recoveringmale

Its a strange phenomenon, how certain environments, places, stimuli, activities, whatever it may be, influence different states of being and perception. The predominant state, at least for me, is one of self-doubt and fear. My mental clarity is confused and I feel unable to remember or even think very clearly. This is the state Im in 90% of the time. The other 10% is composed of those moments, or short periods of time, when I feel suddenly very clear about what I think and, more importantly, what I want. Specifically. Things come out of nowhere, I am flooded with ideas and possible ambitions; its as if Im being allowed to see the brightest of all futures for a few fleeting moments, the most perfect version of myself and my life that I could want. Its brought on by surrounding myself with places or things that embody these things (i.e. going to see a play or a band) or reading for long stretches of time, actively using my imagination, or otherwise putting myself in a good place emotionally. The scales temporarily fall from my eyes, but I know that it wont last that long; it never does. One of my goals in the next few weeks, months, hell, even years is to work towards developing and eventually sustaining the minority state, the feeling of serenity, peace, and even excitement about my life. Like anything else, its a matter of practice. It needs to be carefully thought out and planned, or it will fall apart. I can say with little doubt that most of my attempts at self-betterment in the past have failed for this reason. They were born in those rare moments of ecstasy and self-confidence that always show a dazzling glimpse of the future, but disappear before any of the necessary work and perseverance can carry them through to fruition. The lights go out and the curtains fall. Anyway, the point is that if Im going to succeed where Ive failed in the past, relying solely on bursts of inspiration, it will require a systematic and detailed breakdown of what I want, a thorough and organized plan to execute, the ability to observe myself and modify my plans as problems arise (as they invariably do) and enough patience to not shoot myself in the foot during the whole process, and throw it all away. How many times can you start over before you get sick of it?
I have a few things lingering over my head like a guillotine, however. The letter to my father remains unfinished (not begun would be more fitting), and I live in fear of doing it and guilt for not doing it. The more time that passes, the further I feel from the experience, and so more certain that Ill never be able to get it right, that it is hopeless. It would be so easy to go on like this forever, but never with ease. Never with a clear conscience. It has to be put out of the way before I can really move forward. Of course, the act in and of itself is nothing frightening or overwhelming; but the procrastination and obsession have blown it into a monster in my mind. It hovers behind my every waking thought like a demon from some Terry Gilliam film, relentlessly hounding the hero. Always one step behind, always peering over your shoulder. It wouldnt be so terrible if I would just face it and write the damn thing. But the spectre is still there. And Im afraid. Like I said, there are moments of courage, flashes of carefree bravado; but the rest of the time its the dark and the fear and the moments between.