin to circle.

Regardless, the astute among you³ may be able to see the connection between envy and uncertainty here. We begin to see the horrible feedback loop of brain gunk these two can produce, in tandem with eachother.

Whenever something changes, when a friend starts to slip away or simply spend more time with another, I begin to feel uncertain. I fear the future I could picture with them - whatever the nature of it - may have begun the slippery slope towards obscurity.

At the same time, I begin to feel envious. I am saddened by their absence, but moreso I am torn to ribbons by the knowledge that what I once had, someone else is now enjoying at my expense. I am happy for them, for everyone involved, and I would not steal their happiness away... but I want my comfortable familiarity back. I want my sense of belonging.

Then in my uncertainty, I begin to concoct explanations. But, tainted by envy, they are worst-case scenarios and ingenerous facades of my friends.

I begin to feel that I've been deproritised, and soon I'll be forgotten entirely. But why? well, perhaps I wasn't good enough. Not funny enough. I didn't know enough, or speak up enough, or perhaps I spoke too much. I wasn't there when needed, or I was clingy and overzealous and crowding.

But I know nothing for sure. I hunt for scraps of evidence, desperate to disprove the wasp-like phantoms that crowd my subconscious, trying my best to believe that the people I love have reasonable explanations for what is occuring. I know they must. They are better people than I by far.

But most often, I find nothing in either direction. Any of the hundred explanations I've concocted could be true.

Worse, I now have no way to predict the future without a secure foundation to build upon. Anything could happen, any uncertain variable could be proven true or false at any moment, and I will stumble.

So my recourse is to assume that this is perpetuity, now. This state of feeling envious and uncertain is the last thing I will ever feel. I can't picture a return to anything else - and to hope without knowing one way or another is terrifying.

And this is not a state anybody would wish to be in, nor survive for long undamaged by it.

In any case, I seem to have neglected my goal of not talking about these things. This is fine, I suppose. Half the reason for this blog is transparency with those I love, and the other half is to have a record of thoughts that I can take to therapy.

To wrap up my unfortunate ramble, I suppose this is what I am wishing for most at the moment: A return to certainty. That I can know for sure that all of this is temporary and more than that, to know what comes next.

I miss my cat, who has so very much to say and so much desire to give and be given affection.

My uncertainties and my envy tell me that she's happier where she is now, sharing those things with others who are less flakey than me. They tell me that I no longer bring joy, just discomfort, and that whatever familiarity we shared a few weeks ago has been transfered from my life, not to return.

I know this is bullshit. There are many weights on her at the moment, of which my wellbeing is just one, and hardly even the prominent one. If she chooses to share her time more with others at the moment, this is not because I am unworthy of it - but because that is what she needs and is able to prioritise right now. This is the reason we have a family as we do. We hold eachother up together.

I miss my dogs. I miss being met by happy smiles and wagging tails and excited, joyous hugs. I miss when I did not have to see the weight of concern always in their eyes, like they look at me and see looming disaster - one they will have to navigate.

I can't blame them for those expressions, either. A looming disaster is an understatement. I am a walking one, presently undergoing rapid decomposition of personality. They see this, and they are concerned

because they fucking care, idiot. How could you walk up to the deathbed of a dear friend and be overjoyed in that moment? You couldn't. To see someone wasting away invites compassion but also worry of the worst kind. And much of the human soul is repulsed by it, even as consciously we deny and defy that instinct. No wonder the joy of those around me is crushed.

And yet, I wish for it so dearly. For them, and also for me. I begin to feel that so much of the rot in my soul could be remedied by my loved ones being genuinely ecstatic in my presence. Warm smiles and tight hugs and the soul-to-soul contentment that comes with.

But to change tone once again - have not I recieved that? Was I not held late into the night last night, with someone talking of how they missed those same things? Isn't a dear and angelic friend putting aside their evening tonight to spend time together with me, something I hope will be remedial for both of us?

And yet, absurdly and unfairly, this seems to be not quite enough to fix me. The actions and words I am given feel somehow empty - and I sense this is not in the slightest because they are, not for any lack of love that my friends are desperately trying to convey to me - but because I am somehow incapable of receiving, percieving it right now. Fleeting glimpses perhaps, and I do treasure them. But as soon as the phantasm-wasp-demons sight a way to drag it back beneath the scunge of self-doubt and disbelief, they grasp it wholeheartedly.

Herein is the worst problem of them all, dear reader: You can give me certainty, and I will turn it between my hands and wonder if I can trust it. You can soothe my envies and my doubts, and for those moments I will be whole and myself again. But as soon as it passes, I feel my heart cloud over.

I do not know how to fix this. I fear I am inherently flawed. And yet, I must find a way.

Everyone I love deserves so much more from me. I don't want to be the doubtful, trivial creature that I am. I must be better for them.

...

As a side note, I'm gonna stop taking one of the meds I started recently. The psychoactive hormonal one, the initiation of which coincides almost perfectly with my mental state going to shit.

Really shoulda noticed that one earlier, huh.

Hopefully it's something. Maybe by this time next week I'll be my regular old mentally ill self again, instead of this exaggerated simulcra of rage and disappointment.

Sorry about the long post, everyone. Thanks for reading.

Love you all 💚 🐾