I am not often compelled, or at least I do not remember it being so, to follow up a post so quickly. I think I feel required to respond publicly to some of the feedback I have received privately. Names left for another time, and words paraphrased so as not to make anyone too uncomfortable. I appreciate any and all feedback, be it shares, likes, comments, or private messages. (I assume we are all on the same page with the jargon, as I only share on that one social media site.)
I think mostly what I wanted to say here is that the last article I posted (If you haven't read it yet, I'd suggest doing so now ) was written while I was riding a high. A natural high, one that came from realizing that I have persevered once before, and that I can certainly do it again. The flip side of that coin, is the downtime. I do not refer here to the communal understanding we have of downtime among whitewater folk. Instead, I reference the darkness, the emptiness, and the despair. I had some people tell me how they wanted or wished they could see things the way I do, and go live their lives the way I am. I can recognize what they are getting at, but I am really afraid I have given off an aire of eternal optimism.
I am not in anyway, an eternal optimist. I fret, I worry, I suffer from sometimes debilitating anxiety attacks. My most recent episode of anxiety left me trembling, chest tight, and forcing myself to breath deep and slow. I re-read this paragraph just now, and upon doing so realized a flaw in my logic. Optimism is not diagnosed.Anxiety is. I try very hard to keep an upbeat or positive outlook, and during my time in Chattanooga and shortly after leaving Chattanooga, I certainly was a positive energy, and people around me made note of it. My confidence soared, and with the help of my old friends and some new ones as well as my amazing parents I was soon back on my feet and employed and heading in the direction I wanted.
When I was fired, a tailspin ensued. I could hear the plane engine revving out of control and see the world spinning outside of my canopy and the green fields flying up towards me uncontrollably. What I had not realized at that dark moment, was that my plane was not completely disabled. I had taken a hit, it had knocked me off my flight path, but I was still in the plane and I could still control it. The drive during the rain when the clouds cleared, that is when I was able to stop the spin and level off. I found the horizon, pointed my props that way and flew.
Great story right? Everything is going to be just fine right? Well, I wish it was just that simple. It is not. I suffered, and I still do. I spent my day today, first at the gym (gyms bring to mind the same repetitive doldrums I felt trapped in once before), just to be sure I do not stagnate. Idleness is driving me insane. I need to work, or explore, or boat, or hike, or....write. The gym is good for me, I've been steadily losing weight and becoming healthier since I returned home but it still doesn't rid me of that feeling of despair that has been with me since my plane leveled off. I joined my mom for some errands around town, then returned home to do some much overdue maintenance on my truck. All the while my stomach is tight. My mind would wander back to my current situation, the angst and anxiety trying to override my temperament. What is so supremely bizarre to me is the similarity to how I physically feel now, and how I felt back in May when I uprooted and ran south. The bizarre part, is that it is happening for exactly the opposite reasons. I hated having a job then, despised it, felt anchored to the bottom of a sea with it. Now, though, I feel completely useless, idle, and for the most part on the verge of giving up.
What would giving up mean? Laying on the floor and never moving? Running off into the wilderness to live on squirrel and tree bark? This question scares me like no other. What does giving up look like? I am frightened because at times I really truly want quit it all. Not suicide, please do not think that. There is light in this mind, and there is darkness in this mind and sometimes I feel like just embracing the dark, letting it swallow me and wallowing in the comfort of not having to give a damn.
What gets me out of that cave, well I wish I knew. I was deep in darkness all day today. I struggled just to open doors and maintain while out shopping. I watched the cashier at Wal-Mart, frustrated by an elderly lady, act indignant. All the while thinking to myself, does he have any idea how I envy his job. Not the specific task mind you, but the idea. I had never been fired before in my life and perhaps that stands to the reason I am having to try so hard to make sense of what is happening inside me.
A spark hit me late in the day. I had struggled with working on my truck, the previous oil change saw the oil filter itself pretty well over tightened. I had to struggle first for good access, then for good leverage. ( A family trait this is, I can remember many many dates with my ex-wife delayed or cancelled because of Murphy's Law) I lost my temper and threw a ratchet, then immediately felt foolish. Took a few pacing steps, took a breath, and got back to work. I also had to change my negative or ground battery cable, so as I struggled with reaching the bolt on the bottom of the engine block I begin to slip back into the darkness. I lost the bolt, all went black. I can not recall exactly what I was thinking or how it came into my head, but there I was standing on the edge of an abyss leaning closer and further into it. I snapped back and found myself holding two replacement bolts and upon sliding back under the truck I found better vantage point and the work was done shortly. I did have a bit lighter work to do, and I got the sub-woofer installed pretty easily with some quick thinking help from my father. Maybe that was it. Perhaps the light that drew me like a moth to flame out of that dark tunnel, was the fact that I had finished something. I had a task and I did it. I had a job, and I did that job.
I decided before washing up for dinner that I was going to go out for a bit. Maybe meet some friends or maybe just find a quiet corner in a slightly hipster pizza parlor that I am very familiar with. So, anonymous reader, here I sit, in the back corner of Rivermont Pizza typing away and deflecting the looks I receive for being "that guy". What I find profoundly comforting, is that none of these people know exactly what "that guy" has been through and persevered, and therefore have no idea just how much I am capable of accomplishing.
I will accomplish it, but it won't be roses and rainbows the whole time. I will suffer, I will hurt, I will tremble and shake with anxiety, and I will writhe in despair. I will hate life, I will regret my decisions.
I will see you on the river.
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