Except it’s really my reintroduction — to myself.
I’m typing away before I’ve even launched (this site). Feels like it’s 2.08am and it’s almost silent, all you hear are the unruly neighbours, and people fulfilling their dreams of being on the set of the nth Fast and the Furious installation, and you wonder why people are out so late if not up to no good, and you’re trying to sleep, but it’s a lot noisier in your head. Thoughts have a tendency to be louder than them voices, if that makes sense. Maybe because they’re not always structured — like ghouls spinning about : there, but not entirely — like you, right now (I mean ‘me’, obviously).
I haven’t really allowed myself to think without holding myself up since August 2023. There is very little space for me to lose my balance, whilst standing on the edge of a ravine like this, where I am not in any form to take any leap whatsoever : not to spiral, so I could finally release myself from all of it– not of faith, so I could finally see where I land.
I will allow myself this block to stand on, encircling the perimeter which I could never step out of, otherwise, it’s game over. I time my crying sessions. Sometimes it doesn’t even happen, I just pretend it does, and then scurry about my day, or evening, depending which time of the day I’d get an internal alarm clock labeled as, “Oh hey, remember that thing we do to re-center ourselves? What’s it called? Ah, yes, CRYING! It’s Cry-o’clock!” Okay, that doesn’t sound very realistic, it’s too long for an alarm clock label, but that’s how it rings in my head.
When I have a check-in with myself, and I respond with “Meh. I’m good, my G“, then I take it as it is. I believe myself. I accept that this could actually be a reality in the moment. I am good, aren’t I? But if I’m being honest, I mostly wonder if I’m in denial (a river in Egypt), or if I’ve turned numb (the Linkin Park song).
But the truth is — okay, nevermind.
My best friend Maya and I have been learning our way around self-regulating and it hasn’t been pretty. It’s been pretty rewarding, yes. But not exactly pretty.
Self-regulating has allowed me to be both accountable of what I put out in the world, and lose myself in moments when I know it’s what needs to be done. I’m a firm believer that all feelings are valid, but acknowledging this means we’re responsible for how we react to — and process said feelings. It’s putting a mirror in front of yourself and being bold enough to either say, “this is something I should definitely change“, or “this is something I could live with“. What we don’t do, is cower behind the latter and use it as an excuse to hurt people around us, because what in the circus-clowning fuckery is that.
Although, that is the route most people take. Proudly too, may I add.
“I’ve accepted that this is who I am“, you tell yourself with conviction, as you continue to cheat on your wife of barely a year, this time with with the gym receptionist.
“I’ve accepted that this is who I am“, I tell myself with conviction, as I start to do a month’s-worth of laundry.
See, I’m no saint. I’m not sinless, but boy oh boy could you see the distinction when you stand next to some of the smallest people who’s ever lived (thanks, Tay).
Not to gloat (well, maybe I will, when I’ve worked so hard), but I’m pretty proud of where I am mentally. All my self-affirmations, all the quiet moments I was fully present, in the calm and quiet of my apartment — I could not help but pull off a ‘Suspiria’ (just less gory, and more figurative), as I open my chest and let all the light out (not in) because I am overflowing with gratitude, I’d combust.
Anyway — we’re here. Ain’t that something.
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