Wednesday, October 01, 2008

So Much Navel Gazing, I May Be A Citrus Fruit

Back in late July I twittered this little gem:

Therapist says I’m funny because of some deep and lingering psychological damage and a rapacious need to be loved. “Yay! I’m funny!”

I followed that up a week or so ago with:

@cleversimon then there are those of us who tell jokes to get people to like us while also keeping them emotionally distant. #therapy_baby!

So guess what I’ve been doing for a while?

Yeah, I started therapy about a year ago.

I’m not going to write about exactly why, but I will say this, I have hated almost every second I’ve gone. (Standing appointment every week, thanks very much; I take that unending, unswerving frequency to mean that I’m chuck full of screwy, though I’ve missed a few appointments here and there.)

Seriously. Hated. It.

I hate going. I hate the reasons why I have to go. I hate how long it takes to get to her office. I hate her stupid People and Fish & Stream magazines in the waiting room. I hate cracking open my brain every single time. I hate how I feel while I’m there in a session, pouring out all my emotional blather and letting it spill onto her ugly industrial carpeted floor. I hate writing the check out at the end of the hour and handing it over. I hate replaying back everything I said on the drive back to work. I hate thinking about all stuff I dashed out in the time between appointments.

Which is not to say that it hasn’t been enormously helpful to me.

Seriously.

I just might have figured out a whole lot about why I am the way I am and all kinds of other stuff. If therapy were an Ebay auction, I’d give it feedback of “A+++++++ Highly recommended! Would divulge deepest emotional drivel again!” I’m a big fan of therapy, though frankly, I’d rather be telling other people to go, rather than being there myself. Every. Blesséd. Week.

Again, I’m not going to delve into the depths about why I decided to start going to therapy or any of the reasons for my emotional blather, but I do want to tell a story and then ramble on for a while longer about what it all means.

Last week we left the kids with my Mom who recently moved here to Salt Lake and we went to Colorado Springs, CO. Reha had a week long conference that kept her busy during the days, but we got to play at night. And by play, I mean that we got treated to enormously expensive (and tasty) dinners in the company of her office colleagues, bosses and other important people.

At the end of one of those dinners, after an evening of pleasant conversation and very good food, and me generally on my best behavior, the server began taking dessert orders. He started at the opposite end from me. Everyone, the bosses and the bosses’ spouses said they were stuffed. People hemmed and hawed and ordered “a small scoop of ice cream,” a dessert with “two spoons please, we’ll share” or no dessert at all, “I’m so full, thanks!” The waiter came to me, and by this time the full table of twelve had gotten inexplicably quiet and essentially everyone was staring at me.

I looked the server straight in the eye, cleared my throat and ostensibly loud enough to be heard all the way at the other end of the table full of somewhat stuffy and stilted lawyer types said, “I’ll have the largest creme brulée in the restaurant, please. I’d like an entire vat of creme brulée brought here to me as soon as humanly possible. You can just bring it out in a trough, I don’t even need a spoon. Thanks.”

Did everyone at the table laugh?

Yeah. It killed.

But.

Here is the thing that bothers me.

I had almost no control over whether I popped off like that. To call it a compulsion wouldn’t be going too far. Though I didn’t look around the table, I somehow divined that all attention at the table was on me. I also realized in the instant the server came to me that no one had really ordered a “real” dessert. My brain just put it all together and blew out with a relatively funny quip. I’m not sure I could have just ordered dessert like a “normal” person.

Really.

I had to make my dessert order funny in some way.

On the one hand, “yay, me! I’m somewhat quick witted” and made everyone laugh. But on the other hand, sweet cracked caramelized sugar over custard, do I find the whole thing fundamentally disturbing.

I’ve always known that I use humor as both a disarming tactic to get people to like/love me and as a wall to protect and shield myself. A part of therapy for me has been realizing how just how high those bulwarks have grown over time and coming to grips with the fact that my entire being is built on this defensive shell, fashioned primarily out of humor shaped bricks and mortared with an urgent longing. I don’t even know exactly what I’m protecting myself from, though I’m pretty sure it has to do with (pardon me while I whip out my “therapy-speak” translation manual), “being emotionally connected with other people.” My inner core of emotions is so barricaded that I only know how to protect them, never long trot them out to peek at the rest of the world. I rarely allow myself to feel emotions, even ostensibly good emotions.

I talked to Reha about it later in the hotel room and how mortified I was.

“Well, I’m not sure I would have ever said that in front of my bosses and co-workers and their wives, but it wasn’t that bad. Everyone laughed. I might have preferred that you not do stand up comedy in front of those specific people, but it wasn’t too awkward or horrible.” [ed. note: like my public “performances” can be sometimes. (OK, oftentimes.)]

“Right, of course not. You are normal. That’s a part of my point. It wouldn’t have occurred to you to start riffing, but I’m freaking out over this realization that I don’t think I could stop myself.”

Though this is a way over the top metaphor, right now I feel a bit like I’m Abraham strapping his only and much loved son Isaac on the altar. In my somewhat sacrilegious parable, my humor has to be sacrificed in order to show lasting fidelity to emotional health. A giggling Isaac gets sliced open.

Oy vey! Drama much, Jon? Is this not the very definition of a “First World,” self-absorbed blogger type kerfluffle?

Well, yeah. Except that this is a big giant deal to me. Seriously, that’s how it feels to me. I’ve spent my entire life building this “funny” persona (for some decent reasons, I might add, though again, not dipping into those reasons now), but in order to be, I don’t know, a real person, I have to stab that humorous persona dead on the altar. This thing that happens where I only know really how to be funny and quippy has been a wonderful and warm and comfortable cloak to wear out in the world, such that I don’t even know how to put on different clothes or even if I own other jackets stored away deep in a box, hidden away and buried under layers of fortifications, but that cloak has ceased to make me happy.

Plus, the cloak is pure wool and it’s incredibly itchy.

See what I mean? This may be impossible for me.

I’m breaking this fit of highly personal emotional histrionics into two (or three, heaven help me) posts. More later. Though if I keep this up, I’ll have to re-direct Ransom Note Typography over to an emo-friendly LiveJournal account. *rim shot*

Anyway. Conclusion coming.

Posted by Jon on 10/01/08 at 01:14 AM

De-lurking, here. I think it’s very cool that you’ve figured out something about yourself that you’d like to fix, and that despite the misery, you seem to be getting something out of it. Congrats.

But please, don’t get rid of *too* much of the funny. I like the funny. Besides, funny? Sometimes is a powerfully good way to cope, you know?

Regardless, love your blog. Really, really.

Posted by Chookooloonks on 10/01/08 at 05:01 AM
Wow, I can relate to this 1000%. I have absolutely no advice. Except to tell you to think about what happens to comedians when they lose their sense of humor at therapy—Chevy Chase, for example. Is he happier now without his funny compulsion or back when he was tripping over things for our amusement (and probably mostly for his OWN amusement)? I think if you can get it to the point where the funny is more for yourself than for others, that is healthy enough. No one should be too healthy and write a blog.

Posted by Neil on 10/01/08 at 06:50 AM
Funny is not bad. Laughter makes the world go around, is the best medicine, the most wasted of all days is one without laughter, laughter is an instant vacation, what soap is to the body, laughter is to the soul, etc… Getting bottled up shite out in the open is good. But I will never be able to trust someone who tells me being funny is bad. I know there is more to this story then what you have shared, but don’t you DARE quit being funny. What in the world would the internet do without your funny? Make peace with yourself, dear. The internet, at least, loves you. :-)

Posted by La La on 10/01/08 at 06:50 AM
I get it. Humor is the magic trick we play, to draw the audience’s attention away from what’s really going on—the real emotional stuff we deal with in our own heads. In order to be your true self, you need to stop playing your hilarious card tricks and let people see you for who you really are, which will allow you to form true connections with other people—connections based on knowing who you really are, rather than just what you want them to see.

Yeah, I TOTALLY get it.

Posted by Jerilyn on 10/01/08 at 09:37 AM
Can I stop a moment and say something?

The Internet can be so nice. I might even be able to forgive it for Digg and YouTube commenters. Really, I’ve gotten tons of sweet and wonderful emails.

I should have been a bit clearer. This isn’t actually a dramatic flourish and a way to say “so long! I’m out and from here on out I’ll be writing about macro-economic policy in the late 19th century British Empire.” The “funny” will continue here at RNT.

The “funny” in my interpersonal relationships is really what I’m talking about. I’ve been empty in that realm for, um… basically forever. Though being funny here (and one-liners on Twitter) tend to feed my “neuroses” I think.

Anyway. Thank you all for being so swell. Really.

What? I’m NOT crying.

I have something in my eye. It’s dusty here in Utah.

SHUT UP.

Posted by Jon on 10/01/08 at 10:13 AM
I understand your comment. (the post too) When something *funny* impulsively drops out of my mouth, even if received well by people (although sometimes it’s so impulsive and WRONG) - it’s frightening. Like an addict uncontrollably partaking of their vice. Or a nail biting habit, that’s such a part of who you are, that you don’t even know your fingers are in your mouth.

Like Dory says, “Just keep swimming, just keep swimming...”

Posted by Csquaredplus3 on 10/01/08 at 10:35 AM
I’m very impressed with your emotional courage and integrity.

I’m also relieved that I can still get my funny fix right here at RNT.

I’m also grossed out that my four-year-old just sneezed all over my laptop screen.

I certainly could use some therapy myself....

Posted by Novembrance on 10/01/08 at 12:10 PM
I just started therapy two weeks ago. I really like it so far. I had a little ah-ha moment in my session. I, too , have the same compulsion to make a funny out of every situation. I have a hard time concentrating when people talk to me because I’m thinking of how I can interject and make a joke about this. This being brought to my attention by the doc has stressed me out so that every conversation I have makes me tired because I must concentrate on not making light of something. It’s been frightening to me that I have found this compulsion.

Posted by jenboglass (steenkybee) on 10/01/08 at 12:48 PM
Jon, I’m with ya.

I wont overshare, because I can’t. If I overshared you might actually know who I am and we can’t have that now can we?

But…
I started taking wellbutrin last month, this month me and the head-shrinker are working on my insomnia and the therapy sessions start in earnest at the end of the month.

I’d really like the next 40 years to be better than the last 40 years.

And yes, the process sucks. But, the results are totally worth it.

Good luck,

Michael

PS. Wellbutrin rocks.

Posted by Michael on 10/01/08 at 12:54 PM
I TOTALLY understand this. We’re two peas in a pod. I couldn’t even tell the internet I’m pregnant without turning into something funny. It’s my best friend, shield and “Go-to” guy.

I couldn’t stop, either and I KNOW it.

At the end of the day, though? I’m just damn glad that if I have to have a defense mechanism it isn’t shooting up with heroin or being an asshole and count it as a blessing.

Your humor rocks, regardless of the motivation.

Posted by Loralee on 10/01/08 at 04:32 PM
This was very honest and open, I would have to say it sounds like the therapy is working :) Thank you for sharing.

Posted by Darci on 10/02/08 at 07:59 AM
I like you, and not because you’re funny. I like you because you spend the time to make a retrospective on your daughter leaving for college. I loved the peanut butter and jelly sandwich. I read the blog because I like YOU, not your wit (although I like that, too).

My compulsion is to try to make people feel better.

Posted by Deborah on 10/03/08 at 06:42 AM
Wow, this is interesting. My first thought was, what’s so bad about being yourself, and about being funny? And it *was* funny, what you said. But I reread, and it seems that what really bothered you here was that you didn’t feel it was a conscious choice--that your mouth and wit were acting independently of your reason. I also found Reha’s reaction telling: “It wasn’t that bad.” Maybe it was some bad, at least in her eyes, and that is important and valid. I do think good partners attempt to accommodate each other’s sensitivities, and possibly she would have preferred you just say, “I’ll have creme brulee” and let it go. Anyway, good for you for thinking this through and at least considering whether you need to work on your public persona. (Also, you can do that without sacrificing your humor. You can still think funny things, and blog funny things, and share them with Reha later.)

Posted by Laura on 10/03/08 at 08:09 AM
I had some world class emotional armor going on at one point. Everyone liked me, but I’m not sure how *connected* they were to me, and a big part of that was humor. Then a couple of things happened:
1. I read Starship Troopers, where the armor was so strong it would protect you from almost everything but if something bad enough to breach the armor happened, you’d die waiting for them to get it off you and
2. My house burned down, which was bad enough to breach the armor.

I haven’t abandoned the humor, but I did make a conscious decision to be more… accessible, which has been really fulfilling, but also difficult. It’s 17 years later, and I still find myself viewing myself as “weak” when things get to me, and I have to remind myself that it’s a decision I made. I think that it’s that decision, though, that allowed me to have meaningful relationships with the people around me, though, so it was worth it.

I’m going to go back to my emo-friendly LJ and navel gaze now :-P

Posted by rkimedes on 10/05/08 at 10:04 AM
Great piece of writing here, Jon.

I just hope you don’t make the mistake of thinking that your persona is something “constructed”, in the sense that it’s external to you rather than part of you.

I made that mistake a long time ago, and tried to jettison my protective shell of humor and self-deprecation. And it made me miserable and unrecognizable to my family and friends. But once I learned to work around using it intentionally as a defense mechanism and instead merely embraced it as “who I was”, things really came together.

Good luck.

Posted by Tony Delgrosso on 10/06/08 at 07:31 AM
I feel like I just read a blog post written by a modern incarnation of the fictional character Hawkeye Pierce from M*A*S*H. The similarities are rather fascinating.

Humour as a shield, to the point that we’re not sure what we’re even shielding ourselves from. A defense mechanism turned habit, turned compulsion.

I can identify with that. Oh yes.

Powerfully written.

Posted by Kimberly VanderHorst on 10/15/08 at 10:27 PM

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Wednesday, October 01, 2008

So Much Navel Gazing, I May Be A Citrus Fruit

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