Step One: Step One

No, this is not a mindful sentiment of uplifting advice that’s going to solve your (insert here) problem. This is a shout into the void. You can keep reading, but it’s just a bunch of “I" statements and melancholy scribbling for posterity’s sake.

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I was never really all the good when I started writing.

I remember countless times when my mom would have to sulk over draft after draft of dribble in order to impress or satisfy my English teachers when I was in grade school. There was a lot of anguish and pain associated with that subject first starting out.

The reality today feels more the same…not in writing a draft, but coming to the page at all. Writing, at least for me, is something that I fear doing because the things I write generally surprise me or throw me for a loop.

See, there’s a lot going on upstairs in this head of mine. A moment from my birthday when I was 5…times when I’ve made people cry, times when I laughed uncontrollably for hours. The bad moments outweigh the number of good ones - but that’s just human nature.

I dropped everything and ran away last month. The whole kit and kabootle. The only thing I have to my name is a house, a bunch of junk, my dog, and this computer. All for some silly idea that its all worth damn in the future.

The future promises nothing, and the present moment doesn’t show for much either. Most of the time, all I’m doing is keeping myself from crying due to a stress: love, responsibility, career, my own expectations - even presumed exceptions others have of me.

For 2 to 3 years there, I was the most proud of myself I’ve ever been. I had built a small but mighty castle of fitness, integrity, sobriety, fidelity. In response to what society asks of me, I had to put all that pride and hard work on hold. Now I sit in a tiny house on a quiet street. I’m in my perspective equally or further behind from where I started this whole adulting venture.

I’m sure that’s a pessimistic view of things, but that’s just how I really feel right now.

I’me hopelessly incapable of self-regulation. Even having spent time as part of the most disciplined of environments such as organized sports and private, catholic, all-boys schooling, I have never failed to test a boundary line.

The easiest trap for me to fall for is falling in line and doing what others tell me to do. I was raised that way, I've met steep repercussions that reinforced this idea, and presently, I feel this trap is exactly what I am stuck in. Getting out takes far more work than it does falling in.

I disappoint myself daily; I dwell on difficult to comprehend blunders I make; i’m in the worst physical condition since college; I fight myself constantly.

Putting yourself in timeout is a discipline; it’s a last resort, ejector seat but crash the plane tactic - it is nonetheless appropriate in specific situations. Perhaps my blunderous escapism is a teaching moment for others as well. More recently, I've let my friends down more often than I lift them up, I burden my team at work more than I provide solutions, and cause stress unto myself with persistent precision.

Something I am realizing the more I spend time alone with myself if just how much I value other people; enough-so that I fail to put my own needs on the anvil for development. Instead, following this metaphor, I just sit there and stare as this hollow, delaminated piece of iron I call a sword of myself.

I’m really sad. I just have a weird, covert, convoluted way of showing it.

I wish I had some scrap of gumption to haul myself onto the stoop of someone’s place of living or work who can help me. For some absurd reason, I assume that if I torture myself enough I’ll make myself better again on my own.

Simultaneously, the way I treat myself makes certain sense and lacks all principles of sanity at the same time.

People have faced far worse than I - a car crash, cancer…a loss of a parent or freak accidents. All are perfect catalysts for lasting change. Hell, I faced my own prior demons and came to my own fortuitous conclusions. I raised myself from an extremely dark relationship and experienced a life that most people in their late 20’s to early 30’s are only just beginning to materialize. I chose to walk that path before most. In my opinion, my early rise was both the best thing for me, yet the height to which I rose was simultaneously my most glaring liability.

I give up on things when I’m right around the corner to the next best view. I shew away great advice and allow in the most diabolical and destructive elements into my life for the sake of impulsivity.

I don’t know what my next move is, but I unfortunately believe that for all the success I achieved from previously procedures, these will not provide me with any sense of lasting or fulfilling relief from the current state of affairs I face.

Life just feels heavy, bloated, cold, fleeting, and disappointing. Maybe this whole mood changes when the next sun rises - but for now, this is how I feel.

I was never good at anything when I asked for help - I became my best when I ventured on my own, then brought others along.