Bastille Day

When I was much younger, simpler, and more innocent than I am now I had a hard time making new friends. I was a very shy child and relished time I had alone. I spent my whole childhood inside my mind which raced and swirled with ideas and fantasies that seemed to make up for all the missed opportunities I had to visit other children my age. My neighborhood had lots of families with kids so finding someone to play with certainly wasn’t the problem. The reason that I didn’t enjoy interacting with others was because it created so many variables that I just couldn’t control. I worried a lot because not being able to predict what was going to occur next was one of many fears I harbored. The world was full of so many unknowns that I remember becoming overwhelmed by the sensory overload and wishing desperately that I could become an adult who had the ability to deal with it.

One of my most vivid childhood memories was sitting in my living room when I was six thinking of things someone my age should never have to. I began to try to make sense of life and the inevitability of death . I remember asking my mother, “What happens when I die? Is it just nothing forever?” She recoiled and she gave the obligatory reply that, “We go to heaven.” But even as the words wove themselves into my naïve mind I knew, somehow, that there wasn’t a heaven and that when I die I will cease to exist. Tears streamed down my face and I buried my head into my hands. The very concept of an end to my thoughts, feelings, and dreams crushed me but in the coldness of this realization I found a truth and that relieved me. It only strikes me now that I was able to comprehend and accept a concept that instills terror even in the hearts of grown men.

Thoughts like those permeated every free moment I had in which I was not engaged in some sort of mental activity. The mind I once thought provided shelter from reality and stretched beyond my fathoming became much smaller and less comforting as the years went by until I finally realized it had become a prison. I attempted to escape it by playing games, reading, and listening to music but only one activity seemed to keep my mind the furthest away from the thoughts and that was talking to another living, breathing person. I managed to make friends and I tried to connect with them but I always felt as though I was never on the same page as them. As I attempt to put into words the way I interact with others I can only describe it as though I speak through a middle man. My brain process the information I gather during conversations but all my responses and expressions are formulated and filtered through this construct into a being that I try to convince people I “really” am. The little I do share is tantamount to the tip of the iceberg; the overwhelming majority of me never sees realization outside of neuron firings and fleeting expressions on my face. Perhaps I created this persona as a buffer zone between myself and the world in a feeble attempt at cushioning the blows that I dread will befall me but have never yet struck.

The irony of this is not lost on me. The more I put myself out on a limb, the deeper I seclude myself in my mind which fans the flames of my desire for interaction. The way the cycle self-perpetuates has driven me to lows that have taught me lessons about myself that I will not soon forget. And yet, sometimes I find individuals just like me, as if by chance, and they help me deconstruct these bars and walls I have created and allow me to witness wonders I haven’t experienced since I was a child. For some reason, I’m able to bypass the filters and speak words that I haven’t used in such a long time that I’ve forgotten how they sounded in my own voice. The gratitude and admiration I have for these people is inexpressible. What I’ve seen of their true selves is beautiful and it gives me hope for myself.