[This was written before the emotional crash of THIS POST and scheduled for later, so it may seem a little out of place in the timeline but I still wanted to post it, if that makes sense? Probably not. Never mind. Consider it as an aside.]
Who are we, really?
When we strip away outside expectations, social pressures, money worries, a lack of sleep and a grumbling stomach, what’s left?
As part of trying to figure out what’s been going entirely wrong with my brain for the last few years, I’ve been on a bit of a journey of self discovery. I’ve certainly picked apart my past and how I’m affected by it. I think I know pretty much how I tick, now, even if I’m not exactly happy about how the cogs fit together.
Now I’ve gotten as far as I can both alone and with therapy, it’s time to think about something else. Who am I, when I set aside all of the neuroses and behavioural…bleurgh.
The answer, I think, is which parts of me am I actually happy with?
Not many, of course, but there are some.
It came to me as I watched a couple of documentaries the other night. I’ve had a stomach bug over the weekend (avoiding details) and so I’ve been pretty much comatose for a few days, but it’s forced me to rest and catch up on some things that I’ve been wanting to watch.
The first was a documentary on the Foo Fighters, a favourite band of mine and one of the few that I’ve been following from the beginning of their career. Watching that documentary made me so…bloody…happy. I don’t know whether it was listening to the music that I haven’t heard in a while or something else, but I felt great after watching it.
The next documentary was one on alien cover-ups and conspiracies (I know, I know, shut up). I just find it interesting, ok? But that sense of wonder, of the weird and unknown, of the possible, that gave me a squiggle of the happies as well.
Why had it taken me so long to do this? Why had I put it off? What did that all mean?
Well, I think it means that I’ve gotten so used to being wrapped up in my various worries and troubles, both imagined and real, that I’d forsaken the things that made me feel like me. I’d forgotten what it felt like. Here’s how being me feels when the depression has been set aside:
- Reading – Fantasy, poetry, strange and fascinating subjects
- Listening – Foo Fighters, The Cure, 80’s music of all kinds
- Watching – Documentaries on weird things, fantasy, sci-fi and horror movies
- Writing – Just writing, really.
- Misc – Playing D&D and generally being a geek
I think that, in a world so filled with shiny-shinies, I’d drifted away from the things that I actually like doing, just so that I can see all the other things that people say I should.
Last weekend, I watched those documentaries, I worked on the next novel, I read a graphic novel (Saga, if you’re wondering) and I listened to music that made me feel something.
Although I was also fighting off some horrendous stomach cramps and…other details…I felt like me again. I don’t think I’ve felt like that in a very long time. If only I can maintain it.
What makes you, you, when everything else is stripped away?
Thanks for reading.