I was surprised the other day. A friend of mine casually mentioned to me that they read my blog. This isn’t someone I had really expected to, but I suppose I don’t really expect anyone to. I started this as a means to work on my ability to express and process emotions, which is what I told this friend somewhat nervously in response.

There’s an unusual sense of vulnerability when you venture back to the days of MySpace and quasi-emo online journal writing and someone actually reads it. Mind you, I don’t feel that this blog is some attempt to be emo, and to anyone that does I’d assure them of the contrary.

But it did make me think.

My friend told me that they didn’t realize I was that deep. While I do consider myself something of an old soul, I think what I took away from the comment is an interesting thought on people as a whole.

We meet people in specific contexts. We meet only one facet of who they are. Everyone, to an extent, has a guard up. Only when those layers are peeled back do you really see into what makes them tick. My innermost thoughts and feelings may as well be locked away in a vault forever when it comes to talking to anyone directly, but in truth they’re only a GET request or two away.

Vulnerable.

But there’s something cathartic in this for me. I’ve been surprised and humbled at the times someone, even someone who I’ve never directly talked to before, reaches out to me unsolicited and says they read my writing and it resonated with them in some way. I’ve made a few friends like that.

I wonder if all of us are ‘deep’. Old souls with thoughts and emotions held within or suppressed in exchange for something more easily understood.

I don’t know. It was just an interesting revelation for me.

Another revelation I stumbled across in the past few days was after assessing how I’ve been feeling lately. It’s not something I openly advertise, but depression is something I’ve dealt with for pretty much my entire life. The best way I could think to describe it is imagine having someone standing behind you, making commentary on your every thought and action about how whatever you try will fail, or how no one likes you, or insert comment here about how much you suck or something like that. And they’re just there. Almost always.

You know what it is. You understand that it’s not ‘real’ and that you objectively have merits, but after a while it just wears you down. The mental energy spent telling that voice to shut up leaves you ill prepared for other unfortunate turns, so when that proverbial dam breaks the impact is all the more resonating.

It’s not particularly fun.

I think it’s what makes me such an introspective person. I contend with thoughts like these, reason my way around them, and it forces me to really process myself and the world around in a way other people probably don’t have to. In that, I’m almost thankful because I don’t think I’d be the person I am today without having to work through that so often.

But anyway. If someone was asking me how I was feeling right now, I’d say I was inconclusive. Perspective depending, things are really great for me right now or subjectively unfortunate. And with a second opinion like depression constantly wanting to throw its two cents in finding an objective viewpoint can be difficult.

I wouldn’t say I was happy, or sad. And yet I’m not indifferent or void emotion either. My mind’s gone in a circle of logic that’s kinda lead me to a place where I am ultimately thankful, if a bit lost.

There’s a good chance I’m not explaining any of this well, and that’s the other point of this blog. If I can build up experience in talking about my feelings through this, then I only stand to become better at it down the line somewhere.

There’s a frustrating sense of separation when you have feelings and thoughts in your head, but you find yourself unable to really express them. It’s like trying to communicate to someone in a different language. It can be alienating, and it leaves you with a sense of loneliness.

Social interaction, feelings, and depression will likely always be things I struggle with in some capacity. And I’m okay with that. But I’m committed to continuing to try, in spite of whatever rejection or road blocks I run into. Or the mistakes I make, which I’m sure my depression will have a thing or two to say about.

I’d go into how my depression’s turned me into a perfectionist, but this would be much longer than the novella it is. Maybe another time.

I went out to happy hour tonight. A coworker asked if I wanted to go, and initially I had grand designs of going home, faceplanting, or working on some web development stuff. Ultimately, I decided to go. I can be something of a recluse or a hermit, and I would like to get out of the house more, so. Why not?

And I had a good time. I decided to head back before too long. I wanted to make sure I had some time to decompress and relax before the games I had to cast tonight. I had time to take a bit of a walk back to the office to get Mary Jane.

Today was, in a word, perfect in terms of weather. The morning air was cool, crisp, promising. A hint of a breeze reminded me of Tampa. I imagine this morning is what it feels like there in the winter. Must be nice.

Another relatively restless night educated me in the habits of some of the local birds around here. 3 in the morning is pretty damn early to start chirping, but there they were in the dead of night well into the morning as I tracked across the street to my car.

But anyway. The weather was pretty nice, so I decided to walk back. Nearing my office, I had to cross the street. There was about 7 seconds left on the crosswalk signal, and a car was waiting for a couple ahead of me to walk across the street before taking the turn. The light turned yellow. 5 seconds left, and the space between 5 to 4 felt like an eternity.

Throughout my life, I’ve consistently felt a need to be passive, timid even. Not make any waves. When I’m a guest at someone’s house, I wanted to make sure I didn’t get in the way or that I was more or less invisible. I’m ultra-conservative in the capacity of expressing romantic interest, dreading the idea of being too forward or making someone uncomfortable.

I stopped at the corner. I had more than enough time to walk across the street, but my initial thought was, “Well. I don’t want to hold whoever’s in that car up. I can just wait.”

I felt very small in that moment. At what point in my life did I allow the default thought be a notion that my time and place in the world is automatically less valuable than someone else’s?

In that single second, I thought back on all the times I held my tongue, chose not to stick up for myself, chose not to walk away from a situation I didn’t like, where I willfully made myself the expense of someone else’s benefit, and where I did not assert myself.

And I said to myself, “Fuck that.”

I walked my ass across that street, and I didn’t give a damn whether that car had to wait an extra second or not. I have just as much a place in this world as anyone else, and if I don’t value that then no one else will be particularly inspired to.

I’m just sick of being timid. Sick of shying away from compliments, from feeling good about accomplishments. I’m sick of withholding my feelings, and acting like I need to frame myself in such a way to be accepted in some way.

I get so nervous talking about my feelings. About what’s on my mind, and about what’s important to me. It can be extremely uncomfortable to put myself first in the presence of other people, and all it ever leads to is some kind of reservation or regret.

I know objectively I could have saved myself from a ton of emotional stress and heartache if I just asserted myself, but it’s hard for me. Maybe it’s from not having the highest self esteem ever growing up, but whatever it is, it’s a weight on my chest that I’ve gotten tired of carrying.

I’ve had two separate ideas for blog posts to write here over the past week, but I opted not to because I started to wonder what people would think about it, if they decided to read it.

Fuck that.

I, so often, relegate myself to the nice guy that finishes last because I don’t want to step on anyone’s toes or make waves. I make myself uncomfortable in the pursuit of not making anyone else uncomfortable.

Why?

Why do I do that? Why is that my job? It’s not. I’d rather be myself and not fit into places if it meant the places I did fit in were where I was at my most natural. I think that’s what I deserve. I know it is.

I’m going to write about those other two ideas when I have the time. I started this blog to expand and grow. I’m not about to change that now.

I’ll never forget it.

I was in middle school, sixth grade I’m pretty sure. I want to say that was it because of the social uncertainty I felt. At that time, I was leaving elementary school and going to Orchard Valley Middle School. It was close enough that I could walk to school, so there was that much but I felt uneasy about having to go to different classrooms, meeting new people, going into some unknown environment.

I wanted to get away from it all. Be somebody else. I remembered using a hall pass every now and again to get out of my seat and enjoy some time to myself. The school was a pretty much a long rectangular with two floors, and a long hallway splitting the classrooms.

I remember dragging my fingers along the lockers, looking down at a corridor that seemingly went on forever. I’d daydream being like Sonic the Hedgehog of all things, that I could run fast enough to run along the walls themselves, jump through the window at the end of the hallway, and run away from all the anxiety I felt about being in a new environment. But, sooner or later I had to go back to class and stall my imagination while I watched other kids form social cliques and friendships.

I had some friends too, but it just never felt like I fit in anywhere. I wanted to get away.

I’d dream about becoming the Scarlet Spider when I grew up. He was the clone of Peter Parker, and he wore a costume I thought was so cool. I’d close my eyes and imagine what it felt like to swing from one street lamp to another. The momentum, the rush of wind, detaching from a web at the height an arc just long enough to float freely before the Earth pulled me back to the ground. Back to a reality I wanted to escape from.

Looking back, I’m somewhat surprised I didn’t also fit in what it’d be like to be some kind of vigilante in with the loftiness of acrobatics above the streets of New York City. Getting beat up, risking your life on a consistent basis for strangers who may not even appreciate it. The thoughts I have from that time feel so nostalgic, and yet comforting.

For me to not have thought about the brutal reality of what it’d take to actually become a superhero meant that as some point I really was a kid. That I didn’t have this hyper analytical sense of perception. Something about that is a comfort to me.

It may surprise someone to learn that I did not end up becoming a crime fighting vigilante, but I do remember cutting up this blue turtleneck after my sister fell asleep one night and fitted it over this oversized red long sleeve shirt. My very first superhero costume. I don’t think my mom ever found out about me doing that, but I kept that bootleg costume for a long time, long after I was old enough to give up the idea of becoming a wall crawler.

I find myself reconnecting and identifying with that kid, so enamored and mesmerized by the positive aspects of a goal that the reasons to think it’s crazy don’t matter. As misguided as it was, there was a lot of bravery and determination in that kid.

Maybe that bravery stemmed from just wanting to get away from everything, and maybe he was afraid of ridicule if he shared this dream with anyone at the time, but in his heart that kid dared to dream of something more for himself someday. He hoped.

And that’s a concept I’ve been reconnecting with lately. I have hopes, goals, and ambitions. Maybe I’ve always had them, but I feel like they’re more poignant and meaningful to me now.

Pairing all of that with a renewed sense of confidence and assurance I think I’ll be swinging through the air soon enough.

Thanks for reminding what it’s like to dream, kid. We haven’t talked in a long time, and that’s on me. Thanks for sticking around. Let’s hang out sometime. There’s probably plenty more I could still learn from you. But, if I could tell you anything, I’d say that it’s going to get better. And you don’t have it nearly as bad as you think.

What you go through makes you stronger, and no one deserves to take your happiness and self-confidence away. Don’t give anyone that kind of power. It’s a choice you make.

And keep your Nintendo.