I am not emotionless. I am far away from others, but I am not infinitely distant. I do have some insights into people. At least I think I do.
People are patterns. The self is a neuroanatomical process that is limited by the organization of neurons and by available experience. Insofar as the self can be defined, these limits define it. Any limited system can be learned to some degree with close, dispassionate observation; thus its functioning can be anticipated. People are predictable up to a point, and generally beyond that point they drown.
As I may have said before my therapist has suggested that my art isn't well received because I can't connect with people emotionally. But why should that be? Because I have no emotions? No. Because I process emotion intellectually? Perhaps. But I assert that considering emotion through logic doesn't mean that my emotions don't register.
Maybe other people are having experiences of self that I can't even imagine. How would I know if I were entirely wrong about other' experiences of self? Mine is the only experience I know. Maybe I'm far more alien than I feel. And I feel very alien sometimes.
So I am not emotionless, but perhaps I am more distant than I think. I try to connect, operating on the belief that as a human there must be something about me that other humans will relate to. It would be unwise to presume it impossible that I am unmanageably different from anyone else and that because of that difference I am unable to know objectively the profundity of the disparity. I don't know how others perceive me. That is part of my differentness. And I don't know in an idiosyncratic way.
As of this writing there is a whale that has been recorded singing at a higher frequency than any other whale in the ocean. It has been described as lonely, though whether or not whales experience loneliness in any way a human would recognize I don't know. I don't feel lonely. But perhaps I am like this whale in a way: I call but I am different, and I continue to call because I don't realize just how different I really am.
People are patterns. The self is a neuroanatomical process that is limited by the organization of neurons and by available experience. Insofar as the self can be defined, these limits define it. Any limited system can be learned to some degree with close, dispassionate observation; thus its functioning can be anticipated. People are predictable up to a point, and generally beyond that point they drown.
As I may have said before my therapist has suggested that my art isn't well received because I can't connect with people emotionally. But why should that be? Because I have no emotions? No. Because I process emotion intellectually? Perhaps. But I assert that considering emotion through logic doesn't mean that my emotions don't register.
Maybe other people are having experiences of self that I can't even imagine. How would I know if I were entirely wrong about other' experiences of self? Mine is the only experience I know. Maybe I'm far more alien than I feel. And I feel very alien sometimes.
So I am not emotionless, but perhaps I am more distant than I think. I try to connect, operating on the belief that as a human there must be something about me that other humans will relate to. It would be unwise to presume it impossible that I am unmanageably different from anyone else and that because of that difference I am unable to know objectively the profundity of the disparity. I don't know how others perceive me. That is part of my differentness. And I don't know in an idiosyncratic way.
As of this writing there is a whale that has been recorded singing at a higher frequency than any other whale in the ocean. It has been described as lonely, though whether or not whales experience loneliness in any way a human would recognize I don't know. I don't feel lonely. But perhaps I am like this whale in a way: I call but I am different, and I continue to call because I don't realize just how different I really am.
Comments
Post a Comment