I am a Three Ring Circus. The beginning, middle and end of all the events of my life are being played out all at once. I feel like I am the contortionist in the center of the circus. That part of how I have learned to survive is by moving my body into unnatural patterns plotted out by external forces. That I have no say over any of it. That I angle myself to keep others progressing, while completely ignoring myself. That while I look complete on the outside, I am empty inside. I feel like my being has been hollowed out into the universe to be nothing more than floating remains of a person. That who I should be is nothing more that a ghost, a figment of possible potential that will never be fulfilled.
It’s usually possible to be able to remove yourself from that situation to a certain degree, you can allow yourself to view portions of your soul with different eyes. So that you can see that you are not empty, you are just disconnected. Broken, dismantled or fucked up. However you want to phrase it. We are all disconnected for some reason. Some more so that others. We carry everything from joy to pain in us at all times. We are everything, and we have the capacity to be much more that we allow ourselves. But, just because we are aware of it and actual allow ourselves to see parts of it, doesn’t mean we remove ourself from that pain. Sometimes we get so stuck in it that it becomes our main way to life. It becomes our default mode. Some get stuck in ego, some get stuck in joy, and some get stuck in sadness. Some get stuck in indifference. Just floating through life not really committing to a particular feeling. They just are. Nothing more, nothing less.
I got stuck in sadness. Which masqueraded as anger and then hatred and it finally settled into a joint love affair with depression. I always thought that depression and sadness were the same. Only to realize later on that they are very different. Sadness allows us to still see the world, we interact and survive. Depression debilitates us. It forces us into a tunnel vision view of the world, we don’t see anything other than our pain, and our suffering. We don’t see how it affects us, and how it affects those around us. Our sights are stuck in one position, pain.
Pain a universal feeling. Every person will experience it at some point in their life. To varying degrees and different types, we will all feel that compressing crush of pain’s grasp. Some will acknowledge that pain, and some will succumb to it. I have tried hard to fight it, and initially I denied it. If it doesn’t exist, then it’s not a problem. The depression only got repressed and bottled away, which in turn made it worse when it came back. I still have bottled up depression coming out sideways. Random days or minutes, there it is. Random trigger, there it is. I can’t control that, but I know that each time it comes out, there will be less in my stores. I don’t welcome any of it, not like I used to. I used to live in the ether, and revel in the pain. I felt that it made me better. I didn’t realize that fighting my way through it was the way to better myself. To acknowledge that and to say that I own it. It doesn’t own me. That’s part of how I’m trying to better myself. I’m trying to realize that the BS I’ve force fed myself for years isn’t the truth. It’s the truth spread out for me by the depression. The Not Good Enoughs, and the Never Gonna Happens, are lies I told myself. I have to learn how to love myself. I’ve had no problem giving love to others and extending kindness to them. But to myself? That’s just seemed like a joke for a long time. I don’t know if it’s starting to seem like less of a joke now, or if it’s actually an idea I can get behind. But I just know that I’m at the tipping point of a change. I’m fighting the change. I’ve never done well with upheaval. I’m a creature of comfort. I find a way that I like and I keep it like that to the best of my ability. So letting go of what has kept me going, what has been my default survival mode, scares the absolute sh*t out of me. I want people to hold my hand through the process, but they can’t. They can be supportive from the outside, but internally I have to be the one to pull the plugs and cut the cords. I have to be the one to clean and reorganize it.
I have to be the one to dismantle the Circus. To tell the performers and the animals to find a new job, and to clean up the remnants of it. To find something else to replace it with. Something where I don’t feel like I have to bend myself into comfortable and unnatural angles. So that I don’t have to play these roles anymore. I’m tired of contorting myself. I can feel my emotional joints starting to loosen with wear, and my bones start to crack. I am getting too old to continue with it. It’s time to retire, and find a new hobby.