There was a time, many years ago (2002?) when I gave up on all my childhood dreams of greatness, because I realized I could not achieve them. That's when my dreams quit being plans for the future and simply became fantasies. Fake. Pretend. Instead of imagining what I could be in 10 years, I'd pretend to be someone else, or maybe myself in an alternate reality where I got things right. A favorite fantasy became me going back in time and jumping into my body as a Freshman in high school with what I know now and getting it right (and stopping my mom's death, 9/11, inventing Facebook, etc. Hey, if you're gonna time travel...).
For years I wrote off my consistent, repetitive lack of forward progress as personal laziness. Looking back now I realize there has been so much more going on. I talked with a friend a few years ago. She described some issues she had. Things like a crippling perfectionism, which gives rise to procrastination. The symptoms she described fit me really well. And her friend was going through the same thing. The thing we all had in common was: we all lost a parent when we were younger. Then it clicked: I'd been affected more by my mom's death than I realized. On the surface, sure I was merry-go-lucky me. I only cried once when she died. I was too busy being numb, too busy comforting others, too busy just moving on. While I never felt it didn't happen, I think I went into a state of denial, and never came out. And all the while I thought I was moving on, I was being crushed inside and didn't even know it.
I am a heavily guilt-ridden person. I over-analyze things, I hold myself to a high standard that I never achieve, and never lessen. Compromising my standards, even if impossible, is to me a lie. If I achieved a lesser goal, I wouldn't accept it. Which is a shame, a person needs some success in their life.
Strung out like some Christmas lights
out there in the Chelsea nights...
I'm feelin': contemplative
Current Music: Hotel Chelsea Nights - Ryan Adams