A Purpose and Therapeutic Truth
This was never meant to be an open letter, it was never meant to be written, it was never meant to be anything but buried and forgotten.
Epiphanies are never meant to feel let alone be a form of defeat, of loss, but of triumph, a burst of energy and revelation. Well, this is both, but in a wrenching cathartic kind of way as acceptance tends to mostly be.
I was so oblivious to the nuances of the decisions of my own psyche, how they piled and piled upon each other, how they grew into such intricate webs that even I have had difficulty tracing them back to their origins. The triggers, the meaning of each reaction and more so, why it was important enough to cause a trigger to be built upon in the first place.
The sheer scale of it too daunting to tackle for extensive periods of time for fear of burnout, on all levels, because there’s nothing worse than burning out your own mental defenses when all you want day in and day out is peace. To feel like you didn’t waste the sun and moon light each day with some form of wretchedness. But like all things buried, they come out sooner or later.
I’ve been a master secret keeper before I even knew the true meaning of a secret, of lying by omission and other such nuances. I’ve structured and compartmentalized every inch of my mind almost into oblivion and yet I know there is still room. There is still hope. Both a toxin and a balm.
I’ve been self-teaching and observing the art of surviving to live well, now and someday, for more years than I like to mention although I do, and few believe the number. I’ve been a student of the school of thought that 99% of problems have a solution. Regardless of how and when that solution will appear, it still exists, for the sheer need of it demands its conception. I also have never been truly accepting of how things are. I can be patient, determined, hard working, aggressively so at times, but accepting of the status quo…no, a failure no doubt.
But since time and again the proverbs “fortune favors the brave and wise” and “the only constant is change” kept me and many others in motion, bringing forth said change, progress, even happiness…personal and general, I cannot in good faith relinquish the thought that not accepting the status quo is a good thing. Most of the time.
So I won’t structure this as a complaint or a form of blame for deeds long since past and complete, even as they’ve been replicated endlessly by parties that need not be named. This is simply a confession.
I am tired of hearing my own inner voice screaming. I’m tired of the energy that screaming consumes from me. Crying out for closure and comprehension in a myriad of endless questions. All stemming from causes of pain. So many causes, blooming out into a vast inner ocean of suffering and inquiry. The turmoil is so constant at times and so enduring I don’t even see the ripples anymore until it’s too late.
Now it’s more late than I had ever wanted it to be or let it get to be. But I see the ripples now. The ripples of triggers, of my choices and how those many choices have become my instincts, shaping around events I live through, like quicksand.
I finally see the entanglement of my instincts, their origins. How opposing input from people I value, given on a frequent enough basis to leave a mark, but sporadic enough to still fuel the hope that they could change, has taken its toll on my self-image. On what I consider good and moral, and how to judge what I am worthy of. What I deserve to fight for. Be fought for.
I finally understand, despite the obvious presence of the many good times among the rest, when abuse due to lack of experience and proper knowledge, takes root, you rarely ever escape its effects. Even years after it’s ended.
I found that the people who raise and love you, can also give you two completely opposing points of view and reactions but in the end, mean the same conclusion only stemming from different aims, justified by their own beliefs. I have found that by living in this type of environment, growing up in it, where personal and ideological competition is constant, from subtle barbs to the blazing fury of violent arguments, that sanity, wholesome growth, is almost impossible. Near enough, to most definitely and completely be compromised as a person.
I have found that despite how smart or intuitive or experienced they are, people are not only flawed but stubborn in their limitations.
I have bitterly found that when seeking to exemplify and compare differences for the sake of a better mutual understanding, choices versus results and preferences for those results, regardless of wording, context etc, can be consistently met with disapproval simply because of a false belief that being different means wanting to prove the other person is wrong in what they do.
I have found that one of the most suffocating feelings imaginable is the lack of feeling and being understood.
I explore behavioral psychology with a fervor that boggles most minds in order to understand people. I want to understand them as much as I can possibly take because I don’t want anyone, even if they are in my company for a moment and in that moment they happen to open up, to feel as if they have once again hit a wall. A glass screen of subconscious indifference bred not from hate or assumptive malice perhaps but from pure lack of empathy and experience.
I want to mentally and emotionally understand as much as possible about every event imaginable, traumatic or not, because I don’t want to be yet another person that breeds pain to another, by leaving a taste in their soul of this kind of loneliness. The kind that results from being left again on the outside of relatablity and the comfort of finally finding solace in another human being.
I have felt this more often than not and continue to seek out a way where this will no longer occur with such consistency. This is one of the primary reasons why I study my past, my preferences and reactions, tendencies and more, almost obsessively. I want to understand myself as completely as possible. Not only to heal and reverse some if not all of the damage done to me through the indoctrination of experiences and thoughts thrust upon me, but also to find ways to make it easier to be understood by others. Through the explanations I give, at times verbose, I seek to eliminate as many of the variables that are inevitably present between each of us every moment. There is never enough time for people to effectively satiate the need to converse and share, but even more so, make themselves truly comprehensible.
The very notion of that concept is almost noble, and as I continue on the quest to achieve a level of comprehensibility yet unknown to me, but imaginable, I see that is this one of the most honorable missions I could explore in life. To bring a method of propagation of clarity between people and spreading it throughout without any form of forced acceptance.
Finally having a grasp of this and of the daunting magnitude and sheer scope of such a philosophical undertaking, not only gives me some of the closure and experience I seek in this very venture, but has also had an unexpected but perhaps in some form, overdue effect.
I now palpably understand, at least to a degree, the devotion of personal energy and time that must go into such an exploration of one’s identity and personality. Of one’s motivations and foundation as a sentient human being.
Knowing it was possible to have such a grasp in a mere 20+ odd years, instead of more, decades more in fact, is in part due not just to my nature but to the geopolitical climate I’ve been privileged enough to grow accustomed to as the norm. To the technology made available to me because of that climate, which allows more information than I know yet what to do with, to be readily accessible at all times. These factors along with the realization already mentioned, gives me a degree of empathy, sympathy and dare I say, understanding, as to why the people that hurt me, certain meaningful elders, either took much longer to reach such a state or worse, have not broken through, still certain in the viridity of their thoughts and actions.
Despite all they’ve done to me in their stupidity, their malice, their innocent, traumatized, naive and egotistical wish to stay afloat, at least in their own minds like we are all wont to do, against the hatred they burn with or seek to purge…I have somehow found it within me, to forgive.
They were seeking out their own path, their own truth born from complex triggers of forced and false morality, broken hearts and minds of inner children long lost. With no one to guide them, no regime or technology yet present to spark an inner revolution, they only grew further ingrained in their damaged natures. Coping in various forms of survivalism and efficacy, evolving externally more than internally.
Knowing this…I feel the closest I’ve ever been to forgiving them. For breaking me, for hurting me beyond what they’ll ever have the capacity to comprehend. I forgive them. In this I am reborn. I am finally…free.