I think, I am coming around – or have from experiencing the dark, vast night of the soul – or so it feels for now.
And in doing so, I wish I could have been this comfortable in my skin as I am today – no longer shy or timid to stand by my positions and speak my mind, when necessary, or take position and hold it – even at the risk of pissing someone seriously off about me – which I have in the more recent past, both in the virtual as the real world. Do I care? Sure I do or else I’d be a totally indifferent, insensitive, narcissist asshole – which I can be at times, but don’t think I am per se. But I guess I must have decided a while back that I’m no longer going to betray myself. Authenticity over conformism or even just convenience. Authenticity – at almost any price.
I guess, the deeper reason for my having pulled through at all and in the first – next to quite some support at critical times – place is because I have stubbornly set my mind on wanting to experience that part of my youth some day that was stolen from me for various reasons: First the outcomes of an upbringing, where abuse was an accepted part of it, then my overcompensating and partical escape through music and performing in bands during my High School years – which saw me locked up in rehearsal rooms – spell: dark, mold-infested basements – most of the time instead of doing what every other High School kid’s “job” is: Party your brains out in your spare time, have your first run-ins with the law, fall in love with that first big love that you think is “it” – and get your heart broken a million times from it. I didn’t do any of that. None. Zero, zilch.
All that sounds like your typical midlife crisis – when it’s not and goes way beyond that: It’s about retrieving, restoring and then living the person I could and should have been from the beginning. It is not the “search” for myself, either – it’s about rebuilding everything than can be rebuilt. Some parts are lost for good, though. I have already said my farewells to those. And upon doing so, the scary thought creeps in that I might actually be beyond fixing. I don’t say this during a typical onset of a depressive episode – on the contrary. My day couldn’t have been more perfect. I can’t help, but wonder, whether I’ve actually bottomed out on life per se. While I seem to have become a little better in appreciating myself, I seriously wonder, whether I might be unable to truly love – myself or anyone or people in general. I don’t want to become this bitter misanthrope. I have had my taste of it and it smells of necrosis and decay. I can’t do that.