I am at the tail end of a crisis made endurable by the fidelity of friendship.
Let this be a memento that through hardest times there were those who offered the rarest gift, without supplication, and thus the anguish brought on by the utter rejection of some was redeemed by the unconditional validation of others.
It is to them that I owe my most profound gratitude, which I neither have the words to convey nor capable of deeds to repay. Perhaps to live, and to live well, and to be the best version of myself, is good enough.
My life amounts to a search for parental approval of a primal kind: that my mere state of living is worthwhile. Yes it is every bit as ridiculous as it sounds, and at an intellectual level I have always understood that. All these years of introspection have revealed the tendrilled roots of my existential angst, those many big-T and lower-t traumas that slowly carved away my self-esteem, the murder of my ego through a thousand razor cuts. But understanding doesn’t bring reconciliation. A bleeding wound is still a bleeding wound, even though you understand the mechanics of tissue damage.
So again and again I spiral out of control – not because of the state of failure but the rejections in the process. I know I’m attributing undue weight to the opinion of others, but at some unconscious, emotional level, there still lives that dumb kid who wants mum and dad to tell him that it’s ok, that he is loved, no matter what.
Along came the people who understood, who saw through the noise and offered unconditional kindness, who provided the most comforting knowledge possible – that there are people rooting for me, and I am worthy of their affection.
It is an elating, empowering realization. Wherever I am in life, whatever the circumstances, I am anchored and I am home.
#00117F 