Dear Princess Celestia,
As per usual I must preface with my lament that I don't write you more often. I wish I could say I've been busy, as this would imply something productive. But unfortunately, I am not impressed with my own exploits of late... After Bronycon 2016, I seem to have entered a much shallower, but all the same much longer slump. I fell out of touch with the Bronycon staff community as well, even though I believe I handled the rearrangement of staff roles relatively well.
I am no longer slated to be a subcommander, a role that one of our Team Leads, a particularly AMAZING guy, was stepping up to fill (last I checked). And it was a good call, really it was. I can't say I regret it. However... it still ... stings. I don't feel any malice at all... I just feel loss. It wasn't like it was a disciplinary action. I just thought I could have done better. Could have done more in my time in that position. I believe I'll still be on security this year... but I have to fess up and face my peers again. And the thought of that, frankly, fills me with irrational dread that I can't seem to account for entirely.
In several ways, I have let go. My health deteriorates, your majesty. My previous efforts only went so far as to briefly slow my descent, but disheartened at the results, a slippage of willpower has lead to a precipitous fall. I've never been unhealthier than I am now, except for when I was hospitalized in 2009.
In at least one way, the letting go was good. Or at least, it was necessary. I have, as you well know my liege, an unfortunate tendency to worry about things I either cannot, or simply did not, control. I can't state for sure what the extents of my capabilities are anymore, but I have a very vivid sense of where they have reached so far. Not far at all. So I have in some ways finally beaten it in that becoming upset over the past or afraid of the future is not helping me in the present.
A chain of events led to something happening that I did not see coming, but am nevertheless very grateful for: the return of Sparkbloom to the forefront of my awareness. She's been a very active presence in my life these last few weeks. Her observations have proven more than invaluable. they are nigh-on lifechanging. Chief among them, and cornerstone to my radical acceptance of incompetence for better or for worse, was a realization that I and my body are not one and the same. Treating it as if it were me has been the source of many difficulties.
I believe I've told you in the past, Your Majesty, that sometimes I will decide to do something but not see it happen, or that I will do things without making a conscious decision to do so. That oftentimes I feel as though I am merely a spectator to my own life, a camera on rails, unable to act but only watch. And I had been punishing myself, brutally, for these occurrences. Well... the punishing never helped. It never did. Nor the blaming. ... it isn't me. Sometimes I'm not myself. Sometimes, I'm on autopilot. Sometimes, I lose hours, or even days, or even weeks. I have lost months before, princess.
Sparkbloom has taken the helm for me in the past, attempting as non-invasively as possible to ensure that I am not injured or destroyed in my absence. But it was during these times when I was entirely catatonic, while she was navigating for me, that she identified the habits and impulses I once blamed myself for, manifesting on their own. Without supervision, this body... it does things. She likened it to "Piloting a Zombie like a Mechsuit". Some of my friends who have been introduced to these happenings have also taken to the illustrative idea of the body being a zombie that a conscious mind can guide and make suggestions to, but ultimately that it is an animal that will go its own way without reason or rhyme if allowed.
My zombie hungers. It shambles aimlessly, scavenging sometimes. Eating even when it's full. It engages itself with repetitive, numbly rewarding tasks, reading articles on reddit for hours and hours while retaining nothing.
... it even rots like a zombie.
I don't have a trustworthy autopilot, and whenever my attention lapses all the bad habits rush in to fill the void that I leave behind. The initial disassociative episode I had almost two decades ago that purged my mind until 2009 left a permanent mark that still influences who I am to this day. How could it not?
Alas... I didn't even sit down to write this to you, Princess. But my time is short. Perhaps I'll share with you a lesson I recently learned--or perhaps it's more of a refinement on a line of thought that has been with me for quite sometime.
Your loyal subject,
Listening to: https://youtu.be/9TwwiLAk4GM
Reading: Green Mars (ISBN 0553373358)