Dexter Gordon – I Guess I’ll Hang My Tears Out To Dry

It’s interesting.

I think about myself, pretty often. Perhaps too often. I think, however, that there’s something to be said for introspection. If I can’t understand who I am and where I’ve been, how am I to at the very least appreciate where I’m going? Would I not be doomed to repeat the same mistakes? To walk through the same lessons? If I didn’t take time to reflect?

I suppose the converse to that is if I spend TOO much time reflecting do I ever really move forward? Do I ever truly afford myself the opportunity to act on the benefits of past experience? Am I stuck in some mausoleum of the mind? A fixed point of my life where I relive a moment of joy, pain, success, or despair? Am I really moving forward?

Moderation is key, would be my answer to the both voices at either ear. I don’t want to get so lost in my head that I fail to see the world around me as it is. But I don’t want to get so far away from my introspective nature that I never truly grow or process my experiences.

I’ve come to some interesting realizations over the past day or so. Scary, thought-provoking, terrifying realizations.

My struggle with depression has been well documented in this blog. Long has it been something I’ve worked diligently to avoid talking about, let alone sharing, with anyone. My vivid, negative-slanting imagination would manifest instances of rejection, revulsion, and disappointment at even the idea of me talking about depression to anyone.

And that was why I spent so long trying to suppress it, unsuccessfully so. When something nestles itself at the base of almost every thought, ignoring it is a pretty fool-hardy approach. You practically invite it to have the full run of things.

I’m glad that as I was turning 30 I went about seeing a doctor about it. Taking anti-depressants has definitely helped me to manage my feelings.

As I’ve described in the past, taking anti-depressants has taken things that would make me sad and turning them more into things that I just found saddening. I’m not so directly affected by things, and that allows me to better process them before they’re able to settle in my mind.

They feel, to me, as a filter of sorts. A stop-gap that allows me to prepare myself before things solidify.

I’ve taken the same anti-depressant for a couple of years now. In the past month or so, I’ve started to notice something within myself.

Having always been something of a robot, taking a clinical and logical approach to things most would find more organic or human ways to talk about or express is not a new concept to me. It’s how I make sense of things. It’s how I articulate things. I may come off hollow, or perhaps even not particularly genuine, but it’s as authentic as I know how to be.

Only I fear the authenticity has started to fray in some areas.

Lately I’ve felt such a distinct barrier between myself and my emotions that it’s a very seldom occasion where things actually get through. And for the longest time that’s been exactly what I needed; time away from my emotions in the raw, unfiltered sense I had felt victim to most of the time.

It’s come affect almost every emotion, and I hadn’t even realized it. Being sad was muted. Being happy was muted. Being… Anything, was muted. To the point where emotions at all felt somewhat alien. The good and the bad of emotion felt so distant and far away. Neutrality had won. Has won.

Is that really what I want?

To truly become a robot? What really makes me me if all of my thoughts and interactions are born from an extrapolation of what I used to feel? How will I ever truly feel love? Happiness? Anticipation? Anything, if it’s through this thick filter that distorts what once felt like the basis of human existence?

I don’t feel that it’s what I want. Not anymore.

Antidepressants shut out a lot of white noise; enough that I was able to find space to evolve, mature, grow, and better handle my emotions. I’ve come to miss them, even the shitty ones.

I’ve made the decision to start to shift away from taking antidepressants, as a result.

It’s a scary proposition. Pandora was, as impossibly as it once seemed, locked back in the box. But along with it was the essence of my soul I’ve come to find. I’ve gotten to a place mentally where I once again long for that essence. But to get it back would be to unleash everything once again.

In some ways, this feels like one of the most important things I will ever do for myself. I put my hand to gate, close my eyes, and feel the warmth of my soul on the other side. It reaches out, too. It senses me. It knows that I’m there. But so is the cold of my negative inner monologue. Its essence awaits to return, too.

I’m better equipped. I’ve leveled up. I have better armor. Better weapons. Better tools to deal with it. But will it be enough? Have I prepared myself enough for this floodgate to be reopened?

I honestly am not sure.

But I hope so. If I’m to have the kind of life and sense of self I deserve, I have to be.

I just have to be…

I am.

My emotions have been grayed out for a long time. I don’t want them to be anymore.