For two years now I have been wondering and contemplating what to do with this blog, and with the memories it contains that are now so distant and unreal that they might as well be written by another person. Did I really write all these things here? Was I really this person? Was this really my life? I retain the passive memory, the impressions that the things I described did indeed occur in my life, but I lost the active memory, the feeling of being a part of it or ever having been a part of it. The memory I have of this past life is like the memory of a movie, not the memory of personal experience.
The more precise and less convoluted way of describing it is that I simply cannot relate. From the point in life where I've stood for the past two years I can't quite grasp how these "issues" once bothered me in the way they apparently indeed did. How such fears in those days were so scary, how such worries were so oppressive, how such concerns were so grave, how such despair was so destructive. There was a time in my life where social interaction of any kind would paralyse me, where the stress of the outside world would send me into panic attacks, where the constant turns of life would crush me into deep depression, where the every day uncertainties would have me spiraling in worried rumination, and I simply cannot relate. It's all peanuts. The things that would put me out of order for days or weeks or more are things I deal with on a daily basis, in a matter of seconds, without giving them a second thought, because life is something I deal with and manage like every other guy - yet there's this past version of me hidden in memory that would have been overburdened for weeks by every single one of the hundreds of actions and choices that are part of my daily life. I try hard not to view this past self as weak and pathetic, if only out of respect for the millions of people who still face these issues today, but the truth is that this is not an easy view to always successfully maintain.
It was not always an easy thing to do, but deciding to wake up from that whole psycho madness nightmare and living a functional life like every guy should led me into a world that I did not know was missing so much in my life until I stepped into it. It's a thing of beauty to do all the things you want to do, and even all the things you don't want to do that come with doing the things you want to do, and not lament every day for how scary the simplest and most mundane things are. I cannot relate to how obsessed I managed to become to this whole world of psycho drama that knows nothing but suffering, how deeply I dug myself into symptoms, neurotransmitters, medicines, therapies, diagnoses, prognoses, and what have you all, diving deep into a veritable ocean of nothing but dysfunction. This world in which at any given moment there must be at least a hundred things wrong with you, where every thought is a symptom of something, every feeling an indication of something, every action a diagnosis of something, and everything is this surely terminal medical nightmare that will need lots of treatment and medicines and surely is all hopeless anyway. What a dark world where sickness lurks behind everything you think and feel and do. How could a person live like that? Why would a person live like that? I had to decide that I was done with it.
Perhaps it is one of life's little ironies that I found myself waking up from a nightmare of needless fears and depressions, started working hard and building a family that I discovered myself waking up into a world that was now defined by needless fears and depressions, with Syrian rapists lurking behind every tree, Islamist death trucks hiding behind every corner building, no-go zones covering basically every populated area of Europe and probably also a couple of thermonuclear explosions going off in the neighbourhoods once or twice a week. In the real world I actually see nothing of that really happening, but people in the world today seem completely convinced that this is the reality they live in, and oh how bad the world has gotten, and everything is turning to shit, and won't anybody think of the children, and so on. The kind of life in the past of my memory that was unsustainable for me to continue, that I had to wake up from to live a real life, was the kind of life that had become the new normal. Fear was once the central part of my life, and during the time it was, I could only see the bad things it made happen to me, but I could only see the good things it prevented from happening to me once I started to go to pursue these good things. I had simply not known them before and therefore had no ability to know I was missing something. Now I know that I did, and now I can look back and be glad that I did not stay with the fear that only had the bad things to offer. Society at large now seeks a life of fear? Well, you guys will see what you will get out of it.
As I said in the opening paragraph, it took me almost two years to decide what to do with this blog. In the end I decided I will keep it, and write from time to time, if only to give a small anecdotal insight on how lives can change. How people can change. Who knows how I will look back on it in another two years.