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I Forgot To Remember To Forget

August 23, 2014

I forget a lot of stuff a lot easier than I used to, but my memory still holds onto stuff like some rusted bear trap. Every pain. Every ache. Every embarrassment. These memories have tended to shape who I am and I forget who I wanted to be. Who I feel I should be. Bad memories for me tend to be the venom that pumps through my veins and defines me.

I hold onto it all and I shape myself or run away from it in hopes that it’ll simply disappear and I can move on. I don’t know if there’s something fundamentally wrong with me, but I’ve always had a strong biographical memory to the point where I make noises of embarrassment over things that’ve happened years ago. Or things I should’ve said.

It annoys Heather and I tend to apologize when it happens or try to shrug it off, but it’s how I am. I still feel embarrassed over accidentally grabbing my friend’s head with a spiked ring facing downward. It…sucks. But I’m learning to let go of these things the more I go on. The more confident I feel.

My relapse becomes less and less each day and that’s a great thing which gives me more confidence in myself. I just wish it were a constant thing for me where I have the energy to do more things. To be more. To finally finish a story or hell, even start one. Little things like that bug me.

Then I start wondering if I lost ‘it’ or if I ever had ‘it’ to begin with. Oddly the best descriptor I’ve got for how I feel comes from the Revenge Of The Sith novelization after Anakin becomes Darth Vader:

And you rage and scream and reach through the Force to crush the shadow who has destroyed you, but you are so far less now than what you were, you are more than half machine, you are like a painter gone blind, a composer gone deaf, you can remember where the power was but the power you can touch is only a memory, and so with all your world-destroying fury it is only droids around you that implode, and equipment, and the table on which you were strapped shatters, and in the end, you cannot touch the shadow. In the end you cannot touch the shadow, in the end you don’t even want to.

Say what you will about the movie, but the novelization had some good pieces to it and very relatable to my current situation. My anxiety is a shadow that taints my every waking moment and touches so many aspects of my life and my creativity is one of them. I worry that I’ve lost whatever ability I may have had and while I still do get thoughts while in the shower, I never follow through on them and that just leaves me feeling disappointed.

And when someone asks me to go see them…also a huge disappointment for me because I know if this were pre-2008 that I’d jump on that like a fat kid devouring a cake. Now…not so much. Now it’s a desire to do something but worrying I’ll have a panic attack and I end up not doing that. My former hetero life-mate, Gary, never understood that. It was never about me wanting to not to anything. It was me fearing doing anything because of my panic attacks.

My therapist in PA gave me some great perspective on this: you get to the point where you’re so afraid of the panic that you don’t do anything because you start panicking over the prospect of panicking. It makes no sense and I realize it’s stupid. I also realize it’s an inexorable thing that eventually draws me in—until now. Now I’m learning to ground myself and stay in the present. Sure, I’ve been anxious as hell about doing some things this week, but I did them anyway and the anxiety eventually gets bored and recedes to the back of my mind.

So I’m learning and I’m learning to forget and to treat myself with more kindness and. I think that’s what I needed all along. I hope I can keep this going.

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