Not okay

Truth be told there’s really no other way to put it right now: I’m not okay.

That is to say, physically, sure, I’ve got my health still and my youth (arguably). No known hindrances holding me back. Financially I’m doing enough to get by. Won’t ever be truly comfortable with my current income, but I’m meeting ends and staying fed. As far as personal relationships go, not much has changed in the last 6 months or so. Outside conditions in my life are, honestly, remarkably stable.

But for some reason I’ don’t share that stability. For some reason I’ve begun to feel empty. Hollowed out by my unfortunate brain chemistry and left as a walking shell of the person I know myself to be.

Not much lightens my mood. Rarely do I ponder deeply about anything. Few and far between are the instances that bring me a sense of satisfaction of self. Things I would normally find joy in don’t appeal to me. People I seek company from feel like uncomfortable situations to avoid. My mind is full of thoughts constantly, but none of them have any substance or context or relevance to the environment I’m in. My thoughts are a drivel of mumbling monologue with no basis and no purpose other than to occupy the silence.

I’m on the sidelines of life waiting for the coach to sub me back in to the game. Merely watching my existence tick away on the scoreboard as I try to catch my breath and regain my composure. Except that my teammates, my coach, the cheerleaders, the fans in the stands; they didn’t realize I left the field. Didn’t notice me shun the Friday night lights for the anonymity of a spot on the bench. The shadow of my presence seems to fool the average onlooker.

This has happened before. This very thing. In this very way. Where I just sort of drift away mentally little by little until there’s not much left of me that people would recognize if it weren’t for my appearance and voice. It’s happened quite a lot to be honest. More times than I’d probably admit.

I hate it. I feel like a proxy, a pathetic imitation of the man I strive to be. An imposter with just enough skill to pull off an illusion but none of the talent to live up to the name. But, it is so all-encompassing (this nothingness that I experience from time to time) so bearing down and impossible and unshakable, that I repeat my wrong and submissive behavior time and again.

I slither away from my reality and hide out. I shelter my fragile and burdened ego with isolation from the outside world. I retreat and surrender and accept that I’m no match for this overwhelming feeling of ineptitude and unworthiness. I stand elbow deep in the quicksand and observe in silence as my body, slowly but surely, descends unimpeded into the abyss. I don’t cry out, I don’t resist, I don’t search for something to break me free or even slow myself down. I just give up. And wait to be swallowed by my misery so entirely that the world (hopefully) just forgets I was ever even a part of it. I dream yearningly of nonexistence. I feel pathetic. My apathy cripples me into inaction. My idleness verifies my unworth. My value reciprocates my apathy.

Now, as I said, this has happened before. I know enough to realize that this is temporary. That in time I’ll bounce back and feel okay again. I know I’m in tunnel vision. I concede that the path ahead is dark and hard to predict, but I haven’t forgotten the light which the tunnel eventually gives way to. I’m far from being a lost cause. I’m just trying to make this make sense.

I caught it pretty early on. My slow and steady decline into this cyclical depression. I tried, at its onset, to fight back against it and maintain governance over my well being. I tried to wear my soldiers face and stand at the ready, poised for battle. But it’s not like fighting a battle. It’s more like withstanding a siege. Being surrounded by the enemy, cut off from reinforcements, and unable to signal for aid. Eventually my stores and my fortitude gave way.

I’m not proud of the person I’ve been for the last few weeks. I stopped trying. I lost hope. I let myself believe that I’m a victim of my situation, powerless to combat my affliction.

That train of thought ends right here. It has to. There’s too much potential left in me to allow myself to continue feeling I’m all used up. From this moment forward, come hell, high water, or what have you, I’m taking this head on. I can’t keep letting things I don’t control, control me. The reigns are mine. The path my own to choose.

I’m done with letting my destiny be drawn by my demons. I have to confront this, now, immediately, before any more of my life slips away from me in a foggy half miserable haze.

I’m not naive or dense. The world has been a much crueler place to billions of people than it has been to me. I’m not a victim, I’m not oppressed. Except by my own self.

This pattern of behavior, this seemingly insurmountable ebb and flow of ups and downs; this dangerous cycle which causes me to stride backwards twice for every forward movement I make? I’m over it.

It’s not who I am. It’s not what I want to be. And it’s not going to dictate the rest of my life.

It’s time to act.

And it’s time to make sure my actions align with my aspirations.

No excuses.

Man up.