Wet Biscuits

I want to be brilliant, though I don’t shine too bright these days.

I’d been thinking about writing down my thoughts to help me reorientate myself after a prolonged period of personal crisis. Try saying that three times fast.

Prolonged period of personal crisis.

Prolonged period of personal crisis.

Prolonged period of personal crisis.

There’s a famous quote from the original stoic bro Marcus Aurelius that goes along the lines of ‘our minds are dyed by the colour of our thoughts’. This is actually something that surprised me while trying to find a rhythm or set a tone for this blog. I hadn’t realised how dark my mental canvas had become. I hope this outlet allows me to add some colour and discover a bit of catharsis.

When I was younger, I was considered ‘gifted.’ I’m not sure that epithet has stayed with me as an adult. Excelling when you are young sort of messes you up for later life. You don’t really encounter failure, you don’t learn to weather adversity like a lot of people do simply as a part of growing up. That’s a key part of your emotional development and it becomes stunted and now, I don’t have much tolerance for disappointment.

Talking of disappointment, where I am in life right now was never on my bingo card. I don’t think it was on anyone’s bingo card. I essentially withdrew from the world. I still am cut off in many ways.

I have the ego the size of a small planet and very little to show because of it. I need some humility. The first draft of this blog was just a list of the cool things I can do and some thinly veiled self-deprecating humour to emulate modesty.

Who the fuck cares? I do if I’m honest. If you’re a bit of a prick but you know you are, it’s ok right? No, you’re still a bit of a prick.

For so long, being smart defined who I was. Being the guy who just could. I am a far cry from that now. Not that suddenly I became guy who can’t, but I am the guy who doesn’t. Something went wrong with me, and I lost my way. There’s no shying away from it.

There’s a trope that bright people come with a dose of deep mental pain, sadness or madness. The other side of the intellectually blessed coin – the price of admission to the realm of perspicacity.

Boy, did that cliché train hit me hard! I call them my ‘myriad of mental maladies.’ A clever name to disguise some pretty ugly and serious mental health conditions. Finding effective and affective treatment has proven difficult. Nothing has really touched the sides which has only further complicated matters.

At my very lowest, I was a patient with home treatment. For the unaware, this is when you’re really quite poorly and very kind mental health professionals visit you every day for weeks as an alternative to a psychiatric hospital ward. Sidenote, abject despair smells like wet biscuits. At least it does for me.

Oof, what a bleak start! Actually, less so than it may appear. There were years when I couldn’t talk about any of this without feeling crippling shame and embarrassment.

What was the use of being able to do wonderful things with my mind if I could barely make it through the day, let alone forge a meaningful life for myself? What’s the point of knowing pi to 1000 places if I sometimes hear voices and struggle to brush my teeth every morning? See, I did it again, showing off a bit. Baby steps.

I still don’t have the answers but I intend to use these short articles as a means to maybe stumble across a few. A way to reflect, process the past, set some healthy goals while holding myself accountable (and grounded) and look towards the future. My own sort of celestial navigation. I’ve already learned a lot putting this together. If reading about this existential odyssey strikes a chord with anyone, consider it a happy accident.