I was in the shower not long ago thinking about what I wanted to write at the inception of this little corner of the internet that I get to call mine.
Fear is a strange part of the spectrum of human emotion. It continually amazes me how our brains can push us to run from something and command us to embrace it all at once - it's a curious thing. I spend a lot of time thinking about it, partially because it's just the particular curse of needing (emphasis mine) to amass as much information as my brain can hold, but also because it's the particular curse of anxiety.
I want it understood, most importantly, that I rarely feel comfortable discussing my brain and my life and my heart. I'm always cautious of that easy-to-cross line that pushes you into the territory of (almost) bragging about your brokenness. I've always taken a little bit of a strange pride in the ways I have discovered to disguise that brokenness.
Isn't it a shame? We are all born naked, screaming, covered in blood and we somehow grow into these human beings with internal lives as rich and complicated as a coral reef - with the potential to become equally as choked and pained, I suppose.
Anyway, off of the ontological musings and back to real life. It's this notion of "okayish" that frightens me the most; it's the thought that amidst the highs and lows of my life, everything will balance out into such nothingness and I, the center of my own little universe with my own cloud of thoughts and hopes and dreams, will have affected the world around me in no meaningful fashion. I guess to some degree, everybody encounters that fear at one point or another - the true question is how much you allow it to paralyze you. And thus here I am at a strange intersection of both terrified of and enthralled with all the possibilities that surround me.
Anxiety is an interesting beast. I don't know that I will ever reach that mysterious point at which I feel no shame for it, but at least I have had ample time to become so well acquainted with it that I can attempt to tame it. To be honest, it scares the shit out of me to even acknowledge its existence when I'm not alone. I wonder a lot how much different my life would have been if my brain had never gone off on this little adventure to become "okayish". Back to that strange sense of pride - this is where it kicks in. This is where I feel stupidly proud of the fact that my lack of normalcy transforms me into some beautiful, broken little soul - romantic, am I right? To some degree there is so much glamour in that notion; everyone wants to have a tragic flaw so lovely that people fall over them like Gatsby over Daisy Buchanan.
I'm not even entirely sure what point I'm trying to make out of all of this. I think it will take me some time to even feel okay(ish) saying all these things that are cluttering up my brain.
I have a difficult time accepting the necessity of opening up. I'll learn.
