A small one on paranoia and why it's super fun

I had an acute paranoid episode in Carmel. In that mental state, I was following an expected "storyline" for the day's events that were entirely outside of reality (I would leave on a train that very day to the Carmel of Philadelphia, I would bring my Novice Mistress with me, I would explain everything to her on the way and she would weep with understanding, etc). But more importantly, I realized with firm conviction that everyone's love for me was fake.

The funny thing is, I still think everybody's love for me is fake. Sure, some people care about me, but it will never be that all-encompassing kind I used to secretly hope for. Just like how I now think of my need for stories, I've come to believe my need for total loving-acceptance is based on a lie. 

As a byproduct of our long lineage of ancestors who had great survival skills as babies, it seems we're on an eternal hunt for a mother's "unconditional" love. We all want to reignite that gut recognition that there is someone out there who can feel my own pain and needs as their own, with urgency and even despite themselves, and render me safe.

Nobody but my parents ever really came close to that. And even that didn't turn out to mean actual acceptance of my emotionally fully-fledged internal life.

So if I'm in a bad mood, that can be a bummer. 

But if I'm a good mood, that means I can relax and indulge that instinct-hit from literally anywhere. Like an affirming ASMR video on Youtube. Some random chick's benevolence toward her faceless viewers is probably, actually genuine. Why not lay claim to it and soak it in? (I didn't watch Blue's Clues, but if I had, I would have no doubt joined the happily bawling masses that accepted the curiously spiritual power of Steve's loving apology.)

Am I ashamed? Maybe a little. but honestly, not really, because dang it works.