Are you familiar with the term “Self-Fulfilling Prophecy”?
The concept of a SFP is that the things you think and do will contribute directly to making those things happen. Imagine white-water rafting: You are out of practice, and scared of crashing into the rocks. Only you are so focused on not crashing the raft - steering diligently away from the rocks near the left bank - that you never notice anything else. It’s the best way to end up crashing directly into the rocks on the right.
I used to spend so much time in life worrying about doing this that or the other a certain way in order to avoid any number of results from happening.
I spent a lot of time angry, and by angry I mean full of hatred and rage, at someone who abused their authority and their power and took advantage of my trust. Once I grew up and gained a little perspective (and half a country’s worth of distance) I swore to myself I would never “be like that.” I would never allow anyone to treat me that way again.
I spent so much time running away from what I knew I never wanted, I was blinded to the fact that I ended up running straight into it.
When I realized this, I felt so… I don’t know. Bereft. If I couldn’t save myself from my own fate then who could? If I could spend all that time and energy making sure I didn’t depend on anyone, and didn’t allow anyone to talk this way to me, and was adamant that I would not be controlled by anyone or anything… and then come to find out I had found someone who did exactly all of those things, and I became that person I most hated - well, really, what was the point?
That was a very difficult period in my life. More difficult than the 15 years (at least) of depression prior to that. For me, depression was almost a comfort by that time. I was comfortably numb.
Once I stared in the face of my reality, the depression morphed into anxiety. As much as depression was dark, and almost dreamy considering how much of my life I preferred to sleep away - anxiety was bright and sharp and IN MY FACE. ALL THE TIME. Where depression was odorless, anxiety was acrid. Depression was quiet and muffled while anxiety was now not only loud but constantly accompanied by a shrill ringing in my ears.
I can taste anxiety on the back of my tongue, even today. It tastes of metal and copper and dirt, like a mouth full of pennies.
Somehow, with the help of some pretty good medication I suppose, and a lot of time ALONE searching for the answers to many questions - the most important one being “Who the fuck am I really?” - I managed to move away from the edges of the extremes.
Day to day, I spend my time putting all sorts of things in perspective. Constant sorting and filing into the many relative areas of perspective - without really looking too closely for any hidden meanings or alternative interpretations. I don’t trust my interpretations.
Generally it isn’t until things become what seems to be a pattern that I stop to review “the file” up to that point. Objective logic is a safe zone for me. If someone is interested in me - I tend to overlook their subtle advances, even if they happen over a long period of time. Hope is an extreme, and a luxury I don’t often allow myself. It flirts with anxiety, and stirs up the crazy.
There is no medication to help keep the correct filters in place anymore.
I don’t trust myself to know when I can see things clearly, and when I color them with varying shades from the extremes.
What I do know, and what I do trust is the measure of reason. If I am running into the same sticky point over and over again I take the time to step back and analyze with that measure. To go back to the rafting metaphor - I like to figure out why I keep running ashore. It’s rare anymore, but it happens from time to time.
Right now, there is someone else trying too hard to steer away from that cluster of rocks on the left. They can’t see there are plenty of rocks on the right side as well. I am not trying to steer them back to the left; I am trying to steer toward the safety of the middle. I can trust myself there. But to reach the middle, you have to have an equal balance of left and right. Meanwhile there is still that big waterfall at the end. I haven’t forgot about that, either.
But you know what? It’s my raft, too.
