I’ve heard it, read it, and seen it for so long, a thousand times in my life- only briefly flashing across my conscious mind-thinking I understood it, but really it was only an objective and sterile understanding. I’ve been guilty and wrestled with always looking back – and therefore living in the past. I excel at living in the future and consequently freaking myself the fuck out. While taking into account that especially my inner perception of that past can be skewed by bias and idealization- I continually find myself disarmed, angry, and despondent in assessing where/ who I am in relation to my past.
Its all very ironic to me now how much a part of my mind is always missing something, someone, some momentary experience that never again will be.
Ironic because I’ve dealt with depression for over 10 years and I used to think life was so dreadful, when what I wouldn’t give to feel that way again.
I’m so extremely blessed in having all of my needs, but it’s well known that having it all materially rarely equates happiness, much less fulfillment. I see now the many blessings and pains that I took for granted, and still continue to in my present life. Even some of the most painful, dark moments of that past I now can look back on as relevant and even miss- because I know that it did turn out ok and I came out stronger and wiser for it. Today I oftentimes can speculate that things seemingly have grown progressively worse in regards to my emotional state, world view, relationships, societal standing, and of what resides in my deepest heart.
The trend I couldn’t help but observe is perpetually gnawing at one part or another of my mind and has created this monstrous fear of the future- even of life itself. I’m afraid to commit to anything or anyone because I’m so used to falling off of the map every other month and having to rebuild myself with recycled pieces for the thousandth time-and seemingly end up putting my life on hold.
Yet perhaps I AM living my life- a life that is ever changing and always has so suddenly that I would never believe if you told me five years ago that I would be living on disability for “mental illness.”
Yet I’m still absolutely terrified to let anyone be a part of that life- my life.
I’ve been alone for so long I don’t know right now how to do it any differently. I keep acting as if I’ll let someone in when I’m better, when I start “living my life,” But as I watch the lives of plenty around me crumbling, it seems that this IS life. Good and bad-and I do have my good moments, right in tandem with the bad.
It’s ridiculous because I know that there’s never a perfect time for opportunities and change. I’ve try to stop running, hiding my failures, and have the courage to show my scars, fears, and insecurities but repeatedly run into the wall of my own self projected condemnation of myself- that I’ll never be together enough for anyone, and I don’t want anyone to confirm my own suspicions.
Most of the time it all doesn’t seem worth it at all, that life is perpetually taking more than I can will it to give. But I’ve seen as much beauty arise from painful, dark circumstances and feelings as the from contrary. I’ve seen the most extraordinary things in my life in the darkest places and the most downcast countenance. I want to be able to share all of those experiences with people, like we were meant to. Learning to cherish even the shitty ones, allowing myself to be vulnerable and finally connect with people and each of the moments we cross paths in.