How did I find a sure shore?

Of all the questions into my psyche I am asked the most, why I desired to be a writer is at (or near) the top of that list. And it’s not the easiest inquiry to answer. Depending on the person asking, my response wavers between “it was just something I couldn’t avoid” and “I found a way to express myself, so I leaned into it.”

In actuality, the reason is a bit clearer, especially if you’re aware of my biggest flaws and difficulties with human relationships/existence. The reason I wanted to become a writer is this…

I have a desperate desire to be understood, and if I have such a difficult time feeling seen, then there must be others who do as well. So I will try with all of my might to put words to experiences and emotions in the hopes that I will grow to further understand myself, giving me more skills to be understood in reality, and bring comfort to the people reading who seek to feel understood themselves.

To overexplain is to feel alien. It can be exhausting and drain more energy from your soul than you can keep a lid on. Especially if that conversation involves another person who listens only to respond. However, this has been the story of every major relationship I’ve ever had with another human being, platonic or otherwise.

Fundamentally, this was just how things worked from where I stood. It was a necessity (overexplaining, or accepted of misunderstanding, or masking). I may sometimes lack the ability to let go of the frustration and alienation that comes with it, but I was getting used to it.

Life is moving forward. I am constantly hitting new strides, learning more about my capacity and emotional attachment to living, and I feel incredibly knowledgeable and appreciative of all the awareness I have accumulated. Despite some existential and dire weeks to start this year, I have been in an obvious state of growth. Propelled to dizzying speeds by harm and help.

The small, but functioning boat I was living in – adapting to the harshness of the ocean and storms – was my reality. Some days had clear skies and almost soothingly rhythmic swells, while others (most days, if I’m being honest) were very terrifying. I had been out in the open water for so long that I made it a frantic practice to scan my immediate surroundings for dangers, salvation, understanding, etc.

As a result of both the nature and the nurture that grew me into a young adult, I have never been a horizon-seeker. I have never been a flat-footer, and I am always vigilant towards the world around me that is within reach. Which has affected both the ways I show up in relationships, and the relationships I choose to be in. This is an ironic fate, as I am also someone who prioritizes growth, respects people who seek to learn, and has a rabid disdain for an unwillingness to dispel ignorance.

This awkward cocktail has made me a creature of contradiction, constantly assessing my surroundings as they are in the moment, yet being critical of myself and others in terms of development. It has put me in many situations in which I am surviving based on present information alone, and not looking at the larger picture. Even just as a human trying to exist, I do not picture myself years into the future, and am told this is partially due to the internal sensation of being on “borrowed time,” not trusting that things can last, and always feeling like I’m not understood. This also included people I spent time with. It was never about our future, and I firmly believed that it was my doing (my function) that kept that foresight at bay.

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And then May arrived in March…

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All of a sudden, I was exposed. Standing in the street, unseen one minute and locked into someone’s sight the next. I’m getting ahead of myself a bit. Let’s rewind.

Having just picked up all of the shattered pieces of myself, pushed through, and—learning a lot along the way—feeling like I was on a path that would see minimal exposure and plenty of opportunity to keep my head down. During this time, one thing arose and nagged at a part of my brain that I couldn’t ignore.

I don’t know what it was about this change of pattern that caught my attention so much, or – if I’m to rid myself of all control and sanity – if it was just fate or destiny begging me to open a channel.

Either way, I was baffled by a particular social media account coming out of nowhere and being very vigilant in their viewing and liking of all my content. Everything around me had been so weird and fluctuating, and I was finally feeling like I was moving forward for the first time in maybe 12 months. So, I looked into it and tried to peek into who or what this person was. Alas, their profile was private. The username wasn’t one I recognized, and their description was just a quote from a music video every emo kid worshipped.

I don’t wanna make it …

There was almost no information to glean from their profile. And for all intents and purposes, they were just some random person. Knowing what I do now … there were microscopic clues. That’s neither here nor there.

As I was, oddly crumbled and reassembled, and strangely open to whatever the hell the universe was going to throw at me, I sent them a follow request. What harm could it do? I just had to know – half expecting to not know who they were, and unfollow once my curiosity was satiated.

Except, it was a ghost I could have never expected. An echo. A face that I could never forget…

The rest of this story has been redacted for my sanity, for now… please accept this side-tangent about my history of avoidance, sparkless existence, and auto-pilot as repentance.

I’ve not met many people who survive like I do (diving into obsessive work, avoiding things that conjure emotions, letting people take up all the space in a room, becoming a retreated efficiency machine, etc), and to others it can feel an awful lot like I’m just acting normal. However, being cold and closed off, and vigilant, and uncomfortable, are not states I would exist in had I the choice and freedom to be me.

And the terrifying thing is, it starts to feel normal to me as well. The autopilot takes over, and I’m protecting every inch of skin I still have left. But it isn’t active protection or awareness, it’s passive wall building. It’s barrier placement. It’s avoidance. Something that has kept me alive for the majority of my life.

There is only one word to describe it once the pattern takes hold and there’s a repetition to the traumatic responses that keep your feelings quiet and inside, and that is “asleep.”

You don’t feel very alive (by my standards), but life is fine. Good even at times. There’s no pending danger, there’s no rollercoaster, there’s just delicious feeding of a robotic version of me that needs to work hard to feel worthy. He who needs to succeed to feel accomplished. Behind the steering wheel is that calculated, extraneous effort, hyper-focused version of me. No empathy. No sincerity. No emotions. Only thoughts.

He doesn’t care if he feels warm inside, though. There’s no need for spark in his life. He just wants a tasklist to attach his self-worth to so that he can try and buck every childhood trauma around work ethic and usefulness off his back. A never-ending war, by the way. There is never enough to satiate his appetite. He will never wake up worthy. He will never put his head down at night with a full belly.

In all of my years, dipping in and out of being asleep, there have only ever been two things that wake me up. The first is a grievous life event. Something that breaks the dam, like the loss of a loved one, or someone close to you. As someone who has been to less than a handful of weddings, and yet too many funerals to keep track of, I know how violent it can feel. It rattles your skeleton so much, and the grief is so overwhelming that it can shift you out of a slumber. The second is someone lighting you on fire. And that has only truly happened to me once … just a few months ago.

It is bewildering when someone injects an unmistakable spark into your life. Like feeling the sun on your skin after days, months, and years under heavy rain clouds.

I am awake now. And I beg the universe to keep it that way … because I do not want to go back to sleep.

WAKE UP, PLEASE … WAKE UP.