I read a passage in a Substack post the other day that resonated with me.
The writer in question said something about mopey writers, pining about their lives: woe is me! I read that and immediately thought, oh shit, that's what I am, isn't it?
I look at the stuff that I write, and an emotion I associate with my writing is depression. Most of my posts are about sad subjects like true crime and anxiety. Abuse and malice are things I often touch on. I know it turns off people because there have been times in my personal life when I showed people things that I write and they seemed disgusted by it.
I don't blame them. Everyone has their tastes and their preferences. You have to cater to your audience. I acknowledge that my work is bleak.
This past week I started with a new therapist. The initial session went well, but when he asked for a follow-up appointment later that week, I freaked out and then spiraled. What does that mean? Did that mean that I was that fucked up that I needed to have two sessions for him to fully understand how broken I am? I had a hard time processing the request, and while I ultimately agreed it was for the best, inside my head I felt like everything was coming down around me.
During these two sessions, I have heard this new person say things that my old therapist would say:
"I'm sorry that happened to you."
"Wow, that's really sad."
"You've been through a lot."
I often dismiss my past. I do it to disassociate with how I feel about it. The feelings that come with those memories are hard to process. I had to survive by cutting my feelings off and doing what I thought was the best thing at the time, in the moment. Often I was wrong.
I write sad and dark shit because I'm a sad and dark person. Not to everyone. To most people now, I try my best to be friendly. I try my best to make their day better. But deep down, I'm a sad fuck. I cry often. I find myself spending hours in bed doing nothing. When I read books, the sad and twisted ones stick out more than the upbeat or funny ones. I have constantly gravitated toward these tales because they resonated with me. Authors like Hubert Selby Jr. and Bret Easton Ellis fascinate me. They make me feel like someone understands the despair that encases me. It sucks because I don't want to be like this. There are times when I share my favorite books with others and tell them about some of the stuff I read, I can see their expressions change from curiosity to confusion to distress.
I can't blame them. I can't blame myself, either. I recognize that I'm like this because of my past. My upbringing made me this way. I relate to horrible events because I lived through my own. I know what it's like to come out the other end different from before, somewhat less than how you were when you first started. I know what it's like to hide scars from people you love because you're convinced that they will run away. I know what it's like to have people run away when they see those wounds. I know what it's like to have people stay and try their best to fix them but not have the ability or the patience to do so.
But instead of being mad at the wounds and my perception of things, I've recently started being mad at why I have them in the first place.
The new therapist shared with me an analogy. When someone sees a person who was hit by a bus, mangled, and twisted up on a hospital bed, they don't think, oh man, that person is horrible because they have all of the issues they are dealing with. They look at the person and see someone who was severely harmed. I've never looked at myself like that. I have always been angry for not having the right perspective. I wish I was more positive, I wish I was more handsome, I wish that people would see enough good in me to stay. But what I never told myself was that I wished that things were different when I was younger. I wish I had a chance to learn to be happy and healthy.
It sucks. I don't think I'll ever be in a spot where these things will not resonate with me. It's part of my makeup. I'm 37, almost 38, and to think that I will be able to change that much of my identity is wishful thinking. At this point, it's a pattern.
But I don't want to be down on myself for being like this anymore. I don't want to wish that I was different. I have all these things to offer to people despite being so negative and downtrodden. Besides, who would be able to endure the type of shit I went through and come out the other side smelling like roses?
That also ties into the space others occupy in my life. I don't want to wait around for people to decide that they want to choose me. I don't want to force things or convince anyone to stay. I long for interactions that feel natural. Ones that make me feel loved and appreciated. That's a huge struggle for me. I always felt the need to prove my worth to people. I don't think that's ideal anymore. I don't know if I can keep doing that. The more I reflect on past relationships, the more I realize I chose who I felt would eventually come around. Some day they would see what made me special. Those days never came. Or if they did, it was too late. The only way to counteract that attitude is to choose people who choose me. Interact with people who can look at me, with all the faults and strengths, and be able to care about me.
I don't know how this new path will be. I sometimes tell myself that change is futile. But this isn't changing who I am. It's changing my outlook on life. It's altering how I perceive relationships because of my past. It's accepting that I am flawed and will always be flawed. It means not trying to be perfect for others. Instead, I need to be authentic for my own sake.
Hey, Adam. I think your self-awareness means you are heading in the right direction. And sometimes it is good to know that change isn't futile... it's inevitable. You are a different person than you were yesterday, and tomorrow you are going to be different than you are today. I am not going to give you any advice that you don't ask for. But I can give you some encouragement. I was talking the other day with a friend about ethics and I said that there is really only one ethical question to ask in one's life, but you have to ask it every day: Am I a good person or a bad person? I know in this day and age we aren't supposed to phrase it that way, but this way is simpler and more direct and asks me, in particular, if my actions reflect who I want to be. With resources being what they are are (low) then it means making small changes toward the good. That's all any of us can do. I believe you have a lot to give to people. Keep writing.