Let’s take another crack at this one.
I’ve got amazing abilities. Incredibly intelligent – I am smarter than most people can even comprehend. Very funny – got comedic talent coming out of the tenderest area of my wazoo. Loads of creativity talent – I can create anything you want with my words. And speaking of words, I got massive verbal talent too.
Plus empathy, insight, vision, blah blah etc.
Which brings me to my question : how come when I think about these things, it doesn’t make me feel good about myself? Why is my reaction not one of pride but rather irritation? Like my talents are a loud noise or a bright light making me wince?
It’s so wrong, at least according to the usual set of rules. Good things about yourself should make you happy, right?
When I have wrestled with this conundrum before, the conclusion I have come to is that my low self-esteem is so entrenched in my mind that no amount of positive input can actually penetrate it and instead my mind tries to tune out the emotional effects of my excellence like it would any other over-strong stimulus.
And this remains true. But I think there’s more to it than that.
For one, there is fear attached, not just annoyance. This is going to come across as a humble brag, but I am frankly terrified of my own power. When I feel the difference between myself and others – truly feel it – it chills me to the bone.
I just can’t handle it. It makes me feel like my ego is going to send this poor unworthy soul of mine rocketing into the sky and into some impossibly rarefied state of towering superiority that is so close to utter insanity that you can only tell the difference between the two states with an electron microscope.
And I don’t want to go to the crazy place. Just thinking about it rouses a deadly strong coldness in my mind. One far colder and sharper than my usual coldness.
It’s like the difference between a winter’s day and liquid nitrogen.
And it’s a coldness that beckons. It tempts me with the promise of leaving all those messy and confusing emotions behind as I ascend into a worth of pure mind.
So like in those nightmares where I am stuck on a narrow ledge overlooking a deep abyss, I am scared precisely because part of me wants to let go and give in.
It’s possible that what is really going on is a failure to evolve, though. Maybe if I let myself go, I would come back down to Earth eventually, regain my humanity, and be a much stronger and saner person as a result of finally letting myself ascend.
After all, to a caterpillar, becoming a butterfly is indistinguishable from death.
And a plausible logical argument can be made that therefore, the caterpillar should do everything it can to keep that from happening.
But either way, some day the creature will die.
At least as a butterfly, it will get to spread its wings and fly first.
More after the break.
Ready to ascend
Well it seems I have convinced myself to let my ego take me to the skies. Cast off the land anchors, release the ties, and dump some of those beanbags, this balloon is up up and away into the wild blue yonder! Adventure and excitement awaits us!
Wow, look at it go. Imagine if we’d been on it. That… that would have been something.
So um, yeah. When I said I was ready to let go of the ground and allow myself to rise, I might have been overstating my case a touch.
What I should have said was that I had decided to let go. More or less. For what it’s worth. And so on.
I’m still terrified of the implied heights. My instincts are still demanding that I cling to the ground like a barnacle when the big hand descends from the sky and tries to pry me from my cozy little nook.
That’s been my reaction for all the years of my depression and, well, it’s what got me where I am today : nowhere. Absolutely nowhere.
But lately it’s occurred to me that the big hand coming to take me away might just be the big strong adult hand I need to hold my tiny hand in its own and help me calm down and tell me everything is going to be okay, I won’t be left out in the cold any more, and it is time for me to finally come home.
Could I have been blindly resisting my own salvation this whole time?
It certainly makes sense dramatically.
Maybe it’s time I let….
I certainly could use the lift. I’ve been gravity’s bitch for far too long. Barely crawling along the ground at a snail’s pace out of fear of falling when I should could be striding confidently forward, determined to chase the horizon and try to touch the sky.
But as that previous sentence demonstrates, in order to do that, I have to transcend rational limitations. I crave liberation from the world of justification and cause and effect, where everything needs a reason to be and has to *shudder* make sense.
I’ve made enough goddamned sense. Time to make myself happy instead.
And that means no longer looking for happiness from something external to myself. Those things will always be wonderful and helpful but no matter how great the joy they create. it fades with time and leaves you hungry for more.
At best, worldly achievements and acquisitions can help treat the symptoms, but only making the inner journey can cure the disease.
So maybe my trip into the sky is also a journey into myself. Maybe that big blue sky that wants to see me fly is really my own soaring soul discovering itself.
I don’t need a reason to be happy.
Happiness can be the default.
And I’m tired and I want to go home.
I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.