The gremlin inside my head

character study

Mischievous Creatures by Brian Froud

There is a gremlin inside my head. It’s grumpy and stingy and hard to please. It judges everything I do and everyone I come into contact with. Although I know better, I listen to the gremlin all the time.

The gremlin says things like, “the work you’re doing is not important enough.” It says “you’re not grateful enough, you’re not happy enough.” It’s quick to point out I should know by now how to work hard without burning out. It tells me to give up, it tells me that the people I admire don’t doubt themselves as much as I do. Silly gremlin.

The gremlin is not the same as me. It sits in the back of my head, its two hands clenched tightly to my eyes, tugging my attention from one place to another. The gremlin is the one that says, “Look, a threat! No, look here! No, over there!” The gremlin’s main mode of operation is to divert; it’s not very helpful for focus, or for kindness, or for rest. Its master skill is doubt: it knows how to question things, how to turn every sensation into an object of paranoia. (“That pain in your leg? It’s definitely cancer. Also M didn’t text you back because she hates you.”)

One day I looked the gremlin in the face. Unusual circumstances: I was up in the woods, hadn’t spoken to anyone for days. Time slowed down and I saw the gremlin for the first time, noticing that it has its own interests that are distinct from mine. I noticed the ways it was hurt. I noticed the gremlin is trying to help me but failing. I realized the doubt and paranoia do protect me sometimes, as much as they often hurt. I saw the way the gremlin channels all the maladies of our time—social media addiction, hyper-individualism, the commoditized market for attention and companionship. The gremlin is the twitter hivemind, the vengeful mob, the older sibling you could never please.

I suspect one day I’ll befriend the gremlin—not banish it entirely, but give it some room to assert itself, without letting it override all the other characters in my head. I haven’t gotten there yet, but I’m not in any rush. It’s easier, for now, to just look up at it every now and then, recognizing the distance between it and me, noticing the ways it’s trying to help. I don’t mind that the gremlin is there. I only take care to remember its existence, to acknowledge it whenever I’ve forgotten. There is a gremlin inside my head. And when the gremlin told me that this draft isn’t ready, I smiled and didn’t listen.

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Thanks to Suzanne for feedback on earlier drafts.