My world would be a better place as a blank sheet of paper. I am at my best when my words are at rest in my brain, fully formed but in the womb. Nurtured, virgin, perfect-and not presented to the ripping, searing world outside.
Yet I’ve found I need to communicate. I didn’t make this choice. Communication is forced upon me. Words are forced out of me, I’d rather they not be.
My issue is again with obsession. I am obsessed with every word that I speak or write. Every single word means something and needs to be placed in the correct order, placed next to the right words to form sentences that perfectly achieve goals I am obsessed with achieving. Usually, it is just trying to be understood, but being understood generally means I need something from the outside world. Hence, words to get me there.
I’m both a very withdrawn and introverted person, as well as someone who’s prone to babbling and over-talking. This is because I have no handle on the gears that govern how much I should be saying. I just know what I’d like to happen after I communicate-and I resort to either keeping my words cooking or opening the faucet to its highest setting. I’m trying to say things perfectly.
I’d rather write. Almost always I’d rather my communication with others to be in writing. Sure, this can be digital. And I really don’t care about what platform is used. I am just better if I can edit.
And I edit.
And I edit everything. Every single word. And I need the ability to do that. When one tried to edit words they’ve already said-they come off… they don’t come off very well.
I am obsessed with every word and when I write I can come closer to saying perfectly what I need to say perfectly. I need to say everything perfectly.
This is not to say that when I do breach the blank of the paper that my written words are perfect. Oh, not at all. My words are perfect in my head. They are often close to perfect in the notes I take every few minutes when obsessing over something. Those notes describe what I want to say and how I want to say it. But when it comes to translating those thoughts into a language shared by others-the outside world presents something akin to exposure to a chemical reaction that for some reason shifts my words enough that I don’t feel they are perfect.
I am eternally frustrated by the results of the process of having words in my head and communicating those words outside my brain. I am also frustrated by the fact that I feel my words are only at their best inside my head.
I want to live in a world where my thoughts remain my thoughts and are communicated exactly as I think them. I don’t possess the ability to do this in this world. There are too many variables outside my brain.
We, as humans, think we’ve achieved great things my millennia of sculpting communication mechanisms. I’d like to posit that we haven’t done such a great job. I can’t be the only one for which our communication mechanisms are lacking in their job to translate what is in my head into a system of shared phonemes that are supposed to replicate the aforementioned underlying thoughts. No, that system is lacking.
We, as a society, as missing so much because of this poor system of translation. I know-for whatever it is worth-none of what I communicate is precisely what I want to say. That is eternally frustrating and will remain a frustration until I die.
And maybe afterward.