Unraveling the Headfuck

All these insecurities
That have held me down for so long
I can’t say I’ve found a cure for these
But at least I know them
So they’re not so strong

-George Michael

In my mind, there are two lives. The life I’ve lived, and the life I might’ve lived if all my insecurities hadn’t held me back for as long as they have.

For someone who doesn’t give a fuck what others think, I sure let it prevent me from living out loud.

I’ve been thinking a lot about this recently, because I’ve been reading up on ADD and hearing the psychological baggage of self-esteem issues being one of the major factors late-diagnosis ADD folk have to deal with, it makes a lot of sense to me. I can’t lay that out for you. I can’t share that. Not yet.

But I’ve been thinking about the origin of my inner demons. Did they come from my becoming fat around 10 years old? Was it because I constantly started and never finished things, and always judged myself in my head far more harshly than my parents ever did? Did the observations of “you never finish things” or “you’re so frustrating” or “I’m so disappointed about X you did” endlessly imprint themselves on my mind and now replay on a loop just out of old habit?

Trying to figure out the origin for where the cerebral shitstorm began is kind of like neglecting your car for years, then, when it’s all but dead on the roadside, taking it to a mechanic and being stunned at the vast interconnecting damage, then asking “Well, where’d it start?”

The flashpoint is meaningless now. My insecurities and my doublethinking, outsider-looking-in mentality make me the writer I am today. They also make me the flawed person I am today. Shit happens.

If it takes me six minutes to unravel all the motherfucking AC power supply cables in my gadget drawer every time I wanna charge up some toy, I can’t imagine how long my tangle of mindfucks will take to unfurl.

But it starts Tuesday. I’m taking advantage of the opportunity for free therapy, since I did some poking around, and I’m not too big to admit I could use a little headshrinking. Tuesday I meet the placement folk, to find out who might be best-suited to be that sage voice and wise ear for me while I take this path.

I’m excited and scared. It’s probably just a weird coincidence, but Sunday morning a Professional Organizing Kinda Gal’s comin’ over to help me get past the logjam of personal belongings in my lowly hovel. Where are we starting? In the storage where all my Dead Mother shit is kept. Oh, that’ll yield us some fodder for the headshrinking, no?

I suspect that, as far as domestic tasks go, this Sunday’s storage-clearing-attempt will be one of the hardest I’ve ever faced. So many skeletons and dreamed-of ghosts in the ten years since that stupid summer day. I’m prepared. I’m daunted. I’m good to go. And I’m ready for the fallout.

I’m really emotionally overwhelmed with everything I’ve been considering of late. I’m trying to tie up some loose ends around the home and my mental realm, so as to lay the foundation for what I hope’s a fantastic year of crazy change ahead. This is the existential midpoint of a journey where one stops, suspends the engines, pulls out the charts and maps and compasses, and takes stock of where they’re actually headed, then rights the path to get back on track.

Well, welcome to my July of Journey-Righting. Holy fucking headtrip, Batman.

On with the reconfirguing of self, the processing of past, the planning for future.

I’m scared of dealing with these things. I’m afraid to put my demons to rest. I’m afraid to give into dreams for my future.

Because then what excuses are left to me? What can I blame my eterna-limbo on? When I’m all KraZ-Glued back together, what then?

When you’ve spent so long being fucked up, the alternative brings a lot of fear. Kind of like Brooks Hadley getting released from Shawshank Prison. Sometimes being locked up all your life makes freedom the scariest thing you’ll ever endure.

I don’t know what else to tell you. I know what I don’t want to share.

It’s going to be a really, really important weekend for me. It’s the start of a new era. The slow unraveling of a new, less encumbered, less fearful Steff.

And I have no idea what that’s going to mean. But at least I’m hopeful it’s something good.