I’ve quite a lot of things to spill out as I get through probably one of the worst downturns in my life but I’m glad to be able to come here to sift through and sort out my thoughts so that future Edgar can take something away from it.
Ok, I want to begin with probably the most salient thing that has been on my mind now whenever it comes to episodes such as this: Honesty. I don’t know why it isn’t more talked about or if it is one of those things that everybody already gets and I don’t, but it is really, truly, probably the singular most important thing when it comes to my relationships with not only other people but with myself as well. We all know that holding things in is never good for a person, but the way I like to evolve that concept is that not being honest with yourself and as an extension of that, not being honest about yourself with others, is probably the most destructive things, at least I have anecdotally discovered, that a person.
What do I mean by this? Looking at myself, it is quite plain to see. Whenever I go through times like this, it becomes insurmountably difficult to express myself and what I’m going through to people. Part of it is shame. Part of it is fear. A lot of it tends to be self-conjured thoughts that work against me. Nevertheless, I start to seclude. I start to withdraw, hesitate. I stop being honest with people. I say “I’m fine” when I’m not. I act like my days are great when in fact they are the complete opposite of that. I keep quiet not because I have nothing to say but because I have too much to say. I get scared and that fear is what keeps me distant. I begin to destroy myself from the inside.
This then proceeds to tear the fabric of most of my relationships, most notably (and I say this with a tear in my eye because I really really hate the way this works) the one with my mother. I begin to get impatient. Frustrated with her. All she shows me is nothing but love and all I get is irritated. I don’t tell her how I’m feeling because, honestly to this day, I don’t know why. Part of me is ashamed that I’m feeling this way. Part of me is scared that she’ll judge me for what I say (even though I know that will never happen). I always, always hate the way this works.
This rings true for a lot of my friendships as well, yet there are additional monsters that come into play. It works the same initially. I start to withdraw from my friends. I don’t say anything so they don’t assume anything. I suffer on my own, letting a little out but not saying the whole story. I’m scared they’ll judge me, scared they’ll let me go. That “part” of my brain reinforces all of this. “Why the fuck will they still be friends with you?”, it says. Somedays, I still get scared that this may actually be the truth. I stop being honest with them because of all the same reasons. That the extra monsters step in to take advantage. “Judge them”, they say. “They have so much that you don’t”, they scowl. I hate this so much. I hold these people so dear to my heart and yet my fucked up cerebellum decides to make me envious of the people that I am so happy for. It makes me sick to the core. It’s days like these that I really want to take the road to end it all.
I must, in all my strength, learn what it is to be honest with the people I love. For my sake. I must learn to talk to them, acknowledge how I’m feeling and share it with them. I must learn not to be afraid and not to judge myself for it. When I open up and be honest, when I share my deepest fears and desires, I can feel the relationship in its true rawness and sincerity and its one of those things that I truly live for in life. There is nothing like it. Yet, I still struggle so much to get to that stage.
With this, I’ll move on to the next concept I’d like to touch. Never has there been such a powerful force to bring me such unwavering and resonant contentment and tranquillity. This concept is Acceptance. After all, if suffering is resistance, then peace is found in acceptance.
This is immensely moving for me because, all my life, I’ve been running away and fighting things that I’ve hated about myself. Things that brought me shame and despair, yet the simplicity of it all is that these things never had the power to do so in the first place. All I have to do is accept these things about me. As with everything in life, this is simple, but not easy.
With this past year, I have come to learn about so many things about myself and so many things that I have to learn to accept about myself. The biggest challenge is accepting that I am a person with not many friends and fewer suitors. That I am without a partner in life and I have yet to experience love for its entirety. Even as I write this, acceptance of this fact is wavering. There are days when I can accept and even appreciate the fact, spending the most blissful moments of my life on my own. Then there are the days that I die inside just realising that I have nowhere to go, no one to tend to. (Forgive me if I start to get mushy/ragey but I really have to get this out) I spend my time wondering if I’ll ever get to love a person because honestly it’s been so fucking long that I can’t really see myself doing it anymore. I hate that I find it so goddamn fucking difficult to not see it in a sad light anymore. The only experiences I’ve ever had were absolutely fucking monstrous disasters that it left me even unhappier than before. A lot of it has to do with luck and I spend each waking second wonderful how the fuck I got to be so unlucky in the first place. It doesn’t help that I get ultra obsessive over people that I start to care about. That I throw my entire head and entire heart into the person that I put on a goddamn fucking pedestal. Even right now, obsessing over the person that I do, not being brave enough to admit it to a single soul (hey, there comes fear interjecting my honesty again) eats me alive. I hate being that person that says that all I want to do is hold someone in my arms and have them hold me back, but I hate even more that I don’t have that. But this is all part of a bigger problem that I have, HAVE to accept.
I’m all alone in this life. For a large part of my recent years, struggling with loneliness has taught me so much as a person. It has been gut-wrenchingly, heart-breakingly, mind-numbingly awful and to know that almost none of my friends understand what I mean is truly the cruellest of ironies, yet I never would wish this on them, not even on my worst enemy. The friends that I’ve made come and go and the ones that I still have, I try my best to hold on to, but with what I’ve mentioned above, there are obstacles. I never had someone to call a romantic interest and it breaks my heart with every day I spend in consciousness. Yet, as I write all this, though it may sound, dare I say, depressing as all hell, accepting it becomes the quite metaphorically the Excalibur to my mental health. If I can accept this and be okay with it, I then become truly unstoppable. The words “I am a lonely soul” are not my kryptonite, but my mantra. Fear becomes opportunity. I’ll end off with this. There’s this image that constantly pops up in my head when I see loneliness, not as a curse, but an opportunity.
I’m at this bar. You could describe it as one of those “underground bars situated in the heart of that part of town that never seems to go to sleep”. If you could see it, you would know what I mean when I say that it is the physical embodiment of loneliness. It’s seemingly never full yet somehow never empty. The regular faces always make an appearance yet there never fails to be a new soul in this establishment. The neon red lights inundate the room, setting the humdrum atmosphere that is all too familiar this time of night. As always, I’m rocking my favourite shoes at the time, whether it’s Jordans or Yeezys. The outfit seems to fit the vibe of the place but more importantly, reflects my attitude of it all. I finish off a small intimate gig that I’d always plan on doing but never quite pull it off. That one drunk sat in his usual spot seems to have enjoyed it. But this wasn’t for him, no, it was actually for me. As I lose myself to the stage and the empty room, I fail to realise the new face that rolls up to the joint this time of night. I finish up, with my heart poured out into the microphone, I thank the audience (using this term sparingly here) and take my place at the bar. I’m all alone. It isn’t terrifying but rather quite liberating. Just then, the stranger takes a seat next to me at the bar…
Catharsis in Commencement 