Finding my Euphoria – Fearless

You have to be fearless.
You have to be ready, willing, and able to face what comes.
No matter what.
There can be no more excuses.

There’s no more room for lies. As for opening up to the ideas of self investigation, or when we talk about facing the music, we have to understand that there is no more time to stall.
We cannot push this off. We have wasted enough time and, therefore, we have no time to procrastinate.

No.
The time for hiding is through.
The roomful of copouts and justified bullshit are bursting at the seams.

I’m saying this to you now. Meanwhile, I say this to me as well.
Now is the time to move.
Now is the time to make a change.

There is no more time to waste. The hour is getting later than we think and as for the house, — well?
This house needs to be clear.
This is not spring cleaning or just a typical moment of personal inventory.
No, this is a deeper search. Perhaps this is less than it appears.
Maybe the work ahead is less grueling than I assumed, and once we take the next step, or once we take the leap of faith or become willing to do whatever is necessary to understand ourselves and improve, perhaps we can look back at the starting point, as if everything we did was far easier than we assumed.
Who knows?
Maybe we will look back at this one day and laugh, or shake our head.
Maybe.

This is not that bad, at least not when you’re ready to jump or to take the leap of faith and dive right in.

With this being said, I understand why people turn away or run. I get it.
I really do.
I understand why people hide from their truths. I understand why subjects like trauma or depression and anxiety are the most common challenges among us as people, yet most people are too afraid to face this or deal with what’s on their plate.

I know.
I’m afraid too.
I’m afraid of what you’ll think or say.
I’m afraid that if I expose these ideas that you will see me as weak and defective, or even worse, my assumptions will lead me to believe that no matter how hard I try to appeal to you, in the end, I will be some kind madman or unlovable.
Maybe I am, a madman. Or maybe I am unlovable, which is not true, at least not when I am around the right people.
However, we are who we believe we are.
Aren’t we?
Compliments do not matter.
Do they now?

My aim to find my euphoria is not about feeling high nor is this about finding a loophole in the system, which will not only pardon me, but permit me to use some kind of recreational drug so that I can alter myself. This is not why I am here.
I am not looking to find an angle or a scam to get away with some kind of doctor’s note to medicinally change my thinking, or switch me into something which is of no offense to anyone around me. Better yet, I can be out of my head again, or out of my body (or my life) and find myself somewhere soft or unobjectionable.
I love that word. Unobjectionable.
I use this word a lot when it comes to discussing my flaws that lead me to thoughts of despair.

This entry is not for everyone. I understand this.
Then again, this entry is not for anyone else but me.
Yes. This is for me, by me, and even more, this is my journal. This is my search to find inner peace.

This is not for you or for anyone. At the same time, I have brought you here, which makes this entry between you and me. If you recall what I’ve told you, then you’ll remember the first line in my very first journal.
“My redemption has nothing to do with your response.”

But—
this is more than a search for redemption and more than the thoughts of finding my salvation. This entry is not about anything else, other than the search to understand the root of my nature.
I want to uproot the weeds that have suffocated and destroyed the growth of my garden.
I want to bloom, but how can I if the weeds of my thinking kill my dreams before they have the chance to blossom?
I want to understand where my thinking errors began or where they came from.
I want to cross off the inaccuracies of my assumptions and remove myself from the worst bully of all, namely me, my thoughts and insecurities and, of course, I want to identify the memories which have amplified and mutated throughout the years.
I want to rip them up at the roots so the never grow back.

I never wanted to be seen as “that kid,” or “that guy.”
I never wanted to be the problem child. Then again, I never had the ability to inquire or the understanding on how to navigate around these obstacles.
I never had the nerve to ask or to stand up for myself. In fact, due to circumstances that were beyond my control and as a result of hardships, pain, or due to unfortunate memories of shame or neglect, and after having events that have unhelpfully caused me to assume that everyone is dangerous, or that people can and will hurt you, and as a result of my assumptions which believe that worst than not getting the joke is the eye-opening experience of finding out that the joke is me; I have cocooned myself for decades, as a means of false protection, and worse, I have lost each of those years to faulty biases and poor assumptions.

This is what it means to waste time.

I never asked for the past that I have. Even when it comes to experiments or the drug use and the binges that led me to a sickness, or if I include the alcoholic response to say more is never enough; I never wanted to be an empty pit.
I never wanted to feel vacant or unloved.
I never asked to be depressed or anxious or to believe that I am ugly or out of sorts.

I wanted to be part of something. I wanted to think, feel, and believe that I belonged. I wanted to be comfortable in my skin and relaxed with my voice.
More than anything, I have always wanted to be, think, feel, and believe that I am loved as in totally and fully.

I never asked to worry about the crookedness of my smile. I never wanted to be insecure about my face or how I look. I never wanted to believe that my body or the way I am is unattractive.
No, I’ve always wanted to be beautiful. Or above all, I’ve always wanted to feel beautiful.
However, the assumed absence of beauty brought me to an absence of peace and in the absence of peace comes the insanity of despair. And sure, I’m crazy.
I am definitely as crazy as you or anybody else.

I understand the intensity of these words and perhaps, one might argue that my language is extreme.
But is it?
Not to me . . .
I’ve always wanted to feel good. I’ve always wanted to feel happy. I’ve always wanted to pull something off so that I could believe as though I belonged or that I am wanted. Even better, I’ve always wanted to pull into something and believe that I am worthy enough to be included.
I could disregard everything that always bothered me, if this were the case.

I used to try to buy friendships. You know about this too.
Don’t you?
Aren’t you the one who told me that fair weathered friends are only around when the weather is fair?
But not when it’s stormy.
No, the rain washes away the fake smiles and we can see them far more clearly.
Maybe you never said it quite this way, but this is how I took it.
Or, if anything, this is how I am taking it now.

You cannot buy friendship. You cannot talk someone into loving you or wanting to “be” with you.
I see this now, more than I have ever seen this before.
Let this be the last time I need to repeat this lesson.

Giving yourself to underserving people, places, and things will only lead to an exhausting bout of rejection.
You cannot continue to invest in friends loved, ones, or lovers if they are not willing to invest at the same level.
Doing so will only lead to the short end of the bargain.
People pleasing does not always please people, and least of all, we will never be pleased because it is impossible to please everyone all the time, including ourselves.

I cannot live for others. I cannot try to make someone like me. I cannot make anyone love me nor can I make someone stay with me, especially if they want to be somewhere (or with someone) else.
I have learned this before. But I mention this again because this has led me to a state of perpetual faultiness.

I cannot walk around with this gross disservice of “self” and believe in me as a means of perpetual ugliness.

I have lived with me longer than I have lived with anyone else. Therefore, it is safe to say that I have lived with lies and fears and insecurities for way too long.
I have lived with an imposter and an inferiority complex.
I still believe in the fears of me as I was when I was small and a victim.
In fact, this is my biggest fear — which is to be a victim, or to be the punchline of everybody’s joke, or to be too weak and so vulnerable again and find myself abused, taken advantage of, hurt, or trashed and destroyed, like an old newspaper that no longer has meaning or validity.

I am accountable enough to accept that I am the sum of my misperceptions.
I cannot excuse the way I treat people if I do nothing to improve how I treat myself.
I am old enough to understand that I cannot think as a child or behave childishly anymore.
No.
I remember when I was at my wit’s end. I remember the despair. I remember the desperation that took over when I swore this was it. Nothing would ever get better from here.
No high could fix me. No drug could help me.

The world won.
Everyone and everything beat me.
Or so I believed—or so it seemed to me because I allowed this to be the case.
So, I tried to fix it
or should I say, I tried to end it.
But I survived.

The problem with drugs and getting high is they don’t fix anything. And sure, they feel good. I can say that drugs bring on a wild euphoria. I was painless and weightless. But there comes a time when the drugs wear off.
The drink turned on me. And so did the drugs.
I found that I built up such a tolerance that the days of infinite nods and pleasure are muted to a half-life and dwindling returns. Nothing feels so good anymore.
Nothing at all.

And you know what?
If I was happy, or if I was comfortable in my skin, —or if I was brave enough to stand on my own and be comfortable to have an opinion, or if I removed myself from the need for acceptance, and if I stopped looking for approval, or if I believed that I was able and capable enough to do as I chose, without some kind of supervision or unwanted help from a mandatory support of someone who has no right to tell me how to be or what to do — I don’t think I would need to use a drug or be high. Not if this were the case.
No, I would high enough on the fact that I chose to live the life I wanted and refused to accept anything less.

This means never settle.
This means no more excuses.
This means that even if I get knocked down or sent back to the beginning, then I have to regain my composure, step forward, and move ahead.

I say this with the full intention of seeing this through
I also say this because there was a time when I swore that none of this was possible.
I nearly ended my life.
But somehow, I survived.
And somehow, I met you.
Even if you are me and I am you. . .

Somehow, I have you in my soul and if it were not for this, or if it were not for you, especially now, I might not have had the courage or the drive to get back up.

I swear to this.
No high in the world can equal the high that comes with a satisfied life.
No high like this can come to anyone who is not satisfied from within.
And that’s why I am starting here
from within –