I watched American Psycho yesterday. It's been a few years since I've seen it, and one of the things that really stood out this time was Patrick Bateman's struggle with his own sense of being real. I realize he's a fictional character, but as it's a subject I've hit on and thought about often, I considered it worth noting. Patrick was based on the idea of a lot of people around that time.
I sometimes wonder if I suffer from Narcissism, but the fact that Narcissists tend to not accept reality or even their place in it makes me think I'm not. I'm quite grounded in my idea of being real, even if it's more of an internal thing with me than external. Honestly, the external just seems to be a source of annoyance. Right now my brain is happy. My body is hot, in pain, needs to pee, and trying its best to get a headache.
If there was any way we could separate out of reality, I would love that. I hate my body. I don't hate it because it's not conventionally beautiful. I actually enjoy the curves, stretch marks, hair, and distortions. I hate my body's constant pain. I hate its constant needs. I hate its constant discomfort, how quickly it gets dirty, how there is always a need for adjustments and small struggles just to make it through the day. I hate THAT part of it . . . you know, the reality of it.
I'm also bored with it. I'm bored with all of its needs and complaints. My brain has better things to do. I have better things to do.
I realize I just spent the last part of this post talking about my body as something separate from me . . . which means my detachment and disassociation continues.
Reality is a bitch.
No comments:
Post a Comment