Percy Pals

That last post was the first thing I’ve “written” in nearly a month. If you can even call it writing. Basically just pasted an image and place a couple of random thoughts. That’s not really writing. Yet, something brought me back to this page—a place up until a few days ago I was more than ready to close for good. Is this a sign that writing is on the horizon for me? Am I finally returning to the only thing I know I’m good at? I don’t really have the answer right now. I do know where to start looking though. 

And that’s at the beginning of my hiatus. 

I don’t really know why I stopped fully. I have inklings and theories, but at the end of the day it’s nothing that intense. What it boils down to most likely is a lot of things hitting me at once mixed with a huge cloud of writer’s block. In other words, I became overwhelmed. And that’s not a feeling that has gone away. Instead, it’s gotten a lot worse. I don’t think I’ve ever experience such a constant, looming sense of dread, exhaustion, and anxiety in my life. It has not let up and with each passing day I have grown more confused and hopeless. I still don’t see a light at the end of the tunnel, to put it bluntly. This isn’t a piece about how I was struggling but now see the way out. It’s still pitch black in here and I’m as lost as ever—but it’s my own doing. I made my situation. My entire life has been a series of false lights at the end of a tunnel. I kept thinking “oh, if I just do this” or “if I become this type of person” or “if I get this” then I’ll be happy. But I’ve been wrong each time. Either I’ve come up short, missed opportunities, or I actually pull off a miracle and get the outcome I hoped for yet find myself without the lasting contentment I thought it would bring. Everything changes and shifts. There’s no solid ground left to stand on. I can’t trust any path forward because it may alter its direction on me. So what is there left to do?

Close my eyes and don’t let what’s on the outside fool me.

Instead of trying to find the answer out in the world, I need to trust what’s within to guide me out of the labyrinth. How’s it been going for me so far? Horrible. Absolutely horrible. I keep tripping over myself and knocking into walls. I’m not in a position to get out yet, but at least I’m trying something different; something more isolated and fully under my control because that is something I’ve been struggling with a lot: a sense of no control over my life. Everything feels reliant on outside influences and that terrifies me. I’m trying to gain back that control though. It’s something only I can give myself. And the way I see most successful involves what is kind of like the basic rule of airbending training which is to follow the path of least resistance. Instead of thinking in absolutes, I’m trying to be more open, not letting specific goals and desires or life limitations define me and what I want because that can (and has) changed at a moment’s notice. So instead of putting all my eggs in one basket and setting myself up for disappointment, I’ve decided to try to be like the wind and just go where my mind and natural instincts feel like taking me. It’s made me realize a lot about myself over the past couple of years especially, but the specifics are not something I’m ready to discuss here (plus, they’re still in constant fluctuation and I still have yet to make a decision and truthfully, I don’t know if I ever will).

So does this have anything to do with writing? 

Writing has been what I’ve wanted to do for a number of years now. I like creating stories and characters and putting a little bit of me in every line. Due to this, writing has become very therapeutic and an integral part in how I deal with my emotions and sort out my thoughts. So when I started becoming overwhelmed and disassociating, I thought I could count on writing to keep me tethered, but it didn’t. It failed me. With that connection severed, there was nothing binding me to this world and so I started floating. Each day since then hasn’t felt real. I go through the motions, doing the bare minimum in terms of social interaction to get by. I can’t handle anything beyond that. If I’m forced to, once it’s over I retreat into my own head by putting in my earbuds and drowning out the outside (and inside) noise. My brain can’t handle anything it usually finds fun or entertaining but I need to quiet the infected thoughts so I turn to the same ten songs or the same comedy special (thanks James Acaster) over and over again. I’m absolutely broken. I am not functioning properly and I know it. I haven’t picked up a book in over a month because my brain can’t handle it. So if I can’t even read, how could I possibly write? It’s much more tolling on the ol’ psyche than reading, plus it meant I’d have to face my thoughts and emotions, which I wasn’t ready for. But I’m writing this, so I must be now, right? Not exactly. I think the only reason I’m frantically throwing this down in my notes app is because nothing is working so might as well force myself to try and at least start to make sense of what’s wrong with me and how I can start moving through the dark. I started this paragraph by saying writing is all I wanted to do. And I also mentioned even earlier that things are constantly changing. Writing has always been one of those things that I thought of in absolutes: “If I just become a successful writer, then I’ll be happy.” But the more I keep thinking about what I see as wrong with my life, I realize that writing solves none of them. Sure, it may help me sort out my thoughts, but at the end of the day it’s just a means for me to flirt with fixing my problems without actually taking any real steps forward. It’s been subconsciously helping me run away from my woes and I can’t keep doing that because it’s going to kill me. In order to help me face my problems, I literally made a list of everything that bothers me about myself and my existence. It’s titled, rather simply, “Zach’s Woes”. Real creative, I know. It’s a fluid, ever changing list that is currently sitting at 24 woes. And what’s even scarier than the size of the list is the fact that they’re all tied together, which makes talking about my problems VERY difficult. Good thing I’ve decided to limit how much I talk to people.

So am I done writing? I don’t know. Probably not. I think I just need to do it differently. And I think now would actually be a good time for me to get back into it because it’ll keep me motivated and feeling productive and who knows, maybe I’ll figure out more about myself along the way. But I can’t disappear into my writing like I did in the past. I need to face my problems head on before it’s too late. That means me taking some leaps that are pretty daunting but need to be taken.

I’ve done some things to withdraw myself socially that may have seemed like temporary behavior changes, but I actually kind of like the results I’ve been getting from them so I think I’m going to stick with it. I deleted Instagram and Tik Tok which were two big time killers (the sequel to Big Time Rush, of course) and ultimately ruining me on a subconscious level but my brain kept lying and telling me it was “entertaining.” And in the past week, I’ve also stopped talking as much, which I first thought was one of the constant waves of introversion I get, but the more I think about it, the more I kinda like not talking (at least in person). There’s just so much that goes into social interactions that just isn’t worth it. So many strange social cues, constant minding of people’s reactions and opinions, all the selfishness and lack of empathy—it’s all a bother. For those who have known me long enough, you’re fully aware of my dislike for small talk and I’ve kind of expanded that scope to even more conversation types. Like there’s very little need to talk about a lot of what we talk about in life—especially with people who aren’t our family or close friends. Especially at work I feel so much more relaxed and focused when I have my headphones in and I’m not worried about social interaction. Because every conversation I’ve ever had ends up with me talking too much or making dumb jokes and afterwards I’m constantly replaying them and regretting every single word. It’s just not worth it anymore. 

This sounds really angsty and I’m starting to regret this entire thing. Ah well, it’s not the worst thing I’ve ever posted on this site. Past me sucked. Current me sucks too. Let’s hope future me is at least a bit better. Maybe they know how to get out of this tizzy because I sure don’t. In the meantime, I guess I’ll see if writing can reel me back in to Earth. Maybe then I can take on my 24 (and counting) woes.