I woke up this morning before six, thanks to a combination of a full bladder, and a little dog who also had a full bladder. Our respective problems resolved, I was then faced with the quandary of not being able to go back to sleep. Which would be less annoying if I had made it to bed before 2am.
While out with the dogs, I found myself thinking about the conversation I had with my Relief Society President on Sunday. Her whole purpose in visiting was to make sure I was still alive, and to talk to me about why I haven’t been coming to church.
I explained about the agoraphobia, and how overwhelmed I get in crowds. She was sympathetic, and asked if smaller gatherings would be better. I then had to explain that I’m also introverted, and while I love stuff like giving talks and speeches, and teaching, I struggle with conversation because I can’t plan out what it is that I want to say.
This conversation, and the Montaigne that kept me up ’til 2 last night were tumbling through my head while I was out with the dogs, and I had a revelation. More than anything, it’s about control. There is so much in my life (like everything) that I feel like I don’t control now, that I grasp on to whatever I can dictate for myself, like if I want to have a conversation or not. That control is why I write. It’s why I play games like The Sims. It’s why when I know my favorite shows on Hulu are coming to an end, I don’t watch the last few episodes. It’s not that I don’t want closure, it’s that I want the control to end things on my terms.
And I’m petty and self-destructive enough that if I feel like I don’t have the control I crave, I’ll end things prematurely, or drag them out over too long a period.
Maybe that’s normal, I don’t know. I feel like I’m so far away from normal, I’ve forgotten what it looks like–if I ever knew.
All I know is I need something I can control. Anything.