Repression, Expression and Self-Sabotage

People in real life think I’m very private. People on the internet think I put everything about my life and self on the internet. This isn’t true; I merely post more than the average person, but not an amount significant enough to be even half my thoughts and experiences. So I’d consider myself both overly private in real life and more than a little bit frustrated on the internet. Resultantly, I feel like I am being constantly repressed, and it is beginning to get to me.

The incapacitation has started again. I’ve been relatively functional for a while – I’ve been getting things done and moving on with life. Now, I am returning more frequently to that state where I can do little but think, and get upset about how much of what I’m thinking that I cannot say or have no one opportune to say it to. I frequently switch between aimless timeline scrolling, and getting fed up and turning off my internet – only to turn it back on again because I’m not interested in remaining inside my head.

I feel like a trapped fish in a fishbowl, and the fishbowl seems to be the direct trigger of my frustration. And there is nowhere to release this frustration because, well, I’m trapped in the fishbowl. So my spirit is trying to numb itself. Repression and more repression.

The combination of all the factors that lead to all this repression are causing me to be increasingly reckless and irrational, and there doesn’t seem to be anything anyone can do about it. They’ve never really been able to, anyway. So again, why would I want to get everyone worried with potentially incomprehensible problems they can’t fix – which they’ve heard too many times before?

When a rubber band is already tense, and you pull it back just a little bit, it could snap. Painfully. And violently. So perhaps it doesn’t make too much sense to people why what happened last Wednesday pushed me over the edge; no one else could see the already-built tension.

What happened last Wednesday? Something that landed me in trouble with the highest authorities the following day. I wrote a very incensed and partly comical rant about a rule about water-bottles someone came up with, which didn’t make sense to me. The topic of the rant itself, however, was not the main focus of the – how do I put it? – disappointment (?) the aforementioned authorities showed towards me.

Near the end of the post, I changed the words of the school’s acronym and turned it into something that alluded to a place of eternal torment of souls. This, of all things, was what seemed to agitate them, more than anything else – which showed me many more things that just made me tired, which of course, I again couldn’t say. At least not at that moment.

(BTW it seems they got a look at the post because some alumnus I don’t know sent it in, apparently with the attached inquiry of something along the lines of “Who is this girl?”)

This is not how I would have handled the situation: with over-concerning myself with the defamation of an institution that the defamer has proclaimed dislike of alredy so many times, with a significant part of my argument comprising of alumni who have benefited greatly from this institution, whether or not it was their teachers who propelled them to their present heights. What I would have done was ask more questions along the lines of, “What’s wrong with you?” Not in a rude, rhetorical, Ghanaian (un)insulting way but in a way that reflects my concern for said defamer as an individual who seems to have very deep, unresolved behaviour problems, as far more significant than the public face of my precious, well-established institution and all its credentials.

Why am I insinuating that my defamation of the school should have been more about me than the defamation of the school? Particularly because of the lack of ignorance of the people involved, about my mental condition.

I am someone who has landed, way more times than I’m comfortable with, in the emotional counsellor’s office, the VP’s office and the principal’s office, in a more than broken-down – shattered – state, begging either permanent release from the school, from the burden of living, and even from the burden of existence. Sometimes any combination of the three. I am speaking as someone who has, more often than anyone else I know, left school for about a week at a time, more often from psychological issues than physically medical ones. Can you not tell that something has been very wrong with me for a long time?

We’ve all missed the point entirely. =(. Everyone should have been, in my opinion, less concerned with me calling the school something that it is not, and more concerned with why on earth I would even feel like I am in a place of eternal soul punishment. But these are exactly the issues we always fail to address. The mental and spiritual ones. We keep reprimanding the gunmen for shooting and not addressing the internal issues they have that make them so trigger-happy.

Here are some things that one may find appalling. Do I feel regret for writing what I wrote, or how I wrote it at least? No. Do I acknowledge that some of what I wrote was simply not right? Yes. Duh. So why on earth am I deficient in regret? Because that post, one of the most reckless things I have ever written, was also one of the most cathartic. You cannot imagine how much relief went through me when I got into significant trouble for it. (More evidence of my self-destructive dementia?)

I was so happy that finally, someone had given me reason to believe I had crossed a line I had been trying to cross for so long. I was glad at least someone who made up a part of the thing I am constantly incensed about finally experienced some of this incense – and I didn’t even have to deliver it directly; it was delivered for me.

When a bomb has been building within you for so long, do you know how fantastic it is when it has finally exploded and left you alone (even if it blew one leg off)? It’s like pooping heavily after being constipated. This is how the stupid and reckless release of tension felt! And what a miracle that a metaphor – a mere allusion – has the ability to cause so much catastrophe! It’s fantastic!

Given the way I have been feeling and containing for a long time, writing something sensible and persuasive long after the heat from my head had cooled, would not have had nearly the same effect. Ask me if I’m worried about my future, and this incident being permanently filed against my name. LOL. I’ve already convinced myself that at some point, I will end up broke and jobless and homeless – all by myself, without this potential factor of un-employability due to someone else’s testimony, against me. I could very well lead myself on a destructive path without anyone else’s help, you know. I am fully expecting that at some point, I will sabotage myself so much that I’ll either be chased out of some country or the other, or exile myself. I’m that kind of dangerous. (And also mega-stupid but I will fa no saa.)

In any case, I am relieved to have finally exploded enough to release some of the tension of repression for a while. The challenge is whether I can get through the next month without another one. =)

Yours disagreeably,

Akotowaa.

 

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6 thoughts on “Repression, Expression and Self-Sabotage

  1. Sounds like an explosion which is repetitive as it is constantly fed with by everything around you. I like it. Reminds me of the person living inside my head who I let out verbally at least twice a week.

    1. Don’t you perhaps think that you should let this person out more often? I mean, if you’re fine with twice a week and it keeps you healthy, do you, LOL!

  2. I know this is unrelated to the blog. I watched your video, anti-doctrination on youtube. I thought it was awesome. At least I know another person who thinks the same. I was inspired especially by your voice. Maybe someday, I might also be able to do spoken word too.

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