Devil's Advocate Disorder



I would like to contemplate, in depth, rationalities, analogies, and comparisions with someone now, soon, or anytime really. I've been taking these brain pills (lecithin) and despite the fact I just woke up, I'm snowballing into overload. Every argument I hear, every little thing I see wrong, I want to pick it apart. I can do it better. It would make more sense if I got my hands on it. I know how to fix this.

But, then I step back and begin to question. Why do we (I) always try to make everything better when it is most obviously clear that it's an endless struggle. I mean nobody and nothing is perfect, right?

See, I have this problem. It's called Devil's Advocate Disorder. I don't even reveal my opinion about anything, because every time someone else states their opinion all I want to do is disect it, make sure it's right or prove it wrong by taking the opposing side. And, honestly, I would like someone else to do the same to mine. I'm in my head, a lot. Most of the time, actually, I stay in my head and analytically contemplate others actions, my actions, problems with the world, and so on. I do make it a point, however, to not be judgemental. But, it is very rare that I am able to talk about these things with others. A head like this needs to be disected. My head is like the body in an unsolved murder investigation. I would like someone to attempt and solve this mystery that is my brain.

This is me putting myself out there like I wouldn't normally do. I'm continuously changing (as all of us should be). Usually, I would write how I feel in a poem. That way nobody really knows what I am talking about, because each reader gathers their own interpretation from a poem. Also, in a poem you can't always convey the exact emotion you are trying to. This is a great thing for me because I don't always want people to know exactly how I feel. Either, I don't think they (you) can understand or because I don't want to let them (you) in. Truthfully, most people can't comprehend me. I do not say that conceitedly. I think I would scare a lot of people away if I opened my book to everyone. So, I continue with the mindless small talk to make people feel more comfortable. Just to be clear, I really despise small talk. I know for some people it is what gets them through the day, but for me it feels as if it halts my progress. Going over mundane life experiences does nothing for me. I want to pick your brain, and I want you to pick mine through life experiences and opinions we each choose to put out on the table. That is my idea of a GREAT conversation.

Basically, I just want to be able to talk with someone and not feel crazy. My mind races in so many different directions...Can you keep up? Can I keep up? Can we keep up together?

Comments

  1. "Every argument I hear, every little thing I see wrong, I want to pick it apart. I can do it better. It would make more sense if I got my hands on it. I know how to fix this."

    This is me summed up in four sentences, and that's without the aid of any medication.

    I, on the otherhand, am extremely judgemental. I know it, I try not to be, but it's so difficult for me to separate the two worlds. I always make criticism personal, hard as I try not to. Kudos to you for trying to remove that smidgen of "holier than thou" that I'm told I often exude.

    There are a select few in my life whom I can speak with that while I'm talking, I get the feeling that they actually understand me. It's quite rare a thing, but I take what I can get.

    "I'm in my head, a lot. Most of the time, actually, I stay in my head and analytically contemplate others actions, my actions, problems with the world, and so on."

    I'm in my head always. I overanalyze every. single. thing. I. do. and every single thing everyone else does. I seriously think this is genetically passed because my mother is... whew, let's not go there =)

    Thanks for sharing this because I sometimes think that not a soul would understand the real, true, raw, exposed me. It's nice to know that other people get it.

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