For some of us, I believe we have certain steps which are harder than others. I have found mine. I have come to realize I choose the other step, the wrong step. The right step seems to be the most difficult for me to take. In an attempt to better understand this idea myself, I am going to try to explain it in more detail. Thank you for listening to my ramblings.
Over the last several weeks I have been in a state of mild depression, constant anxiety, with a dash of excitement. There are others but those I feel are the predominant ones. These feelings have been simmering, and slowly coming to a boil.
My mild depression almost seems like a constant nagging state. Most of the time I have the will and energy to bat it away and keep it at bay. It is not the healthiest of lifestyles I am sure and it does have a tendency to creep up and snag me when I least expect it. I am aware I should see someone, however I don’t know if I could afford the cost. This itself is the internal lie I tell myself. If my health was a priority of mine, which it is, then no monetary value would be too high. This is the truth. The other truth is that I am afraid, deathly afraid of opening that door. Therefore I blind myself with the lie, and move on.
As I stated earlier, I have a tendency to choose the wrong step. The right step here would be to confront my mild depression and seek the assistance of a professional. Yet, I lie to myself. I blind myself. I choose the wrong step even when I know what I should do, the step I should take. This is my pattern. My failures. My plea for help laid bare on the only resource I have found comfort and trust in, writing.
Let’s continue to stir the pot.
My constant anxiety comes from all the natural parts of being an adult. Am I doing the best I can for the ones I love? Could I be a better person? Could I do more? Could I be more? Am I pursuing the right career path or am I stagnant because the pay is enough to live on? Am I still learning or have I passed my peak of intelligence? Do I want kids? Would I even be a decent father? Would I be able to survive if I failed at being a dad or husband? What if I couldn’t support my family? Am I a good son? Friend? Person? Am I going to grow old and have no one, love no one? Am I just another cog in the wheel of society? Am I happy anymore?
These questions bombard my mind like small poisonous darts. They hit and bring tears to my eyes before I can pluck them out. Yet their poison remains, slowly burning away at my resolve. Keeping me rooted in fear. Then as my ambition begins to rise once more, another one hits home and the process begins all over again. I am set on the defensive, and though the darts are small, insignificant on their own, the consistency over the years has brought me to my knees.
Once more I have failed to take the correct step. I have been battling the darts and the poison. Wasting away my energy on the symptoms and not the disease, the ones shooting the arrows. While a number of these are founded in depression, a number of them stem from deep insecurities. Instead of confronting my insecurities, I have shied away from them. I curl up into a ball, pressed into a corner and strike out at anyone venturing too close.
Lastly, comes the thread of excitement. A lone flame against all the previously mentioned darkness. It burns still, against all odds. The remaining strength I have left over from all my other battles goes into gently fanning this flame, keeping it alive. This small flame embodies the steps I take to keep some semblance of happiness and sanity. I carve out a few minutes during my work day to watch a funny video or listen to an audiobook. I spend a bit of time at home playing video games or watching a tv show with my significant other. I treat myself to lunch at a local restaurant or do a bit of cleaning around the house.
Even still, while these seem to be all positive items, they do not lend to a long term goal, accomplishment, or foundation. They are band aids. They are momentary reliefs to combat being overwhelmed and beaten down. Once more, while these choices are not necessarily steps in the wrong direction, they are not in the right direction either. The correct step would be to spend time in learning a field or discipline. Instead of watching tv I could take a fun class at the college. Instead of eating out at lunch I could go to the gym. Instead of playing games I could be reading.
To conclude, I have built up a habit of avoidance. Avoiding conflict, responsibility, productivity, happiness, and growth. At some point I found a niche where I could survive and perfected the process to keep myself there. The scales may not be balanced, but they are balanced enough to survive for another day. As I try to distance myself from my situation I can see this niche being my grave. How long could I have endured before my tombstone would be erected? Maybe 40 years would pass, or 3 or 1. The realization of that uncertainty is what scares me.
The gut sinking feeling of fear, of being on the verge of breaking down into tears throughout the day for no reason at all is the reason I am typing these words, bleeding onto this page. It terrifies me to my core to know and finally accept a simple statement.
It is all my fault.
I cower in my niche, barely surviving, because of me. My decisions led me here. My inactions led me here. Where I stand now is solely because of the steps I took before. Right or wrong, I am the one who took them. I can’t turn back time, but I can choose better. I can choose the right step.
Mile 29 