On Paranoia, Framing and Meaning

This blog post was originally published on The Stoic Student

Written by Andrew Kuttain

I used to be a very paranoid kid. I would spend hours wrought with anxiety, losing sleep over every little detail. What this person said, how tough the test was, what was going to happen next. It was worsened by my own interpretations of whatever happened, and my personal theories as to what the results would be.

She gave me a rude look? She hates my guts, I don’t know why I made that joke, this friendship is going down the drain.

That test was a TRAINWRECK. I’m not smart. I’ll never understand this. I should just switch classes.

There’s no way I’m getting into school. My application is trash. I don’t have the grades for it.

What was fascinating about this pattern was how, when presented with proof that the pattern was false (like when my friend explained they were having a bad day, or I got good grades), I would practically ignore that result. But if the result confirmed my suspicions? Boy, did I plaster that ALL over my mind. Every waking moment was spent reminding myself that because I was wrong (this one time) I will be wrong every other time from here on out.

Yeah. Not a healthy mentality.

This pattern of thought has troubled me all my life. Still does, to a degree. And to address it, I turned to philosophy and psychology. And there’s one quote in particular that I remind myself every time I think negatively.

“It’s not the things that disturb us, but our interpretation of their significance” — Epictetus

The first time I read this, I didn’t think much of it. “Yeah no shit Sherlock, of course!”

But it wasn’t until later, when the paranoia seeped back into my mind, that I found myself able to combat it a little better than before. The thoughts didn’t cling to me as they did in my past. And they didn’t feel as heavy. I found myself repeating this quote to myself time and time again.

We often paint our experiences in our own colours. Colours we choose: and that choice can be the defining characteristic of whatever we face. We can use the brush of our minds to colour our experiences in a negative way: we can assume everyone is out to get us, that we’re failures who can never change.

Or, we can paint them more positively: like congratulating ourselves for studying well, or accepting that other people are going through their own challenges and all we can do is support and respect them.

The outcomes are different, but the paths to get there are similar. To paint, you have to pick up your brush. But the colours you choose? Those are up to you.

Cura ut valeas.