Welcome to my "blog". It's more of a collection of thoughts, ideas, and past experiences that have shaped me into the person I am. Nothing in here should be taken too seriously; life shouldn't be taken too seriously. That's kind of what brought me to the title "People Suck, and That's OK", because in the world we live in, we hold everyone to an egregiously high standard, to the point that all we see are flaws and failures. Hopefully my thoughts here will reshape the way you see the world. If you find anything useful, please take it to heart. If nothing else, this'll help me pen out some of what I have seen, so that I can come back to it as a reference for the future.
It's kind of my memoir of life. I tend not to be too open about many aspects of my life, mostly because people don't care, or at least they won't know what to do with the information if they had it. So why bother sharing, right? Well, I learned something interesting talking to a good friend, Justin (if you don't know him, go meet him RIGHT NOW! Incredible man), that we live in an oxymoronic state, where what we perceive as logical really is a notion we create to protect ourselves from what we don't understand. Yet, the things that really are, the truths just beyond our reach, remain beyond our reach because we choose not to adjust our perspective and acknowledge that how we see things is incorrect: that what we perceived as askew, or even contradictory, is actually truth that's been present the whole time. So in my "blog", I hope to correct my wrongs when I said that hiding myself is the only way others will like me, and now state that in revealing myself to others, people will deepen their relationship with me.
This comes with one caveat: there are lots of truths that aren't universal. Is there truth in a skewed perspective? Of course. Truth penetrates deeper than factual evidence. We all live in our perceived truths and no one can convince us otherwise. That's why five people could have the exact same car ride and write five different accounts of what happened. The facts are the same, but the perspective -- the lens we use to understand and interact with the world -- differs from person to person. Nevertheless, I feel and have come to understand, that there are some universal aspects about humanity that if understood, would enable greater relationships and an overall sense of happiness by the people who accept them. That's what this is all about. What are those truths? How can one arrive to those truths? How do those truths apply to everyone's unique situations?
You'll just have to keep reading to find out.
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This "blog" will be organized into three major sections: The Challenge, The Enlightenment, and The Future. Inside The Challenge, I'll talk about the different periods of my life, and the struggles I went through emotionally, mentally, socially, physically, and even spiritually. I'll talk about how my perspective became skewed with regards to those events and what I did during that time to alter that perspective. Inside The Enlightenment, I'll discuss those perspectives, and how I applied some simple principles to dramatically change my perspective. Finally, I'll finish of with how The Future looks for me, and what changes are still in store.
Thursday, July 2, 2015
Chapter 1. The Challenge: Early Childhood
I don't want to say my childhood was extremely difficult. Why? Because there will always be "that guy" who looks at my childhood and says: "pshh, that was nothing compared to what I had to go through." You're absolutely right, "that guy", your life was harder than mine. I grew up in a white middle class family, with a stable mother and father. Yes, I had a good education and ample opportunities to pursue whatever I wanted. But hey, "that guy", you missed the whole point of the introduction. So let me say it again, in all caps this time:
PERSPECTIVE IS RELATIVE!
Phew, now that we've got that cleared up, let's delve right into my childhood, skipping past all the little points that don't really matter.
I was blessed, or cursed depending on your take of things, with the uncanny ability to care for other people. I was always aware of people's emotional state and abhorred seeing people suffer. Like, tragically aware of other people. Like it would consume every fiber of my being aware of other people. But hey, I was five, what did I know?
And that's just the point: I didn't know. How would I have known that I was being emotionally manipulated by my older brother when he said, "if you tell mom I did [insert bad thing here], I'll run away." Or, "if you don't [insert task here] for me, I'll run away and I'll never come back and it'll be all your fault." I mean, I was five! I was happy if I could stack wooden blocks higher than my head; I wasn't thinking about the emotional and social repercussions of succumbing to my brother's cunning manipulation. In fact, I probably couldn't have told you what half of those words meant, let alone pronounce them correctly.
But neither could my brother. And it's a key idea to bring up at this point in the narrative. My brother was eight at the time. He knew absolutely nothing about the psychological development of children and their susceptibility to stinted growth in a hostile environment. All he knew is that he did something stupid and he found a way to not get in trouble for it. I don't blame him; I would've done the same thing. In fact, I did (to a varying degree), when I put on seven pairs of underwear before getting spanked, just so it wouldn't hurt as much. It was the giggling during the spanking that let my dad know something was up, and we got bare bottom spankings from then on out. Yeah, my bad....
It doesn't excuse, however, the increased severity of damage I was exposed to over the following years. It started out as "I'll run away", then "I'll run away and never come back and it's your fault." You see the increase in severity already happening? It's subtle, but the attention was directed from him to me, and what was previously implied was now being stated. And forcefully so. Gone was the notion that I was defending my brother, and in it's place was "I had committed an error and that obeying my brother was the means by which to atone for it." So picture this: every time my brother, from here on out, is abusive to me, it is my fault because of something I did. Remember that; it'll be an important piece of understanding when the abuse gets worse.
Because the abuse got worse. And why wouldn't it?! We see that in every aspect of our lives and would be so ignorant to say it doesn't exist. You like sugar? The more you eat, the less it satisfies, so you must eat more. But sugar doesn't satisfy anymore, so find something even more rewarding. Try a little snort of cocaine; feel the buzz as it surges through your veins. But even cocaine loses it's stimulation after a while, so do more. More and more and more until you're lying on a cold slab in the morgue, wondering how your life devolved to that point. Dramatic? Absolutely.
The difference between you and that man on the slab is that something inside says, "Woah! You've gone too far and you need to stop." Everyone has different thresholds, and the thresholds vary from activity to activity. You may not know a whole lot of people who have drug addictions, but you sure know a lot of people with social media addictions -- or better yet, with just plain media addictions. It's because it's easier to excuse addictions to ethereal concepts like media than it is to excuse addictions to physical concepts like drugs. That's why so many people suffer from depression and anxiety: we as a society haven't set a limit to how much we can crave those emotions, but we shun the people who have gone too far. We don't know where to say "you've gone too far", so it IS easy to go too far.
My brother was addicted to manipulation, and I was his drug.
So of course the abuse shifted from verbal to physical. No longer was it "do this or I'll run away", it was "do this or I'll beat you." Soon it became "I'll beat you" . . . with no other context. I have a journal entry from May 2nd, 1999, which reads, "Today was just like every other. [My brother] picked on me (like he always does,) but it was different, we [had] a [special] fireside. They sung tons of things like church songs. We had a slide show about Jesus Christ. It touched me how the harmony ran through my ears but never came out. That helped my spirit grow." (brackets represent names that were replaced and words that were misspelled and are now corrected) I found it so interesting, looking back, that I would include the phrase "like he always does." I was eight years old! No eight year old should be making that general of a statement! The only time an eight year old should be generalizing is to say, "I ate ice cream today (like I always do)." And that's it! Needless to say, it did progressively get worse and worse as the years went on, and he branched out to inflicting pain to others rather than isolating it towards me.
But for me and my perspective, I trusted him. He took that trust, and decimated it. What more could I have done to have shown him that I loved him and that I would've done anything in the world to see him happy? Quite frankly: nothing, really. That's the part that hurts to this day. There is nothing I could've done differently, because the emotions I felt were real for me, and in those emotions, I acted the best that I could've for the situation. I watched, from my little five year old body, my parents sacrifice their time, their money, and everything else they had to make me happy. I was a greedy child (typical for anyone under the age of 25 years old), so I didn't notice. Clarification: I didn't consciously notice . I was consciously aware because I was able to emulate, at least the actions, to others that I loved and trusted.
What I missed was the substance behind the actions. I missed the emotional connection between what I was feeling and what I was doing. I was acting through my emotions using motions I'd watched others do, trusting the people to whom I was emoting. That's all I had to go off of as a little five year old. That's why I don't hold myself accountable anymore for the emotional scaring that, to this day, still lingers.
Regardless, I must acknowledge, for narrative purposes, that I was damaged by the persistent barrage of attacks I was exposed to. That delicate trust I had personally established with my brother was dashed. Not only that, but the idea that the pain I was undergoing was a direct consequence of my actions was seared into my head and became the governing factor of all my future actions and decisions. From then on, anytime there was pain, or sorrow, or misunderstandings, or a lack of trust, or even a perceived lack of trust, it was my fault, and it was my responsibility to correct it.
You can see now, how that would create a sour beginning to someone as impressionable as a five year old. You can see how my perspective started with narrow slits with regards to what I saw in the outside world and gaping holes in how I saw myself. This is where I draw the first universal truth: regardless of what you've experienced in life, it is easier to look inward and blame yourself than it is to see situations as they really are. This even extends to people so narcissistic that nothing they say or do is their own fault and that everything that goes wrong in the world is a direct result of someone else's actions. Narcissism isn't seeing the world objectively; it's putting up a wall in front of that gaping hole that looks inwards. How did that wall get up there? The narcissist was so tired of the constant barrage of personal attacks that they chose to wall up their half of the perspective rather than accept a complete view of the world.
It doesn't matter who you are, take what you perceive with a grain of salt. That goes both ways. What you see of others may not be the whole picture, and how you see yourself for sure isn't the whole picture. We cannot understand who we are and the complex weave of chemical balances that are required to maintain us. All we have to go off of is that something feels good so we do it, or something doesn't feel good so we don't do it. Anything beyond that is something we've developed to either encourage ourselves to do something that feels good or protect ourselves from something that doesn't feel good. Keep that perspective as we move through the following chapters. Remember that objectivity as I expose you to the furthest extremes of emotional subjectivity that's out there.
But who am I to talk; it's all a matter of perspective anyway.
PERSPECTIVE IS RELATIVE!
Phew, now that we've got that cleared up, let's delve right into my childhood, skipping past all the little points that don't really matter.
I was blessed, or cursed depending on your take of things, with the uncanny ability to care for other people. I was always aware of people's emotional state and abhorred seeing people suffer. Like, tragically aware of other people. Like it would consume every fiber of my being aware of other people. But hey, I was five, what did I know?
And that's just the point: I didn't know. How would I have known that I was being emotionally manipulated by my older brother when he said, "if you tell mom I did [insert bad thing here], I'll run away." Or, "if you don't [insert task here] for me, I'll run away and I'll never come back and it'll be all your fault." I mean, I was five! I was happy if I could stack wooden blocks higher than my head; I wasn't thinking about the emotional and social repercussions of succumbing to my brother's cunning manipulation. In fact, I probably couldn't have told you what half of those words meant, let alone pronounce them correctly.
But neither could my brother. And it's a key idea to bring up at this point in the narrative. My brother was eight at the time. He knew absolutely nothing about the psychological development of children and their susceptibility to stinted growth in a hostile environment. All he knew is that he did something stupid and he found a way to not get in trouble for it. I don't blame him; I would've done the same thing. In fact, I did (to a varying degree), when I put on seven pairs of underwear before getting spanked, just so it wouldn't hurt as much. It was the giggling during the spanking that let my dad know something was up, and we got bare bottom spankings from then on out. Yeah, my bad....
It doesn't excuse, however, the increased severity of damage I was exposed to over the following years. It started out as "I'll run away", then "I'll run away and never come back and it's your fault." You see the increase in severity already happening? It's subtle, but the attention was directed from him to me, and what was previously implied was now being stated. And forcefully so. Gone was the notion that I was defending my brother, and in it's place was "I had committed an error and that obeying my brother was the means by which to atone for it." So picture this: every time my brother, from here on out, is abusive to me, it is my fault because of something I did. Remember that; it'll be an important piece of understanding when the abuse gets worse.
Because the abuse got worse. And why wouldn't it?! We see that in every aspect of our lives and would be so ignorant to say it doesn't exist. You like sugar? The more you eat, the less it satisfies, so you must eat more. But sugar doesn't satisfy anymore, so find something even more rewarding. Try a little snort of cocaine; feel the buzz as it surges through your veins. But even cocaine loses it's stimulation after a while, so do more. More and more and more until you're lying on a cold slab in the morgue, wondering how your life devolved to that point. Dramatic? Absolutely.
The difference between you and that man on the slab is that something inside says, "Woah! You've gone too far and you need to stop." Everyone has different thresholds, and the thresholds vary from activity to activity. You may not know a whole lot of people who have drug addictions, but you sure know a lot of people with social media addictions -- or better yet, with just plain media addictions. It's because it's easier to excuse addictions to ethereal concepts like media than it is to excuse addictions to physical concepts like drugs. That's why so many people suffer from depression and anxiety: we as a society haven't set a limit to how much we can crave those emotions, but we shun the people who have gone too far. We don't know where to say "you've gone too far", so it IS easy to go too far.
My brother was addicted to manipulation, and I was his drug.
So of course the abuse shifted from verbal to physical. No longer was it "do this or I'll run away", it was "do this or I'll beat you." Soon it became "I'll beat you" . . . with no other context. I have a journal entry from May 2nd, 1999, which reads, "Today was just like every other. [My brother] picked on me (like he always does,) but it was different, we [had] a [special] fireside. They sung tons of things like church songs. We had a slide show about Jesus Christ. It touched me how the harmony ran through my ears but never came out. That helped my spirit grow." (brackets represent names that were replaced and words that were misspelled and are now corrected) I found it so interesting, looking back, that I would include the phrase "like he always does." I was eight years old! No eight year old should be making that general of a statement! The only time an eight year old should be generalizing is to say, "I ate ice cream today (like I always do)." And that's it! Needless to say, it did progressively get worse and worse as the years went on, and he branched out to inflicting pain to others rather than isolating it towards me.
But for me and my perspective, I trusted him. He took that trust, and decimated it. What more could I have done to have shown him that I loved him and that I would've done anything in the world to see him happy? Quite frankly: nothing, really. That's the part that hurts to this day. There is nothing I could've done differently, because the emotions I felt were real for me, and in those emotions, I acted the best that I could've for the situation. I watched, from my little five year old body, my parents sacrifice their time, their money, and everything else they had to make me happy. I was a greedy child (typical for anyone under the age of 25 years old), so I didn't notice. Clarification: I didn't consciously notice . I was consciously aware because I was able to emulate, at least the actions, to others that I loved and trusted.
What I missed was the substance behind the actions. I missed the emotional connection between what I was feeling and what I was doing. I was acting through my emotions using motions I'd watched others do, trusting the people to whom I was emoting. That's all I had to go off of as a little five year old. That's why I don't hold myself accountable anymore for the emotional scaring that, to this day, still lingers.
Regardless, I must acknowledge, for narrative purposes, that I was damaged by the persistent barrage of attacks I was exposed to. That delicate trust I had personally established with my brother was dashed. Not only that, but the idea that the pain I was undergoing was a direct consequence of my actions was seared into my head and became the governing factor of all my future actions and decisions. From then on, anytime there was pain, or sorrow, or misunderstandings, or a lack of trust, or even a perceived lack of trust, it was my fault, and it was my responsibility to correct it.
You can see now, how that would create a sour beginning to someone as impressionable as a five year old. You can see how my perspective started with narrow slits with regards to what I saw in the outside world and gaping holes in how I saw myself. This is where I draw the first universal truth: regardless of what you've experienced in life, it is easier to look inward and blame yourself than it is to see situations as they really are. This even extends to people so narcissistic that nothing they say or do is their own fault and that everything that goes wrong in the world is a direct result of someone else's actions. Narcissism isn't seeing the world objectively; it's putting up a wall in front of that gaping hole that looks inwards. How did that wall get up there? The narcissist was so tired of the constant barrage of personal attacks that they chose to wall up their half of the perspective rather than accept a complete view of the world.
It doesn't matter who you are, take what you perceive with a grain of salt. That goes both ways. What you see of others may not be the whole picture, and how you see yourself for sure isn't the whole picture. We cannot understand who we are and the complex weave of chemical balances that are required to maintain us. All we have to go off of is that something feels good so we do it, or something doesn't feel good so we don't do it. Anything beyond that is something we've developed to either encourage ourselves to do something that feels good or protect ourselves from something that doesn't feel good. Keep that perspective as we move through the following chapters. Remember that objectivity as I expose you to the furthest extremes of emotional subjectivity that's out there.
But who am I to talk; it's all a matter of perspective anyway.
Chapter 2. The Challenge: Junior High School
What a stupid period in everyone's life. I mean, we all suck at being kids, then you throw hormones in on top of that, AND you lock us up for hours on end and lecture us until our ears bleed. Yeah, it's a pretty brutal battleground of emotional warfare.
Unless you're popular, then it's . . . less . . . brutal . . . ? I don't know, I was never popular in junior high school.
In fact, I was the antithesis of popular: I was a nerd. Mind you, I wasn't just any nerd, I was a skinny, math-loving, Magic the Gathering playing, video game fanatic-type of nerd. Like, I went to math competitions on a regular basis and just loved it. I saved up every penny from Christmas, Valentines, Birthday -- you name it, I saved it -- to buy more packs of Magic cards. I mean, I literally programmed games on my graphing calculator in my spare time. I always had my TI-83 plus manual in my backpack, in case I couldn't figure out a coding problem, and I used it so much whole sections of pages starting falling out.
So it's not hard to see why I wasn't popular. I mean, what "cool" kid wants to sit down and talk about the Fibonacci sequence and it's visual application in nature? I'll answer it for you, NO ONE DOES. But this chapter isn't about "those" guys, it's about the people who did want to sit down and talk to me about the advantages of including direct-damage spells in a rush down goblin Magic the Gathering deck. It's about the friends who accepted me for who I was and not for the social stigma that was associated with me.
And it's about how I ruined those friendships.
Let me start with two incredible friends I had around this time: Chris and Alex. Man, did we do everything together! They'd test my games, we talked Magic, we made our own card games. In fact, we redesigned chess so that instead of taking pieces traditionally, you'd target pieces from a range, eliminating the opponent's piece while keeping your piece stationary, giving the game a whole different strategic element. You see! I still remember the "nerdisms" we had together. And you know what, I loved it! I still love it! I still want to make that chess board and show all those noobs what's up! These were two people I looked forward to seeing everyday because they didn't care who I was or how I dressed or how others perceived me.
So it came as an absolute shock when my parents turned to me one day and said, "AJ, your friends are weird." I mean, how do you respond?! A rift was created between the two people that I love the most and the two people who love me unconditionally. And quite frankly, both of those descriptors applied to both of those groups of individuals in their own respective way. How could I ever abandon these friends who had supported me socially when no one else did? Yet, how could I ever face my parents when I associated with people they didn't approve of? I so wish it was one of those one-off "your friends are weird, but we still love you." That wasn't the case.
Socially, they had a point. The people I spent time with were weird. I was weird. I don't think they knew how to handle a weird child, and were probably worried about my social development, me being the outcast and loner that I was. I mean, I still remember one of the few friends I had in ninth grade, coming up to me and saying that everyone in my section of choir made fun of me regularly behind my back. How do you handle that social rejection?! I hardly had any friends, and those I did weren't accepted by my parents. And those who weren't my friends frequently made fun of me. Can you see just how isolated I had become from society?
Because, from that point forward, I couldn't take my friends home anymore. In fact, I still don't take my friends home anymore because those moments of disapproval from the ones I loved the most persisted well beyond that group of friends. I could not face rejection again when all I had ever faced was rejection.
And even still, I couldn't be friends with the friends I had. Inside me lingered the idea that I needed friends who weren't weird. I needed to surround myself with those my parents would approve of -- not that I'd ever again give them the chance TO disapprove -- so that I could once again be accepted somewhere.
It's in our nature to strive for acceptance. Absolutely no one wants to be left alone in the cold while others feast in the warmth. No one wants to be the last picked, or the butt of the joke, or the one others pity. People want love. They want a friendly smile, and a pat on the back, and words of affirmation that everything will be alright. They want a place to go Friday nights when they're feeling lonely or a person to talk to when life gets just a little too out of control. Honestly, it doesn't take much to be accepting of others.
But for me, in that time, I didn't get that. It was "choose my friends" or "choose my family", and I choose neither. I ran away, emotionally, from my parents, from my friends. It was easier to accept the isolation and bury myself than to have others bury me instead. Somehow, I felt if I brought the solitude upon myself, it wouldn't hurt as bad when others verbally assaulted me. I couldn't face my parents and their disdain; I couldn't face my friends and the negative social stigma they brought with them.
That's why I ran. I looked for acceptance by leaving those who accepted me. I looked for happiness by deserting the happiness I blissfully enjoyed. I started caring so much about what others thought of me, that I forgot to think about what I thought of myself. I buried myself so far behind a mask that I no longer knew who I was.
So when Blake, one of the greatest and most loyal friends I have ever had, came into my life, I was elated, for a season. Until I found more popular friends. And since he wasn't cool enough to hang with my more popular friends, I abandoned him. He merely became a stepping stone to a higher level of social acceptance.
And to this day, deserting him is one of the biggest regrets I have in my life.
I wish I could go back in time and slap myself for thinking that being popular was happiness. I wish I could show "past me" what those people that "past me" wanted to aspire to, had aspired to. I would show "past me" that the little blip of popularity means absolutely nothing in the grand scheme of things. I would scream to "past me" that true and loyal friends are so hard to come by, and that you must cling with every fiber of your being to those who really accept you and are willing to stick by you and ignore all the other voices that tell you otherwise. But I can't. And even if I could, I don't think I would've believed me. So all I have left are the memories of desertion, and isolation, and the pain and the longing associated. All I can do now is be that kid who talked Magic with me, to someone else.
All I can do is atone for my mistakes, and move on.
Unless you're popular, then it's . . . less . . . brutal . . . ? I don't know, I was never popular in junior high school.
In fact, I was the antithesis of popular: I was a nerd. Mind you, I wasn't just any nerd, I was a skinny, math-loving, Magic the Gathering playing, video game fanatic-type of nerd. Like, I went to math competitions on a regular basis and just loved it. I saved up every penny from Christmas, Valentines, Birthday -- you name it, I saved it -- to buy more packs of Magic cards. I mean, I literally programmed games on my graphing calculator in my spare time. I always had my TI-83 plus manual in my backpack, in case I couldn't figure out a coding problem, and I used it so much whole sections of pages starting falling out.
So it's not hard to see why I wasn't popular. I mean, what "cool" kid wants to sit down and talk about the Fibonacci sequence and it's visual application in nature? I'll answer it for you, NO ONE DOES. But this chapter isn't about "those" guys, it's about the people who did want to sit down and talk to me about the advantages of including direct-damage spells in a rush down goblin Magic the Gathering deck. It's about the friends who accepted me for who I was and not for the social stigma that was associated with me.
And it's about how I ruined those friendships.
Let me start with two incredible friends I had around this time: Chris and Alex. Man, did we do everything together! They'd test my games, we talked Magic, we made our own card games. In fact, we redesigned chess so that instead of taking pieces traditionally, you'd target pieces from a range, eliminating the opponent's piece while keeping your piece stationary, giving the game a whole different strategic element. You see! I still remember the "nerdisms" we had together. And you know what, I loved it! I still love it! I still want to make that chess board and show all those noobs what's up! These were two people I looked forward to seeing everyday because they didn't care who I was or how I dressed or how others perceived me.
So it came as an absolute shock when my parents turned to me one day and said, "AJ, your friends are weird." I mean, how do you respond?! A rift was created between the two people that I love the most and the two people who love me unconditionally. And quite frankly, both of those descriptors applied to both of those groups of individuals in their own respective way. How could I ever abandon these friends who had supported me socially when no one else did? Yet, how could I ever face my parents when I associated with people they didn't approve of? I so wish it was one of those one-off "your friends are weird, but we still love you." That wasn't the case.
Socially, they had a point. The people I spent time with were weird. I was weird. I don't think they knew how to handle a weird child, and were probably worried about my social development, me being the outcast and loner that I was. I mean, I still remember one of the few friends I had in ninth grade, coming up to me and saying that everyone in my section of choir made fun of me regularly behind my back. How do you handle that social rejection?! I hardly had any friends, and those I did weren't accepted by my parents. And those who weren't my friends frequently made fun of me. Can you see just how isolated I had become from society?
Because, from that point forward, I couldn't take my friends home anymore. In fact, I still don't take my friends home anymore because those moments of disapproval from the ones I loved the most persisted well beyond that group of friends. I could not face rejection again when all I had ever faced was rejection.
And even still, I couldn't be friends with the friends I had. Inside me lingered the idea that I needed friends who weren't weird. I needed to surround myself with those my parents would approve of -- not that I'd ever again give them the chance TO disapprove -- so that I could once again be accepted somewhere.
It's in our nature to strive for acceptance. Absolutely no one wants to be left alone in the cold while others feast in the warmth. No one wants to be the last picked, or the butt of the joke, or the one others pity. People want love. They want a friendly smile, and a pat on the back, and words of affirmation that everything will be alright. They want a place to go Friday nights when they're feeling lonely or a person to talk to when life gets just a little too out of control. Honestly, it doesn't take much to be accepting of others.
But for me, in that time, I didn't get that. It was "choose my friends" or "choose my family", and I choose neither. I ran away, emotionally, from my parents, from my friends. It was easier to accept the isolation and bury myself than to have others bury me instead. Somehow, I felt if I brought the solitude upon myself, it wouldn't hurt as bad when others verbally assaulted me. I couldn't face my parents and their disdain; I couldn't face my friends and the negative social stigma they brought with them.
That's why I ran. I looked for acceptance by leaving those who accepted me. I looked for happiness by deserting the happiness I blissfully enjoyed. I started caring so much about what others thought of me, that I forgot to think about what I thought of myself. I buried myself so far behind a mask that I no longer knew who I was.
So when Blake, one of the greatest and most loyal friends I have ever had, came into my life, I was elated, for a season. Until I found more popular friends. And since he wasn't cool enough to hang with my more popular friends, I abandoned him. He merely became a stepping stone to a higher level of social acceptance.
And to this day, deserting him is one of the biggest regrets I have in my life.
I wish I could go back in time and slap myself for thinking that being popular was happiness. I wish I could show "past me" what those people that "past me" wanted to aspire to, had aspired to. I would show "past me" that the little blip of popularity means absolutely nothing in the grand scheme of things. I would scream to "past me" that true and loyal friends are so hard to come by, and that you must cling with every fiber of your being to those who really accept you and are willing to stick by you and ignore all the other voices that tell you otherwise. But I can't. And even if I could, I don't think I would've believed me. So all I have left are the memories of desertion, and isolation, and the pain and the longing associated. All I can do now is be that kid who talked Magic with me, to someone else.
All I can do is atone for my mistakes, and move on.
Chapter 3. The Challenge: High School
Here we are. The pinnacle of life! We are now intelligent human beings who are capable of anything; an unstoppable barrage of people who are in a position to change the very fabric of our understanding of the world and finally establish global peace and civility.
Oh wait, who am I kidding! High school's full of pimpled-faced, hormonal-driven teenagers who are just trying not to wreck their parent's car, let alone devise a plan to eliminate world hunger. I mean, let's be reasonable, here, high school is just a slightly more difficult version of junior high school. You could virtually copy and paste everything I said about junior high school, switch out some words to more accurately represent the demographic of 16 to 18 year olds, and this chapter would virtually write itself; just slap a bow on it and say Christmas came early this year.
But, high school for me was different. I was entering a transitory period of my life where I was migrating from the "AJ" I knew to the "AJ" I wanted to be. Or more the "AJ" I thought I wanted to be. Or even more the "AJ" my parents thought I should be. It's tricky to say, really. I had a cloudy understanding of what I wanted to be -- merely that it WASN'T who I was at the time. Yet, as I ran from that person, I kept with me the actions and thoughts and emotions that accompanied him. I could change my looks, my friends, my voice, my entire persona, but I couldn't change who I was. I couldn't change my view on reality and the way I synthesized my experiences. Quite frankly, what I had experienced to that point was the only reality I knew; I didn't know how to behave another way.
My way of behaving could be summarized in one word: faithlessness.
You can see, up to this point, that I'd developed trust issues when it came to my interactions with others. How quickly had my world been repeatedly shattered by instilling faith in them, and watching them dash it to pieces. And even more so, how quickly I had taken the faith of loved ones, and left them dangling for the appeasement of society. Experience after experience revealed to me that putting your confidence in others would only lead to heartache and suffering, and that a better way to live was out there.
So I went looking. It wasn't long until I found a new group of friends who were popular enough. But little did I realize just how incredible these new friends were. They were smart, and funny, and just a riot to be with. I cherished the times we would get together to "study" physics -- my parents were a bit tyrannical at the time and wouldn't let me out of the house on a weekday unless it was school related. Well, of course we played Settlers of Catan instead of physics. I mean, physics, or Settlers. Mind-numbingly droll schoolwork, or watching your friends loose their minds because the number three was rolled seven times in a row and they thought it'd be smart to build on sixes and eights. But it was Settlers of Catan, and Nertz, and pizza, and movies that I just could never stay awake for, and dances, and wow was it awesome.
Yet, my reality centered on a lack of trust. It was centered on abandonment and disdain. I finally got what I wanted, but the person I was, the reality I lived in, pushed me away from that happiness. I didn't trust them. I constantly feared that they were off having a grand old time together away from me and that I just wasn't important enough to be invited. I mean, they did. They would go and watch a movie together and I wouldn't be invited and hearing about it later just crushed my heart.
I still remember that two of them, Seth and Travis, were totally inseparable. Yeah sure, the group would get together and play frisbee or get ice cream or what have you, but the escapades these two went were unfathomable. Oh, how I wanted to be like them, how I wanted to be with them! I so dearly wanted to be accepted by them and have what I couldn't. The magnitude of my friendship with them was so insignificant by comparison that it was all too easy to say that because I was not at the grandeur of their friendship, my relationship with them was inferior; I would much rather remove my trust in them than to invest and be rejected. I would rather restrict my happiness and have something, then to devote myself, and have nothing.
I think it's important to note the reality of the situation. I don't want to interject as hindsight, but perspective here is critical. I was dancing almost 20 hours a week in both a formation and individual setting, was a state officer with FCCLA, was taking three different AP courses, and was part of my school's audition choir and culinary arts program. So let's look at this again. My value as a person was based on how society perceived me, yet I hungered for the acceptance and love of others. There were two paths I wanted to take, and in trying to take both, I lost myself. I lost my happiness.
In no way had I lost these friends. There is no and will never be empirical evidence that says I was valued any less than any other person in that group, much less by the two I so idolized. My value came from my perspective, and I choose to see that value as worthless. I choose to accept faithlessness as my means of coping with my observed reality because it was the only way I knew how to comprehend what I view and be able to respond appropriately. And not even respond appropriately; just respond period.
But, in the midst of all of this turmoil, there was someone who was uniquely different. I still remember this haughty, narcissistic woman named Kathryn who was elected as NJHS president, beating me by one measly vote in the elections. And she had the gall to not even show up on election day! Oh, did I make her life a living hell that year. If she was going to be tyrannical as president, I was going to be ruthless as a club member.
Yet, there was this placid, beautifully-talented piano player named Kathryn who was a member of my piano team and was just the most tenderhearted person you'd ever meet. Of course, it would take me almost a year to realize that Kathryn and Kathryn was just Kathryn and that I was a dolt, but I digress. She was there through all those physics "study sessions", through the movies, the food, the good, the bad. Easily, we'd burn hours at a time talking on the phone while working through calculus. Seriously, the paint on my cellphone began chipping because we would talk for so long it would get stuck to my face and peel off when I would go to hang up.
Something about her gave me faith when I couldn't have faith in myself, much less faith in anyone else. To this day I don't know why I could trust her. With everything I've learned, looking back I still can't figure it out. Of course we were with our hardships and misunderstandings. Like when Seth took her to the homecoming dance and convinced me they kissed at the doorstep, and I was so livid at the two of them I couldn't see straight. It came with its own trials but there was an element of faith that underlined the relationship that somehow superseded everything else I had experienced in life.
This book would be much shorter if we had stuck together, if I had just been able to keep that faith going and put my trust in someone else, to take a risk again and gamble on my future happiness. But this book exists, and I sit here just as single as the day I was born, and she's married and of having the time of her life. Fear, as it were, found a way to ruin my relationship the most beautiful person in my life. That lack of trust that so plagued my childhood and went on to define every aspect of my persona crept into the relationship that was just too good to be true. I let it happen, and I still pay the consequences.
The fear I ran away, that faithlessness I so desperately sought shelter from, is the fear that capsized the relations I had so desperately been looking for.
Oh wait, who am I kidding! High school's full of pimpled-faced, hormonal-driven teenagers who are just trying not to wreck their parent's car, let alone devise a plan to eliminate world hunger. I mean, let's be reasonable, here, high school is just a slightly more difficult version of junior high school. You could virtually copy and paste everything I said about junior high school, switch out some words to more accurately represent the demographic of 16 to 18 year olds, and this chapter would virtually write itself; just slap a bow on it and say Christmas came early this year.
But, high school for me was different. I was entering a transitory period of my life where I was migrating from the "AJ" I knew to the "AJ" I wanted to be. Or more the "AJ" I thought I wanted to be. Or even more the "AJ" my parents thought I should be. It's tricky to say, really. I had a cloudy understanding of what I wanted to be -- merely that it WASN'T who I was at the time. Yet, as I ran from that person, I kept with me the actions and thoughts and emotions that accompanied him. I could change my looks, my friends, my voice, my entire persona, but I couldn't change who I was. I couldn't change my view on reality and the way I synthesized my experiences. Quite frankly, what I had experienced to that point was the only reality I knew; I didn't know how to behave another way.
My way of behaving could be summarized in one word: faithlessness.
You can see, up to this point, that I'd developed trust issues when it came to my interactions with others. How quickly had my world been repeatedly shattered by instilling faith in them, and watching them dash it to pieces. And even more so, how quickly I had taken the faith of loved ones, and left them dangling for the appeasement of society. Experience after experience revealed to me that putting your confidence in others would only lead to heartache and suffering, and that a better way to live was out there.
So I went looking. It wasn't long until I found a new group of friends who were popular enough. But little did I realize just how incredible these new friends were. They were smart, and funny, and just a riot to be with. I cherished the times we would get together to "study" physics -- my parents were a bit tyrannical at the time and wouldn't let me out of the house on a weekday unless it was school related. Well, of course we played Settlers of Catan instead of physics. I mean, physics, or Settlers. Mind-numbingly droll schoolwork, or watching your friends loose their minds because the number three was rolled seven times in a row and they thought it'd be smart to build on sixes and eights. But it was Settlers of Catan, and Nertz, and pizza, and movies that I just could never stay awake for, and dances, and wow was it awesome.
Yet, my reality centered on a lack of trust. It was centered on abandonment and disdain. I finally got what I wanted, but the person I was, the reality I lived in, pushed me away from that happiness. I didn't trust them. I constantly feared that they were off having a grand old time together away from me and that I just wasn't important enough to be invited. I mean, they did. They would go and watch a movie together and I wouldn't be invited and hearing about it later just crushed my heart.
I still remember that two of them, Seth and Travis, were totally inseparable. Yeah sure, the group would get together and play frisbee or get ice cream or what have you, but the escapades these two went were unfathomable. Oh, how I wanted to be like them, how I wanted to be with them! I so dearly wanted to be accepted by them and have what I couldn't. The magnitude of my friendship with them was so insignificant by comparison that it was all too easy to say that because I was not at the grandeur of their friendship, my relationship with them was inferior; I would much rather remove my trust in them than to invest and be rejected. I would rather restrict my happiness and have something, then to devote myself, and have nothing.
I think it's important to note the reality of the situation. I don't want to interject as hindsight, but perspective here is critical. I was dancing almost 20 hours a week in both a formation and individual setting, was a state officer with FCCLA, was taking three different AP courses, and was part of my school's audition choir and culinary arts program. So let's look at this again. My value as a person was based on how society perceived me, yet I hungered for the acceptance and love of others. There were two paths I wanted to take, and in trying to take both, I lost myself. I lost my happiness.
In no way had I lost these friends. There is no and will never be empirical evidence that says I was valued any less than any other person in that group, much less by the two I so idolized. My value came from my perspective, and I choose to see that value as worthless. I choose to accept faithlessness as my means of coping with my observed reality because it was the only way I knew how to comprehend what I view and be able to respond appropriately. And not even respond appropriately; just respond period.
But, in the midst of all of this turmoil, there was someone who was uniquely different. I still remember this haughty, narcissistic woman named Kathryn who was elected as NJHS president, beating me by one measly vote in the elections. And she had the gall to not even show up on election day! Oh, did I make her life a living hell that year. If she was going to be tyrannical as president, I was going to be ruthless as a club member.
Yet, there was this placid, beautifully-talented piano player named Kathryn who was a member of my piano team and was just the most tenderhearted person you'd ever meet. Of course, it would take me almost a year to realize that Kathryn and Kathryn was just Kathryn and that I was a dolt, but I digress. She was there through all those physics "study sessions", through the movies, the food, the good, the bad. Easily, we'd burn hours at a time talking on the phone while working through calculus. Seriously, the paint on my cellphone began chipping because we would talk for so long it would get stuck to my face and peel off when I would go to hang up.
Something about her gave me faith when I couldn't have faith in myself, much less faith in anyone else. To this day I don't know why I could trust her. With everything I've learned, looking back I still can't figure it out. Of course we were with our hardships and misunderstandings. Like when Seth took her to the homecoming dance and convinced me they kissed at the doorstep, and I was so livid at the two of them I couldn't see straight. It came with its own trials but there was an element of faith that underlined the relationship that somehow superseded everything else I had experienced in life.
This book would be much shorter if we had stuck together, if I had just been able to keep that faith going and put my trust in someone else, to take a risk again and gamble on my future happiness. But this book exists, and I sit here just as single as the day I was born, and she's married and of having the time of her life. Fear, as it were, found a way to ruin my relationship the most beautiful person in my life. That lack of trust that so plagued my childhood and went on to define every aspect of my persona crept into the relationship that was just too good to be true. I let it happen, and I still pay the consequences.
The fear I ran away, that faithlessness I so desperately sought shelter from, is the fear that capsized the relations I had so desperately been looking for.
Chapter 4. The Challenge: Mission
Today's topic is going to touch on religion. Just warning you. But, I'm going to approach it in a secular, analytical manner rather than delve into the theological aspects of the situation. In "The Enlightenment" section, I will have an entire chapter dedicated to religion and its application to relationships. However, I want this chapter to focus on what I was thinking and feeling AT THE TIME and not have it be a representation of what I feel nowadays, nor do I want to introduce theological solutions to these situations at this time.
Again, giving context for The Enlightenment.
Please don't stone me.
Let's get on track, here. You may have noticed from the section header that I served a mission. For those of you who are Mormon, you go, "OK, mission, check." For those of you who aren't Mormon, you're probably thinking, "you had a mission to do . . . what, again?" Yes, I was a Mormon Missionary who spent two years badgering you at your door, wondering if you wanted to read a book and come to church. That was me; I hope we can still be friends.
I get that I want this book to reach a general audience, and I want the experiences I talk about to apply on a broad scale to people and their lives. Hey, not many of you served a mission. Not the point. I'm including this section to talk about the culmination of everything I had been going through -- all the masochism, and self-aggrandizement, and people-pleasing, and fear, and . . . all that other garbage. It is the point in my life where everything descended into hell, and that's something I feel we can all relate to.
Because picture this: take a man who is hopelessly trying to please others, who fears that the people he trusts will desert and/or betray him, has a history of being ridiculed by those considered his peers, and desperately wants to see others happy, and you lock him up with a complete stranger 24/7, subject him to scorn and mockery by those with whom he interacts, and surround him with other insecure teenagers who are looking for an outlet to vent their pent up immaturity. You see how such a delicate situation just got bastardized?
If you can't, I certainly could. It consumed every fiber of my being more than any other point in my life. The anxiety that brewed inside me drove me to madness; the fear I was thwarting dragged me down to the cold pit of depression. I couldn't move; I couldn't speak; I was reduced to nothing; all while trying to do what was "right."
I want to step back out of the narrative to point out a distinction between anxiety and depression. These are two words often used interchangeably and aren't discussed often enough in popular society. This is where I come in as your friendly navigator through the minds of those "blessed" souls who have to lull through such murky conditions.
Anxiety is the fear of what others think of you. Times by a gagillion. Let me put this in another context that you might understand: Billy likes Sally. Sally's cute and is funny and smart and pretty, and Billy really likes that about Sally. But Billy is afraid of asking Sally out because Sally is WAY out of his league. I mean, what if Sally says no? What if Sally thinks Billy is fat and ugly and bad at speaking? What if Sally tells all her girlfriends and now everyone thinks Billy is fat and ugly and really, I mean really bad at speaking? Billy would have to change schools. He'd have to move to Mexico and grow out a mustache and learn Spanish and become a migrant farmer for the rest of his life. But wait?! Billy's not good at speaking. He can't move to Mexico and learn Spanish?! Everyone in Mexico will make fun of the way he says hola because he'll actually pronounce the "h" like hello instead of leaving it silent and he'll never fit in and it's ALL BECAUSE HE ASKED SALLY OUT! So, it's better for Billy to keep his little mouth shut instead of asking Sally out.
For those first few sentences you were totally with me, and by the end, you were like, "what just happened?!" But let me tell you, all those who have anxiety just read that paragraph and said, "you just described my entire life!" Normal people stop a few sentences in and realize just how absurd their train of thought is, and ask Sally out. Those with anxiety don't only do what I just describe above, but they do it for every situation they encounter, just to ensure that they never get hurt.
Depression is the fear of what you think of yourself. Times by a gagillion. Again, in a context you might understand: Billy likes Sally. Sally's cute and yada yada yada. Billy asks Sally out. Sally says, "thanks, but I'm not interested." Stab! Right to the heart. Billy's dejected. What could Billy have done better to have changed the outcome? Is it the clothes he's wearing? Is it what he said? What if Billy was just a little more confident, would she have said yes? But Sally said no. She rejected him and he is a failure. But failure doesn't stop at asking girls out. Failure is what's going to keep him from getting into college. I mean, how could he ever be successful enough to get into college if he isn't good enough to just get a girl to go out with him? And if he can't get into college, he'll never make enough money to live on his own, and he'll be stuck in his parent's basement for the rest of his life and he'll never amount to anything, and it's ALL BECAUSE SALLY SAID NO! So, it's better for Billy to never ask anyone out ever again and just keep to himself.
Again, you're like, "I totally get that and . . . you just lost me." But people with depression do that! Depression is looking inwards and saying, "I'm not good enough for [insert something small here]; therefore, I must not be good enough for [insert something insurmountably bigger here]." Or, "I failed once at [insert something you've only ever tried once here]; I am bound to fail again at [insert same thing] and I just cannot take the gravity of failure again. It's just too much for me."
On my Mormon mission, I had both. What do those people I talk to think of me? What if I say the wrong word? What if they don't like me? What if I'm not good enough? What if they go to hell and it's all my fault?! It must, therefore, be better not to even open my mouth than to open it and be scorned. It is better that I hide myself in a shell of who I really am than to expose myself and fail and writhe in my abhorrence.
Yeah, I was bad at talking to others. Remember, I was that nerdy kid with no social skills. I had a lot of doors slammed in my face, and was brutally made fun of by other missionaries who were supposed to be my friends. Where else did I have to go but to mentally and emotionally and socially disappear?
And yet, I'd get these just wonderful people who would tell me to "get over it; it's all in your head," or that I "just need more faith and prayers and everything will get better."
Seriously.
I mean, seriously. Thanks doc, I'll just go take a shot of "kiss it all better" and that'll solve everything! I can't believe I didn't realize that sooner; you're just the best! It just isn't that simple. Nothing, really, gets more convoluted than trying to help someone who has lost faith in every single person on planet Earth -- oneself included. We're talking years of betrayal and desolation and you think a simple "hey, suck it up" is going to make it better?! The gravity of the psychological damage that needs restitution far exceeds the symptoms that are being expressed.
But there is an important first step: recognition. The whole reason I wrote those massively exaggerated descriptions is to help recognize that situations like that happen all the time. I truly believed it was better for me not to open my mouth at a door than to be rejected. I literally stood at a door -- multiple doors, in fact -- and watched as my mission companion knocked on a door, waited for me to speak, and I stood in silence. Not a peep came out of my mouth. That is anxiety at its worse. And then, I'd go home, and berate myself for not being able to talk to others, and would curl up into a ball in the corner and loathe over my inability to speak. That is depression at its worse. No one told me about those emotions. No one sat me down and helped me understand that regular people go through what I went through on a regular basis.
The more I've lived, the more I realize that everyone is scared of the unknown. No one knows, truly, what anyone else is thinking, so there is always a lingering hint of anxiety with every interaction with which we engage. And everyone hates failure. That fear of failure keeps us holed up in our comfort zone, and there's something inside us that will come out and tap us on the head and say, "I can't believe you failed; you're worthless." That's human nature. It's OK. But it's surmountable, and recognition is that critical first step.
The second step: time. Change takes time. I underwent 19 years of emotional destruction; 20 minutes isn't going to be enough to come out conquer. But it is enough time for the little battles, the strength to say one line at a door, or to text a friend to see what they're doing, or to finally get the courage to roll out of bed and take a shower when all you want to do is toss your sheets over your head and hide from the world. Those are little victories. Those are the little battles that turn the tide of the war from hopelessness to a little glimmer of hope, to a congregate of rebels, to a legion of warriors, to overthrowing the government and finally getting rid of that authoritarian regime of anxiety and depression that ruled every thought and feeling and action of every moment of every day.
That is when the war is won.
Now, there are lots more steps, but they're better kept for a different section. Oh, and there're lots of other stories I could share. But suffice it to say that I hit rock bottom out on the sunny shores of Los Angeles, California. So much of my Mormon mission was dictated by the psychological trauma I collected over the years. But things got better. I got better.
There was a little glimmer of hope after all.
Again, giving context for The Enlightenment.
Please don't stone me.
Let's get on track, here. You may have noticed from the section header that I served a mission. For those of you who are Mormon, you go, "OK, mission, check." For those of you who aren't Mormon, you're probably thinking, "you had a mission to do . . . what, again?" Yes, I was a Mormon Missionary who spent two years badgering you at your door, wondering if you wanted to read a book and come to church. That was me; I hope we can still be friends.
I get that I want this book to reach a general audience, and I want the experiences I talk about to apply on a broad scale to people and their lives. Hey, not many of you served a mission. Not the point. I'm including this section to talk about the culmination of everything I had been going through -- all the masochism, and self-aggrandizement, and people-pleasing, and fear, and . . . all that other garbage. It is the point in my life where everything descended into hell, and that's something I feel we can all relate to.
Because picture this: take a man who is hopelessly trying to please others, who fears that the people he trusts will desert and/or betray him, has a history of being ridiculed by those considered his peers, and desperately wants to see others happy, and you lock him up with a complete stranger 24/7, subject him to scorn and mockery by those with whom he interacts, and surround him with other insecure teenagers who are looking for an outlet to vent their pent up immaturity. You see how such a delicate situation just got bastardized?
If you can't, I certainly could. It consumed every fiber of my being more than any other point in my life. The anxiety that brewed inside me drove me to madness; the fear I was thwarting dragged me down to the cold pit of depression. I couldn't move; I couldn't speak; I was reduced to nothing; all while trying to do what was "right."
I want to step back out of the narrative to point out a distinction between anxiety and depression. These are two words often used interchangeably and aren't discussed often enough in popular society. This is where I come in as your friendly navigator through the minds of those "blessed" souls who have to lull through such murky conditions.
Anxiety is the fear of what others think of you. Times by a gagillion. Let me put this in another context that you might understand: Billy likes Sally. Sally's cute and is funny and smart and pretty, and Billy really likes that about Sally. But Billy is afraid of asking Sally out because Sally is WAY out of his league. I mean, what if Sally says no? What if Sally thinks Billy is fat and ugly and bad at speaking? What if Sally tells all her girlfriends and now everyone thinks Billy is fat and ugly and really, I mean really bad at speaking? Billy would have to change schools. He'd have to move to Mexico and grow out a mustache and learn Spanish and become a migrant farmer for the rest of his life. But wait?! Billy's not good at speaking. He can't move to Mexico and learn Spanish?! Everyone in Mexico will make fun of the way he says hola because he'll actually pronounce the "h" like hello instead of leaving it silent and he'll never fit in and it's ALL BECAUSE HE ASKED SALLY OUT! So, it's better for Billy to keep his little mouth shut instead of asking Sally out.
For those first few sentences you were totally with me, and by the end, you were like, "what just happened?!" But let me tell you, all those who have anxiety just read that paragraph and said, "you just described my entire life!" Normal people stop a few sentences in and realize just how absurd their train of thought is, and ask Sally out. Those with anxiety don't only do what I just describe above, but they do it for every situation they encounter, just to ensure that they never get hurt.
Depression is the fear of what you think of yourself. Times by a gagillion. Again, in a context you might understand: Billy likes Sally. Sally's cute and yada yada yada. Billy asks Sally out. Sally says, "thanks, but I'm not interested." Stab! Right to the heart. Billy's dejected. What could Billy have done better to have changed the outcome? Is it the clothes he's wearing? Is it what he said? What if Billy was just a little more confident, would she have said yes? But Sally said no. She rejected him and he is a failure. But failure doesn't stop at asking girls out. Failure is what's going to keep him from getting into college. I mean, how could he ever be successful enough to get into college if he isn't good enough to just get a girl to go out with him? And if he can't get into college, he'll never make enough money to live on his own, and he'll be stuck in his parent's basement for the rest of his life and he'll never amount to anything, and it's ALL BECAUSE SALLY SAID NO! So, it's better for Billy to never ask anyone out ever again and just keep to himself.
Again, you're like, "I totally get that and . . . you just lost me." But people with depression do that! Depression is looking inwards and saying, "I'm not good enough for [insert something small here]; therefore, I must not be good enough for [insert something insurmountably bigger here]." Or, "I failed once at [insert something you've only ever tried once here]; I am bound to fail again at [insert same thing] and I just cannot take the gravity of failure again. It's just too much for me."
On my Mormon mission, I had both. What do those people I talk to think of me? What if I say the wrong word? What if they don't like me? What if I'm not good enough? What if they go to hell and it's all my fault?! It must, therefore, be better not to even open my mouth than to open it and be scorned. It is better that I hide myself in a shell of who I really am than to expose myself and fail and writhe in my abhorrence.
Yeah, I was bad at talking to others. Remember, I was that nerdy kid with no social skills. I had a lot of doors slammed in my face, and was brutally made fun of by other missionaries who were supposed to be my friends. Where else did I have to go but to mentally and emotionally and socially disappear?
And yet, I'd get these just wonderful people who would tell me to "get over it; it's all in your head," or that I "just need more faith and prayers and everything will get better."
Seriously.
I mean, seriously. Thanks doc, I'll just go take a shot of "kiss it all better" and that'll solve everything! I can't believe I didn't realize that sooner; you're just the best! It just isn't that simple. Nothing, really, gets more convoluted than trying to help someone who has lost faith in every single person on planet Earth -- oneself included. We're talking years of betrayal and desolation and you think a simple "hey, suck it up" is going to make it better?! The gravity of the psychological damage that needs restitution far exceeds the symptoms that are being expressed.
But there is an important first step: recognition. The whole reason I wrote those massively exaggerated descriptions is to help recognize that situations like that happen all the time. I truly believed it was better for me not to open my mouth at a door than to be rejected. I literally stood at a door -- multiple doors, in fact -- and watched as my mission companion knocked on a door, waited for me to speak, and I stood in silence. Not a peep came out of my mouth. That is anxiety at its worse. And then, I'd go home, and berate myself for not being able to talk to others, and would curl up into a ball in the corner and loathe over my inability to speak. That is depression at its worse. No one told me about those emotions. No one sat me down and helped me understand that regular people go through what I went through on a regular basis.
The more I've lived, the more I realize that everyone is scared of the unknown. No one knows, truly, what anyone else is thinking, so there is always a lingering hint of anxiety with every interaction with which we engage. And everyone hates failure. That fear of failure keeps us holed up in our comfort zone, and there's something inside us that will come out and tap us on the head and say, "I can't believe you failed; you're worthless." That's human nature. It's OK. But it's surmountable, and recognition is that critical first step.
The second step: time. Change takes time. I underwent 19 years of emotional destruction; 20 minutes isn't going to be enough to come out conquer. But it is enough time for the little battles, the strength to say one line at a door, or to text a friend to see what they're doing, or to finally get the courage to roll out of bed and take a shower when all you want to do is toss your sheets over your head and hide from the world. Those are little victories. Those are the little battles that turn the tide of the war from hopelessness to a little glimmer of hope, to a congregate of rebels, to a legion of warriors, to overthrowing the government and finally getting rid of that authoritarian regime of anxiety and depression that ruled every thought and feeling and action of every moment of every day.
That is when the war is won.
Now, there are lots more steps, but they're better kept for a different section. Oh, and there're lots of other stories I could share. But suffice it to say that I hit rock bottom out on the sunny shores of Los Angeles, California. So much of my Mormon mission was dictated by the psychological trauma I collected over the years. But things got better. I got better.
There was a little glimmer of hope after all.
Chapter 5. The Challenge: College
I think it's safe for all of us to assume that we've become WAY too inundated with media. I mean, social media overwhelms the tabs of my computer while music and TV drown out the thoughts I'm trying to jot down and next to me are mounds of magazines and newspapers and it just drives me crazy how much I need to care about whatever stupid fad is popular for the next 60 seconds before another fad steps in to take its rightful place as king of the stupid fads for the subsequent 60 seconds! It's dumb and I hate it.
And it's really jacked up my way of thinking.
I mean, how does the media portray friendship? What, beyond the escapades and the petty arguments, does it really teach about being a good friend? Does it showcase all the emotional and communicative elements that are vital to keeping a relationship alive, or do they just evade those topics because no consumer would ever want to sit down and watch two people talk about their feelings?
Here, I'll answer all those rhetorical questions for you: poorly, not much, absolutely not. So, is it any wonder that a man, or a society, would have a poor understanding of the implications of friendship if all that's ever been taught is what's been shown in the media? You show a person an idealized scenario with no further discussion or instructions, then ask them to replicate that in a highly flawed and naive environment, and are surprised when failure ensues?
Going into college, I thought that being an adult meant finding a friend who would have my back. You know, me being the eccentric spiky-haired kid and my best bud be the ferociously philosophical tiger. Like, I'll be the smooth, classy gentleman playing second fiddle to my wildly entertaining confidant, and we would be unstoppable. Who doesn't want that?! Whether it was real or not, I believed that to be happiness, and I needed that. I needed my "best friend".
Well, not to long after returning home from my Mormon mission, I got a phone call while delivering legal documents for a pretty meager paycheck. Seth, that wildly popular kid from high school, wanted to see how I was doing. I was flabbergasted. The stud who I always wanted to be best buds with called me to see how I was doing? And he wants to hang out?! Ah yeah am I free this weekend! This is gonna be so cool; I can't wait to catch up with him and spend time with him; things are going to be so awesome!
Well they were. And, they weren't. I mean, we were best friends! We played video games, and watched stupid videos online, and talked about life and girls, and went to parties. I still remember sitting inside Zupas just doing nothing, but we were doing nothing, together. So yeah, I did it; I got my best friend. I was best friends with the kid I wanted to be best friends with since high school and I did it and things were awesome. Except, they weren't. And I couldn't figure out why. Why was I still not happy?
About a year or so after being "best friends", I sent him an email. "I've been meaning to talk to you for the past day and a half or so, but I've been scared to. Pretty much, I've always been a little scared to talk to you. I look up to you a lot, and when I mean a lot, I mean like an older brother a lot. Because of that, I'm very much intimidated by you. The reason I started hanging out with you in the first place was because I could be myself without feeling like I was being judged. Somehow, I've created this scenario where that's no longer the case. A lot of this is things I've just created in my mind, I understand that, but either way these are real emotions I'm feeling. My biggest fear, though, is loosing you as a friend. I need to know that I can trust you. The sad thing is, I know I can, but somewhere deep inside I've put up so many barriers that I just can't pull myself to do so. Thanks for all you've done to help me thus far; you've been a great friend. It just needed to be said, that's all. -AJ Heaps :D"
This circular swirl of fear and angst and elevated expectations reeks out of that email. Looking back, I feel so ashamed reading what I sent to him that day. The pedestal I placed Seth on could have elevated to the level of God himself. And the walls I built around myself kept even the sun from shining through; I mean, no wonder nothing beautiful grew within me when just outside of my reach were acres of thriving gardens. Was there some history behind my actions? Of course. But did I know any better? Absolutely not. Who was there to teach me about the fallacies of my logic? Certainly not the media! But certainly not the 21 years of life experiences to that point. I was entering into the trial and error stage of development.
Boy, was it rough.
Because I left Seth. Happiness was out there attached to that "best friend" of mine, and if it wasn't Seth, it must be Eddie, the chemical engineer who whipped me at video games. Ah, it was football games, and talking trash over video games, and terribly late nights working on homework jacked up on caffeine, and cranky mornings of bright lights and loud noises after coming off our caffeine, and sleeping on couches, and flying out for weddings. Best friend: check.
Happiness: not-check. If only he had invited me to that party with him; best friends always go to parties together. I can't believe he didn't wait for me to grab lunch with him; I thought we were best friends? He can't work on homework with me this weekend?! See if I ever work on homework with him again. STUPID, PETTY GARBAGE! Of course I was happy! I look back and see some absolutely incredible times we had, but in the moment, in my perspective, all I saw were little caveats to justify that we weren't the friends I thought we were. Or thought we should've been. Or what the media thought we should've been. I created scenarios to say, "well if we were friends, he would do this." Then he'd prove me right. Then I'd be mad that we weren't friends. But of course he proved them right, I created scenarios he couldn't possibly have accomplished without either being able to read minds or being literally perfect. And he was neither.
And thank goodness for that! But I expected perfection from a person who was having a hard enough time getting his homework done on time, let alone trying to understand the emotional and social turmoil I was putting myself through. To be quite honest, in all the scenarios and in all the "testing", I never reached out and communicated how I felt. Communicating emotions was a weakness, or so I thought. Maybe it was because of failed communication in the past. Maybe it was because I "realized" that the pain I felt was a consequence of my thoughts and not a result of someone else's actions, so if I wanted restitution, I needed to face my pain alone. In any case, amidst the friendship and camaraderie that existed between Eddie and I, I still wallowed within myself. Alone.
With a battered soul, I eventually moved apartments, not sure of what I was looking for, but searching for that happiness I so desperately wanted. Nate moved in within a week of me, and as fearful and timid as I was about finding this elusive "best friend", I started spending time with him. We'd chat about classes and life and really nothing in particular but it was good to just chat with someone I trusted. I really don't need to write too far; short answer: it didn't last. Among waves of miscommunication and pride and faithlessness, I lost another friend. Nothing I tried worked. Down into depression I fell, and the worst part was that I hated being down there. I just didn't know how to get back out.
No class, no seminar or lecture could have helped me. I was growing and experiencing the world for the first time, taking with me what I believed was true and what I had previously experienced, both of which were highly skewed when compared to what actually was. I recognize how dark this all seems, but you must understand: I lived in darkness. It was all I knew. No one loved me. No one appreciated me. Not even I could comprehend the emotional roller coaster that shook the very foundation on which I lived. This was my reality; this is what I understood.
People sink to darkness to escape what they don't understand. The difficult part is that, as human beings, there's a whole universe of things we don't understand. We will never escape the ignorance we face and we either accept that and move on or envelop ourselves in darkness and hope it eventually goes away. I was that guy who so desperately hoped it would go away, and after 26 years of hiding, I emerged feeling just as lost and alone as ever.
So who could've known that two meager weeks in Nauvoo, Illinois would change everything.
And it's really jacked up my way of thinking.
I mean, how does the media portray friendship? What, beyond the escapades and the petty arguments, does it really teach about being a good friend? Does it showcase all the emotional and communicative elements that are vital to keeping a relationship alive, or do they just evade those topics because no consumer would ever want to sit down and watch two people talk about their feelings?
Here, I'll answer all those rhetorical questions for you: poorly, not much, absolutely not. So, is it any wonder that a man, or a society, would have a poor understanding of the implications of friendship if all that's ever been taught is what's been shown in the media? You show a person an idealized scenario with no further discussion or instructions, then ask them to replicate that in a highly flawed and naive environment, and are surprised when failure ensues?
Going into college, I thought that being an adult meant finding a friend who would have my back. You know, me being the eccentric spiky-haired kid and my best bud be the ferociously philosophical tiger. Like, I'll be the smooth, classy gentleman playing second fiddle to my wildly entertaining confidant, and we would be unstoppable. Who doesn't want that?! Whether it was real or not, I believed that to be happiness, and I needed that. I needed my "best friend".
Well, not to long after returning home from my Mormon mission, I got a phone call while delivering legal documents for a pretty meager paycheck. Seth, that wildly popular kid from high school, wanted to see how I was doing. I was flabbergasted. The stud who I always wanted to be best buds with called me to see how I was doing? And he wants to hang out?! Ah yeah am I free this weekend! This is gonna be so cool; I can't wait to catch up with him and spend time with him; things are going to be so awesome!
Well they were. And, they weren't. I mean, we were best friends! We played video games, and watched stupid videos online, and talked about life and girls, and went to parties. I still remember sitting inside Zupas just doing nothing, but we were doing nothing, together. So yeah, I did it; I got my best friend. I was best friends with the kid I wanted to be best friends with since high school and I did it and things were awesome. Except, they weren't. And I couldn't figure out why. Why was I still not happy?
About a year or so after being "best friends", I sent him an email. "I've been meaning to talk to you for the past day and a half or so, but I've been scared to. Pretty much, I've always been a little scared to talk to you. I look up to you a lot, and when I mean a lot, I mean like an older brother a lot. Because of that, I'm very much intimidated by you. The reason I started hanging out with you in the first place was because I could be myself without feeling like I was being judged. Somehow, I've created this scenario where that's no longer the case. A lot of this is things I've just created in my mind, I understand that, but either way these are real emotions I'm feeling. My biggest fear, though, is loosing you as a friend. I need to know that I can trust you. The sad thing is, I know I can, but somewhere deep inside I've put up so many barriers that I just can't pull myself to do so. Thanks for all you've done to help me thus far; you've been a great friend. It just needed to be said, that's all. -AJ Heaps :D"
This circular swirl of fear and angst and elevated expectations reeks out of that email. Looking back, I feel so ashamed reading what I sent to him that day. The pedestal I placed Seth on could have elevated to the level of God himself. And the walls I built around myself kept even the sun from shining through; I mean, no wonder nothing beautiful grew within me when just outside of my reach were acres of thriving gardens. Was there some history behind my actions? Of course. But did I know any better? Absolutely not. Who was there to teach me about the fallacies of my logic? Certainly not the media! But certainly not the 21 years of life experiences to that point. I was entering into the trial and error stage of development.
Boy, was it rough.
Because I left Seth. Happiness was out there attached to that "best friend" of mine, and if it wasn't Seth, it must be Eddie, the chemical engineer who whipped me at video games. Ah, it was football games, and talking trash over video games, and terribly late nights working on homework jacked up on caffeine, and cranky mornings of bright lights and loud noises after coming off our caffeine, and sleeping on couches, and flying out for weddings. Best friend: check.
Happiness: not-check. If only he had invited me to that party with him; best friends always go to parties together. I can't believe he didn't wait for me to grab lunch with him; I thought we were best friends? He can't work on homework with me this weekend?! See if I ever work on homework with him again. STUPID, PETTY GARBAGE! Of course I was happy! I look back and see some absolutely incredible times we had, but in the moment, in my perspective, all I saw were little caveats to justify that we weren't the friends I thought we were. Or thought we should've been. Or what the media thought we should've been. I created scenarios to say, "well if we were friends, he would do this." Then he'd prove me right. Then I'd be mad that we weren't friends. But of course he proved them right, I created scenarios he couldn't possibly have accomplished without either being able to read minds or being literally perfect. And he was neither.
And thank goodness for that! But I expected perfection from a person who was having a hard enough time getting his homework done on time, let alone trying to understand the emotional and social turmoil I was putting myself through. To be quite honest, in all the scenarios and in all the "testing", I never reached out and communicated how I felt. Communicating emotions was a weakness, or so I thought. Maybe it was because of failed communication in the past. Maybe it was because I "realized" that the pain I felt was a consequence of my thoughts and not a result of someone else's actions, so if I wanted restitution, I needed to face my pain alone. In any case, amidst the friendship and camaraderie that existed between Eddie and I, I still wallowed within myself. Alone.
With a battered soul, I eventually moved apartments, not sure of what I was looking for, but searching for that happiness I so desperately wanted. Nate moved in within a week of me, and as fearful and timid as I was about finding this elusive "best friend", I started spending time with him. We'd chat about classes and life and really nothing in particular but it was good to just chat with someone I trusted. I really don't need to write too far; short answer: it didn't last. Among waves of miscommunication and pride and faithlessness, I lost another friend. Nothing I tried worked. Down into depression I fell, and the worst part was that I hated being down there. I just didn't know how to get back out.
No class, no seminar or lecture could have helped me. I was growing and experiencing the world for the first time, taking with me what I believed was true and what I had previously experienced, both of which were highly skewed when compared to what actually was. I recognize how dark this all seems, but you must understand: I lived in darkness. It was all I knew. No one loved me. No one appreciated me. Not even I could comprehend the emotional roller coaster that shook the very foundation on which I lived. This was my reality; this is what I understood.
People sink to darkness to escape what they don't understand. The difficult part is that, as human beings, there's a whole universe of things we don't understand. We will never escape the ignorance we face and we either accept that and move on or envelop ourselves in darkness and hope it eventually goes away. I was that guy who so desperately hoped it would go away, and after 26 years of hiding, I emerged feeling just as lost and alone as ever.
So who could've known that two meager weeks in Nauvoo, Illinois would change everything.
Chapter 6. The Challenge: Nauvoo
Little geography lesson for you. Fly into St. Louis. Sail up the river for about 8 hours. Start to panic because you haven't seen any sign of life for tens of miles. Then turn the corner and hop off; you've made it to Nauvoo, IL! But seriously, with a population of 1,200, if you're not Mormon, you've almost certainly never heard of little ol' Nauvoo.
And yet, the BYU ballroom team still decided to pin Nauvoo as the hub of their two week tour in 2015.
I mean, the tour was fine. The people were kind. The members of the company were (mostly) cordial. The sites were inspiring, and the food was survivable. Nothing in this tour was astronomically terrible. Except, my anxiety. Thankfully, it was mild. I'd like to consider myself a high functioning crazy person, but every time I think that, my anxiety kindly reminds me that high functioning is grossly exaggerated.
This lap of anxiety focused around, you guessed it, being accepted by my teammates. Six chapters in and I feel like I'm repeating myself over and over, just change the name and the location and the chapter basically writes itself. Why won't people invite me to play games with them? Why does no one sit next to me on the bus? Why, when I'm feeling sad or alone or scared or anxious, does no one come to be with me? Am I meant to face these challenges alone, when all round me are people who are capable of helping?
One particular teammate, Brady, affected me more than the others. Before leaving on tour, we'd sit and talk about girls, and music, and family. Ice cream trips and late nights of video games and thousands of picture chats and internet memes. I was happy. For once I had a friend who I could be comfortable around, one who encouraged me to be better than I allowed myself to be. For some reason, the anxiety which so sorely plagued my other friendships wasn't there. Was I finally free from the vice that restricted my ability to be at peace?
Oh, absolutely not!
Time caught up to me, and time ran out as I boarded that plane from Utah to Illinois. Because the Brady I knew, the man who so defended me, disappeared under the barrage of demands from the people around us. And why wouldn't he? He was witty, and vivacious, and people loved to be in his company. And what was I? I was quiet, and introspective, and many times removed from the general populous because I couldn't emotionally remain under the scrutiny of others. So he would congregate with those under the "popular" label and I would sit and watch. Alone.
Until something changed. Times were still hard and people were particularly berating and my anxiety level was beyond the stars and I just couldn't do it anymore. I hid in my shell and I closed the lid and wished the tour would be over so I could finally move on and start over again. But, as our show concluded and we were all packed up and finally traveling home, Will, a fellow teammate of mine, asked if I wanted to take a walk and chat a little. Obviously he could see the bellows of emotion that spewed out from the continual batterings I had undergone, and probably thought a little chat would level me out. Of course, thanks for the gesture, but a simple conversation isn't going to fix the problem, nor will I ever divulge my tangled web of emotions to someone else.
And yet, I accepted his offer.
What?! After years of conveying my emotions and watching them get shattered on the ground, I was willing to put my trust in someone with whom I had mildly worked, but never really interacted with on a frequent basis?! Was I that desperate for someone to be concerned over my well being that I would expose myself to the first person who was worried about me?
Well, no. It wasn't that at all. I was tired of hiding. All the times I hid from the world buried my soul deeper and deeper into the carcass that carried it. For almost my entire life, I displaced who I was and masked myself as someone others would like, and in doing so, gained neither respect from others nor a sense of identity about myself. Oh sure, there were times I'd allow myself to showcase who I really was, in small social circles and in small amounts. But after years of masquerading I was tired of continually feeling empty. I was tired of being void of emotion as to not appear weak or desperate. I wanted to, for the first time, showcase myself proudly and boldly, my strengths and my flaws, to someone who cared to listen.
Will cared to listen. Conversation started light, discussing the aspects of tour and performances and what have you. But as time went on, we started talking about themes of trust and understanding and individuality. I remember talking about the social travesties I faced, and how I had to face them alone. "Why do you have to go it alone?" Will remark. And it was a question I had thought about from time to time, but heaven forbid I express my flawed thoughts aloud. "It's because no one cares. People want to be entertained; they don't want to sojourn through someone else's travesties. When times get rough, people disappear and I'm left alone." "Do you believe that?" ". . . no. But I when I'm at my worst, I sit and I wait and I pray and no one comes. I've learned it's just easier to face the world on my own." "Are you alone because no one comes, or because you don't let anyone in?"
I . . . I for the longest time thought letting people in made me vulnerable. Was I wrong? Was I relying on the imperfections of my childhood to govern my emotional state as a "more experienced" adult? Did I miss something all those years ago that could have changed the way I see the world? Yet, here I was putting my trust in someone, and I was happy. Ecstatic, actually, because the burden of the years of baggage began melting off my shoulders and drifting off into the night. There were no judgments; there was no animosity. Just understanding.
Though the conversation with Will was delightfully invigorating, the war was far from over. Though my eyes were opening to the possibility that people actually cared for a change, my heart was still closed, because Brady, the friend I "needed" so badly, was still socially absent from me.
It was the last full day in Nauvoo. Mounds of emotion heaped on me as anxiety incapacitated me. I was leaving, and at the same time losing yet another friend. Those hours of games and movies and jokes seemed insignificant when stacked against the last few weeks of isolation. Was this how such an incredible friendship was going to end?
No. I wouldn't let it. Something inside me decided to fight back. If talking to Will, if expressing my fears in an attempt to find inner peace took me to an elevated level of happiness, then I might as well try it again. So, back to the dirt road I went, but this time, with Brady and an unyielding resolve to mend whatever was broken. And maybe that's why I was scared to say anything in the first place. What really was broken? Did anything need fixing? Did I fabricate a reality where I was unhappy with my circumstances despite the alarmingly positive events around me?
It was too late for introspection. It was too late for masks and false identities and filters. Words spewed out of my mouth as if a fire hose was putting out a 26 year old fire. Fingers were pointed, feelings were hurt, voices were raised much louder than they should have been at 1 in the morning. But something interesting happened. I screamed at him that I was a horrible friend and way too mentally unstable to ever maintain a friendship. He screamed back the same thing. I told him how much I felt alone while in Nauvoo. He told me how much he appreciated me supporting him while at Nauvoo. I said I felt like our friendship was one sided. He said he had done everything he could have to be the kind of friend I was to him.
I didn't know what to say. "Look" he told me, "those times you needed me, I gave up everything to be there for you. When you called saying you needed to talk, I thought of you and what you've done for me and tried to give that back to you. I'm sorry I wasn't a better friend. You're not the only one who has trouble keeping friends, you know." I didn't know. I didn't see the pain this man was going through because I only saw the pain I was going through. My heart was finally open. I began to see clearly what I had missed for so many years; the key to resolving every single failed friendship I had ever had.
Perspective.
Because that entire trip revolved around how I was being treated; my entire friendship was governed by my happiness. I missed the times he went off alone because of his natural affinity towards being an introvert. I overlooked all the times he was patient, and generous, and understanding of my weaknesses and insecurities and how he still accepted me knowing all that. I mean, for crying out loud, he would sit next to me on the bus every dance trip we took! Months earlier, he let me sleep on his shoulder while I atrophied under one of my heaviest bouts of Crohn's Disease. Of all the people he had invited to his new home, which was few to begin with, I was the one person he invited over the most.
"I need you to forgive me when I mess up. I need you to be patient with me because I am just trying to be a good friend and I don't know how." I don't know how either, Brady. And that's the point. That's the point of this entire story. No one knows how to be a good friend. We all suck at it because of our imperfections, and the lies we've been fed by society. But that's OK. We don't have to be perfect to be a good friend. Patient, maybe. A little faith in others definitely goes a long way. But perfection isn't a prerequisite.
Perspective is. If we lose sight of others, if we miss the qualities and experiences that define them, how can we ever love them? And if we lose perspective of ourselves, and our mistakes, and our beauties, how can we ever love ourselves? It goes both ways, but it must go both ways. Brady is my friend, and while he may suck at it, he's MY FRIEND. Those others I've mentioned along the way? Yeah, they're my friends too, suckiness and all. And honestly, I've never been alone. Opening my eyes showed me the waves of people who have always defended me, and supported me, and elevated me above and beyond my sunken situation. The loneliness and the isolation derived from the blinders I put on myself to protect me from harm; ironically, the blinders kept me walled off from the acceptance of others so much so that I walked straight into harm. And once I finally removed those blinders, the brilliance I beheld was unfathomable. I was no longer alone.
It was close to 3 am when we finished talking. Though emotionally battered, I felt at peace. I conquered the anxiety, and with it, the baggage that accompanied me for so long. I decided that night to take a different path: one of faith, of patience, of forgiveness.
And most importantly, one of perspective.
And yet, the BYU ballroom team still decided to pin Nauvoo as the hub of their two week tour in 2015.
I mean, the tour was fine. The people were kind. The members of the company were (mostly) cordial. The sites were inspiring, and the food was survivable. Nothing in this tour was astronomically terrible. Except, my anxiety. Thankfully, it was mild. I'd like to consider myself a high functioning crazy person, but every time I think that, my anxiety kindly reminds me that high functioning is grossly exaggerated.
This lap of anxiety focused around, you guessed it, being accepted by my teammates. Six chapters in and I feel like I'm repeating myself over and over, just change the name and the location and the chapter basically writes itself. Why won't people invite me to play games with them? Why does no one sit next to me on the bus? Why, when I'm feeling sad or alone or scared or anxious, does no one come to be with me? Am I meant to face these challenges alone, when all round me are people who are capable of helping?
One particular teammate, Brady, affected me more than the others. Before leaving on tour, we'd sit and talk about girls, and music, and family. Ice cream trips and late nights of video games and thousands of picture chats and internet memes. I was happy. For once I had a friend who I could be comfortable around, one who encouraged me to be better than I allowed myself to be. For some reason, the anxiety which so sorely plagued my other friendships wasn't there. Was I finally free from the vice that restricted my ability to be at peace?
Oh, absolutely not!
Time caught up to me, and time ran out as I boarded that plane from Utah to Illinois. Because the Brady I knew, the man who so defended me, disappeared under the barrage of demands from the people around us. And why wouldn't he? He was witty, and vivacious, and people loved to be in his company. And what was I? I was quiet, and introspective, and many times removed from the general populous because I couldn't emotionally remain under the scrutiny of others. So he would congregate with those under the "popular" label and I would sit and watch. Alone.
Until something changed. Times were still hard and people were particularly berating and my anxiety level was beyond the stars and I just couldn't do it anymore. I hid in my shell and I closed the lid and wished the tour would be over so I could finally move on and start over again. But, as our show concluded and we were all packed up and finally traveling home, Will, a fellow teammate of mine, asked if I wanted to take a walk and chat a little. Obviously he could see the bellows of emotion that spewed out from the continual batterings I had undergone, and probably thought a little chat would level me out. Of course, thanks for the gesture, but a simple conversation isn't going to fix the problem, nor will I ever divulge my tangled web of emotions to someone else.
And yet, I accepted his offer.
What?! After years of conveying my emotions and watching them get shattered on the ground, I was willing to put my trust in someone with whom I had mildly worked, but never really interacted with on a frequent basis?! Was I that desperate for someone to be concerned over my well being that I would expose myself to the first person who was worried about me?
Well, no. It wasn't that at all. I was tired of hiding. All the times I hid from the world buried my soul deeper and deeper into the carcass that carried it. For almost my entire life, I displaced who I was and masked myself as someone others would like, and in doing so, gained neither respect from others nor a sense of identity about myself. Oh sure, there were times I'd allow myself to showcase who I really was, in small social circles and in small amounts. But after years of masquerading I was tired of continually feeling empty. I was tired of being void of emotion as to not appear weak or desperate. I wanted to, for the first time, showcase myself proudly and boldly, my strengths and my flaws, to someone who cared to listen.
Will cared to listen. Conversation started light, discussing the aspects of tour and performances and what have you. But as time went on, we started talking about themes of trust and understanding and individuality. I remember talking about the social travesties I faced, and how I had to face them alone. "Why do you have to go it alone?" Will remark. And it was a question I had thought about from time to time, but heaven forbid I express my flawed thoughts aloud. "It's because no one cares. People want to be entertained; they don't want to sojourn through someone else's travesties. When times get rough, people disappear and I'm left alone." "Do you believe that?" ". . . no. But I when I'm at my worst, I sit and I wait and I pray and no one comes. I've learned it's just easier to face the world on my own." "Are you alone because no one comes, or because you don't let anyone in?"
I . . . I for the longest time thought letting people in made me vulnerable. Was I wrong? Was I relying on the imperfections of my childhood to govern my emotional state as a "more experienced" adult? Did I miss something all those years ago that could have changed the way I see the world? Yet, here I was putting my trust in someone, and I was happy. Ecstatic, actually, because the burden of the years of baggage began melting off my shoulders and drifting off into the night. There were no judgments; there was no animosity. Just understanding.
Though the conversation with Will was delightfully invigorating, the war was far from over. Though my eyes were opening to the possibility that people actually cared for a change, my heart was still closed, because Brady, the friend I "needed" so badly, was still socially absent from me.
It was the last full day in Nauvoo. Mounds of emotion heaped on me as anxiety incapacitated me. I was leaving, and at the same time losing yet another friend. Those hours of games and movies and jokes seemed insignificant when stacked against the last few weeks of isolation. Was this how such an incredible friendship was going to end?
No. I wouldn't let it. Something inside me decided to fight back. If talking to Will, if expressing my fears in an attempt to find inner peace took me to an elevated level of happiness, then I might as well try it again. So, back to the dirt road I went, but this time, with Brady and an unyielding resolve to mend whatever was broken. And maybe that's why I was scared to say anything in the first place. What really was broken? Did anything need fixing? Did I fabricate a reality where I was unhappy with my circumstances despite the alarmingly positive events around me?
It was too late for introspection. It was too late for masks and false identities and filters. Words spewed out of my mouth as if a fire hose was putting out a 26 year old fire. Fingers were pointed, feelings were hurt, voices were raised much louder than they should have been at 1 in the morning. But something interesting happened. I screamed at him that I was a horrible friend and way too mentally unstable to ever maintain a friendship. He screamed back the same thing. I told him how much I felt alone while in Nauvoo. He told me how much he appreciated me supporting him while at Nauvoo. I said I felt like our friendship was one sided. He said he had done everything he could have to be the kind of friend I was to him.
I didn't know what to say. "Look" he told me, "those times you needed me, I gave up everything to be there for you. When you called saying you needed to talk, I thought of you and what you've done for me and tried to give that back to you. I'm sorry I wasn't a better friend. You're not the only one who has trouble keeping friends, you know." I didn't know. I didn't see the pain this man was going through because I only saw the pain I was going through. My heart was finally open. I began to see clearly what I had missed for so many years; the key to resolving every single failed friendship I had ever had.
Perspective.
Because that entire trip revolved around how I was being treated; my entire friendship was governed by my happiness. I missed the times he went off alone because of his natural affinity towards being an introvert. I overlooked all the times he was patient, and generous, and understanding of my weaknesses and insecurities and how he still accepted me knowing all that. I mean, for crying out loud, he would sit next to me on the bus every dance trip we took! Months earlier, he let me sleep on his shoulder while I atrophied under one of my heaviest bouts of Crohn's Disease. Of all the people he had invited to his new home, which was few to begin with, I was the one person he invited over the most.
"I need you to forgive me when I mess up. I need you to be patient with me because I am just trying to be a good friend and I don't know how." I don't know how either, Brady. And that's the point. That's the point of this entire story. No one knows how to be a good friend. We all suck at it because of our imperfections, and the lies we've been fed by society. But that's OK. We don't have to be perfect to be a good friend. Patient, maybe. A little faith in others definitely goes a long way. But perfection isn't a prerequisite.
Perspective is. If we lose sight of others, if we miss the qualities and experiences that define them, how can we ever love them? And if we lose perspective of ourselves, and our mistakes, and our beauties, how can we ever love ourselves? It goes both ways, but it must go both ways. Brady is my friend, and while he may suck at it, he's MY FRIEND. Those others I've mentioned along the way? Yeah, they're my friends too, suckiness and all. And honestly, I've never been alone. Opening my eyes showed me the waves of people who have always defended me, and supported me, and elevated me above and beyond my sunken situation. The loneliness and the isolation derived from the blinders I put on myself to protect me from harm; ironically, the blinders kept me walled off from the acceptance of others so much so that I walked straight into harm. And once I finally removed those blinders, the brilliance I beheld was unfathomable. I was no longer alone.
It was close to 3 am when we finished talking. Though emotionally battered, I felt at peace. I conquered the anxiety, and with it, the baggage that accompanied me for so long. I decided that night to take a different path: one of faith, of patience, of forgiveness.
And most importantly, one of perspective.
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