I’m living proof of the fact that a human being can thrive after falling from grace. Now that term implies a misstep of moral failing but in my case, it was the byproduct of an effect that was imposed upon my being at a young age and for years, then buried in the subconscious yet destined to wreak havoc decades later in the usual form of self-destructive behavior, a relentless quest for unattainable perfection that caused tremendous self-blame where others can be forgiven for major transgressions while you beat yourself up for not being perfect. Dissociative disorder is the effect I only came to discover well into my 40s from the sexual abuse I still have difficulty discussing that occurred from 4-10 years of age. I simply didn’t develop emotional wellbeing and sexual identity that many of my peers take for granted as they pop xanax and complain about the Joneses.
I am currently not thriving, that opening statement was a fantasy line to kick off an imaginary future where I live to tell the tale. I am, in fact, barely surviving due to a series of unfortunate events culminating in yet again, financial devastation.
How does one go on when the prospects in real time look so bleak? The aspirational phrases can only take you so far before the end is nigh and you must pay the piper. Choosing a creative path, while in alignment with my core being, has resulted in immense uncertainty and a certain extreme financial insecurity that you simply never “get used to.” Or do you?
There are a multitude of weaknesses to consider, “bad choices”.to obsess over and overwhelming grief to slog through making the achievements pale in comparison and creating a self-perception that can be crushing, immobilizing or simply demoralizing – seemingly impossible to combat much less ever overcome.
In the process of self-discovery, all I ever wanted was to contribute meaning to the collective whole, to have made things better for my being here. To that end, it’s hard to say since so much disappointment and despair have piled up at my door.
I still find inspiration everywhere, am in love with the beauty of this world and want to learn everything all the time. Music lifts my spirit, the wilderness soothes my soul and collaboration is my lifeblood. Yet I acknowledge that pain and hardship tend to send me into self-imposed exile as I am the kind of person who gets bled dry by the needs of others. I was always the one who “had my shit together” and would freely help others without hesitation, yet it’s impossible for me to ask for help-I feel a sense of failure I cannot begin to articulate and the net result is sinking deeper into the hole of shame and regret.
I want to move forward, I have made great strides only to get knocked down again and again. Never give up, the mantra goes, but lately there’s a caveat voice in my head that says, but why? When it feels like Sisyphus was right.
The "Me" Decade 