Recently, I got on to TikTok, after such a long time having done without it.
I hadn’t much really felt like I “needed” TikTok, but my social media life had started to stagnate, somewhat. I found that a lot of social media users had simply migrated over to TikTok (I put out a couple of sample pigeon videos, and I got a generally higher user engagement rate on TikTok, in the little while I’ve been on there).
In the app, I had the option, as all social media apps have, of adding people to my following list. I guess I was kind of mystified by the platform, upon looking around, a bit, and, for figuring out some things about how things work. I don’t really know what it is, but the content creation aspect of the platform just “feels” more engaging and supporting, and thus, more rewarding than some other outsets of joining social media and posting content.
A lot of people who know me know that I’m super-introverted, so I’m kind of at odds with becoming creative, somewhat, in a social media content sort of way, yet, as a generally jobless person, I often fantasize about ways in which I could make money, regardless of how sensible the fantasy might or might not be. Now, that being the case, I’m not completely jobless, and I have some niche ways in which I pull in money. I still have this confounding factor of that the voices in my head would appear to be condemning me, still, on account of the work I used to do, mostly back in 2006-2012, or so, although my therapists have told me to basically set that aside, and their stance is being supportive of a “successful” and prosperous “me,” to which I’m eager to become, having basically lost my entire 30’s to distractions such as (largely being) voices in my head thing. I guess, on one hand, some folks would call it a person’s conscience, but my experience of this thing became much more interactive, superior, and controlling of my thought and decision making process, often blinding me to my own thoughts and personal volition, having taken this prominent place in my mind, whether it’s in the background, or it’s something I can’t ignore.
Why would I have this odd problem, people must wonder, of me? Recent articles I’ve looked at have suggested that it’s entirely an “inner” voice, hinting at that it’s an organic disease. Yet, many schizophrenics, such as myself, at various times, would swear that there’s some other novel entity observing and attempting to control them; the subject(s), in interactive real time. The novelty of it is what I would speculate as being the driving factor that would be schizophrenia at its most visible circumstance in life - the troubled, ranting, and yelling person who’d become dangerously isolated and alienated, in their mind, out in public. Some articles have suggested, moreso recently, perhaps, that interacting with these voices in the mind does not necessarily constitute a mental illness, whether it be a cultural, spiritual, trauma-based, etc. reason for why some folks speak to voices, and are not considered mentally ill - which is oftentimes how my former peers, and family, as well, have appeared to me, as voices in my mind. They appear to be casually and comfortably navigating the same experience, without having the existential dilemma feature of it, that I, and people like me, feel and experience. Although I haven’t spoken to anyone, coherently, at least, who had ever explained to me what it is, and how they experience it - the voices in their mind, there seems to be a prominent subset of these people who experience schizophrenia, of that they believe that it’s some sort of technology that’s infiltrated their lives. Only time can tell, yet the future seems to be embedding itself in the minds of these lost folks, for various, numerous types of explanations as to their origin and purpose in life.
Now, let it be known, I feel that speaking to voices in one’s mind, at least, at this point in history, is generally symptomatic of a narcissistic and unsound mind. Even so, this being the case, I still speak to the voices, when the opportunity to do so, in relative privacy (after all, what’s really private, if people are potentially able to also hear what I’m saying “to myself,” in private), for the sake of alleviating the allure of the phenomenon being a novelty of an intriguing nature - that people can, actually, speak to and hear each other, in opportune times, from remote physical distances, and be heard, and speak, completely absent of any technological device that the person has on them. Numerous theories could abound at why this sort of technology is not known, to people, yet it’s so firmly believed, as such, by sufferers; my take on it is that people are not generally and widely responsible enough yet, and this advancement takes place in experimental individuals, at this time, for the sake of gathering data, and perhaps making progress in the subject and study area.
Anyhow, this type of cognizant dilemma has plagued my mind, for nearly 15 years, now, and it traces back much further in my early adulthood. It’s undoubtedly been the crux upon which my relationships in life have regularly failed - this embedded form of paranoid existence. The latest entreaty to my understanding of it is: “hey! Don’t “actually” take this stuff literally, and go about affecting someone else’s life on account of that you had been hearing things, involving them, and then, go on to bring up what you’re experiencing in the mind - this is all for observation and for understanding.” How annoying is it, when someone reveals their paranoid alternate, inner self, to others? It’s a very touchy part of understanding an individual (or not understanding them), and some folks are portrayed as being very natural and gifted in this form of communication, as though, from having known them, and about their intellectual capacities, they speak as internal entities without causing offense, which is imaginably difficult to pull off.
Anyways, that was a huge disclaimer and introduction to that, and why, I feed pigeons, as a large part of my identity. I prefer not to traumatize and alienate people with these strange beliefs that inhabit themselves in my mind, at least, while I’m working things through, although I have the desire to not be so introverted, a lot of the time, which I feel further alienates me, and, on that note, I’m generally healthier when I’m in a relationship, whether it be platonic or romantic, and I feel that I’ve been working on a lot of things, in life, which could have used some correction, insight, and perspective, that comes with the wisdom of age.
So, when the subject matter comes up, in my mind, of that “someone” or other isn’t “interested” in me, romantically :(, I just take things in stride, and wait things out. When I’m put on the spot, like that, I scarcely ever would have an appropriate explanation for why I am the way I am - unattractive to “them,” while navigating the creep factor (being called such suggestive types of names can be ruinous, and I feel that I’ve become too accustomed to hearing some of these names being used). I defer, regularly, to the classic notion of that it’s easier to associate with, and be truthful to, someone who’s not been acquainted with me, much (a stranger), yet. Even so, I have to also defer to Brad Pitt’s character, in Fighting Club, for being a single serving companion to people, as also featuring antisocial traits (he ends up blowing up buildings, for example). I’m not interested in anything nearly of that sort of fantastical statement of largesse, in having the drive to be known, to others, while my innate personality traits are also not condescended upon, through my own willing participation in interacting with others. What I do, by feeding the pigeons, is just a fragile, yet hopeful, project, yet I feel that it ought to seem relatable in that people also pay monthly additional rent, for example, for owning a pet in an apartment setting. I’m simply buying food for the pigeons, and, perhaps, leasing their time with me, given that it’s possible that the city might want to do away with the birds, by the time they start becoming sociable with people - I still don’t know, and I’m at odds, with the loss of the Central Library flock in Downtown LA having gone missing, last year, seemingly not to ever return. They had started to become very friendly with me, although I somewhat felt that some of these staff at the library had different designs upon the space I was using, to feed the birds, daily, and, for that, our purposes for and about the birds would be at odds, although this is all just speculation - there could be various explanations for why the birds left, and never came back.
It’s a tough spot to be put on, this notion of that I offer that I feed the local pigeons, as a prominent feature of myself, and I have to consider that my perspective on things might naturally seem biased, although I am getting older, and I have to come to terms with a more mature and well seasoned tasteful representation of myself, being that old solutions stopped “working,” and for that I generally don’t have very much to say, off hand, about why I don’t have a regular job - I’ve had several jobs, in life, in which I was to be taken on, for the long term, but personal failures stood in the way of my longevity with them, and I’ve got to say that I’m at a loss, for what I should have, or could be, doing, otherwise, in life, had I not made some certain path-defining choices for myself, although this generally pertains to the people I’m connected with, on social media, whom I value very much, for their continued networking connections to me, for that many of them are very successful, in their own careers, in life. It puts things in perspective, for me - how much better ought I be doing, if I could - if I stood to learn something from these single serving interactions in my life, and take away something of wisdom, from them? On one hand, I can’t perform on all of the types of lifestyle and tasks that I see people do, yet I feel that I could, once again, live a successful lifestyle, this time, based on more sound and ethical principles. I know, it’s not that attractive, and I might seem to be poor, amongst the poor and afflicted population amongst whom I live, yet things are not quite that superficially set in place, although I am doing things on a mental health diagnoses prognosis, in life.
Maybe, in hindsight, all of this stuff might just be hyperbole, and we’ll live longer lives, to make up for our shortcomings that we’ve lived through. Maybe other people have their own sensitivities and nuances about them that keep them to themselves, on their own merits, and this is just an awkward time, in life, for humility, being that we were brought up in an age of superficial glamour being currency of the day, for some of us. Finding the right niche, in which I can operate, foreseeably in to the future, is my primary concern, and I ought to not listen to such suggestive intimations in my mind about how so, and what for, of that I’m a late bloomer, perhaps, in starting a family life, at this point (I’m currently nearing my 44th birthday).
Aside from all of that, feeding the pigeons daily is a little and attainable joy that I have, for myself. It’s something I can do, where I check in with my friends, the pigeons, and I witness and experience small rewards and little gems of life, itself, for feeding the birds.
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