So it’s been a number of years that I feel I’ve just been hibernating, just running out the clock.  I’m finally just getting around to making a concerted effort to undo that.  Make a new start.  Reboot.

If you dig far enough back in this blog, you’ll find a pretty low point in my life where it didn’t seem like the next day was worth getting to.  That was when social media was in its infancy. in today’s social media, I’ve learned that you shouldn’t make pronouncements like that online, at least not in real time.  It’s just a big bother for everyone.  And while I don’t have anyone in my life that would follow me to such a degree, it’s still never a good thing to just bring everyone down.  Kinda like a Green Day sentiment, ya know.

So anyway, I did have another one of those moments a while ago – many years ago, and it was many years in the buildup as well.  And it was coinciding with the quality of my health at the time.  I had been keeping up with my annual Dr visits and each time was warned of my condition, but I refused to take any action on it.  The turning point was when the doc started asking some pointed questions, and every time I answered he’d make a big huge checkmark on his notepad.  Come on, doc, I see what you’re doing.  I know these questions.

So he suggested a drug to help me.  And just like every other drug he told me I should be taking for my health, I resisted.  "I will never accept being on a maintenance medication."  He kept insisting and reasoning with me, and I caved.  Not really caved, I literally gave up.  I said, whatever.  I don’t care about anything anymore, why should I care about taking some medicine?  It’s going to be over soon anyway.

And here’s what I meant.  For a number of years, I was 100% convinced I would be dead before I hit 50.  Absolutely sure of it.  As the date drew closer, I was making plans.  I have all my affairs in order.  Everything that someone would need to know in my absence was recorded.  And had the date passed without realization, well, I could remedy that.

(obviously I’m still here, 4 years later)

So I go on this SSRI med, and I get a combination of other meds for my issues.  Let me give you the honest truth about my experiences since that change.  First, the SSRI drug was like magic.  Not in the sense that it made me feel better – I did not immediately feel better and I never did while I was on it.  What it did do is eliminate "that thought".  And that part is completely magical to me.  How, of all my thoughts in a day, could it just remove that one?  I could think about it actively if I put my mind to it, but it had no emotional effect on me.  It’s unbelievable.

So, then, all’s well?  Not at all.  I wasn’t any happier and I knew I was an emotional zombie.  I had no lows, but also no highs.  Nothing meant anything to me.  And I suppose this was just fine while my thoughts kind of reorganized themselves.  But after a couple months, I was sick of it and told the doc I wanted to wean off of the drug.  I had what are termed "brain zaps" while dosing down and that’s an unexplainable sensation.  But my thoughts have remained relatively clear ever since.  A success story?

Well… when you spend so many years planning your end and that has been taken away from you, and the treatment and cessation of the treatment for that condition has not made any changes to your day-to-day mood and attitude, life is still a chore.  For a long time, I’ve been referring to my life as "playing on extra credits", harkening back to arcade games where you are given extra play time for some success, but once that’s gone, the game is done.  I’m not making any long term plans, I’m not empire building, have no plans for a relationship, have no plans for anything, really.  As I said, running out the clock.

But now, I’m actually beginning to see a little into the future.  It’s not sunlight and roses, but I’m starting to see that this extra play could go on for a while.  And part of the realization with that is that the game is actually easier than I thought it was.  I have no responsibilities, my expenses are low and stable, and I’ve got a lot of time to use.  If I choose to spend that time doing nothing, that’s ok.  If I choose to go out into the world and be pleasant and interactive, that’s ok, too.  There are no longer any expectations for me other than what I set for myself.  And that’s always been true, but when you’re in a relationship, you have to compromise and work together.  Not that I’ve been in a relationship for many years, but I somehow forgot that.

And now it’s baby steps trying to get back to the (at least) pleasant, approachable person I used to be.  I’m feeling a bit embarrassed about being so morose and withdrawn all the time.  I’m still of the mindset that every acquaintance is a potential anchor and I guard my freedom and privacy zealously, but, you have to reach out to make a connection, right?  I’m still pretty confident in my ability to identify compatible people.  I don’t know, maybe I can sense auras.  But I let a number of people slip by because I didn’t feel it was worth the effort.

Lots of ground to cover here, so be forewarned, and a lot of it is in the no-fucks-to-be-given-anymore realm, so be doubly forewarned.

To begin, all of this now is uncharted territory for me.  Recently I broke 50 years of age and maybe a couple years ago, you could not have convinced me otherwise I would be alive right now.  That plan had been in the works for many years prior and it was actually coming to fruition, meaning I was beginning my plans to hold down the power button on my life.  For whatever reason, I told my doctor about it and after the assistance of some significant pharmaceuticals, I remain.

You might think this is the ideal opportunity to completely reinvent myself, since these days were never planned for, they have no expectations.  But that is silly talk.  This is no "second wind".  That was maybe 15 years ago and I squeezed all the life out of it I had, after all, I had a plan for the finish line.  This is "coasting to the finish line."  This is more a period of reflection and maintenance and existence.  And some of that has been done recently and because it has no repercussions to me in this new uncharted, unplanned life, I have the willingness to jot all of it down.

Whether coincidental to my milestone birthday or not, I received an unsolicited package on my doorstep from my estranged brother.  Within were documents and photos of me and my family from the past.  Very likely, it was everything from my parents house before it was sold off, all of it crammed and scattered in a plastic tub.  Incredibly, of the picture frames loosely placed in the tub, two wooden and one metal frame were broken, and yet, no glass was broken.  The whole package carried a sentiment of "This is now out of my house and is your problem now."  So it is.

Sometimes, actually probably most times, when a new problem is thrust on me, it is pushed to the top of the stack instead of the end of the queue.  This new problem was no different.  So I right away took all the photos and documents out and sorted them on the floor.  I arranged them by photo size and put them into a new box for processing.  The processing I rather wanted to do was throw it all away.  However, my archivist instincts forced me to to evaluate the potential loss of this information, useful to only a few people, really, and of that, only of curiosity.  Since that evaluation result was greater than zero, I had to concede that at least a modicum of effort must be made to preserve it.  So, I chose to scan everything before disposal.

The next two days were spent swapping photos and pages in a flatbed scanner, hours on end, to capture everything in 300dpi.  Thinking back to my early computing days, this would be unfathomable.  The storage required for 300dpi scans of hundreds of photos would be an astronomical cost.  Each picture over 1MB in size?  Back then, things were huge if they were 300kb in size.  So, time and technology were on my side for this effort.  And personal time is also available as I don’t have much going on.  I am able to do another hobby concurrently with this task, however this did take precedence over a future pending project (maybe to be announced).

So, hundreds of photos from my past, many I’ve never seen before, suddenly fall in my lap.  How does an experience like that make you feel?  Well, it sort of forces you to reconcile your past with your present, and for me that wasn’t all that pleasant.

I did not have an unpleasant childhood.  I was extremely privileged.  I was spoiled.  However, I was also very solitary.  I never really had more than one or two friends at a time.  In ignorance of my affluence and despite the lack of socialization, I was a very fun-loving, happy child.  My parents liked taking pictures of me and while I wasn’t exactly a ham in front of the camera, I was willing and I behaved in an a non-self-conscience way that is polar opposite of the person I later became.

I’ve already hit upon one small personal demon so far, and I promised lots of ground to cover, so here’s a personal story tangent.

I’ve not done any real research on this, but I can be confident that in Psych circles there must be a topic of "survivor’s guilt" of success.  I carry that guilt.  In the current age, I feel horrible for younger generations who will never know how good things used to be.  I feel guilty that I grew up in more prosperous times, despite being through two financial crises, I’m more than holding my own.  I happened to fall into technology just as it was blooming and it has sustained me all my life.  I’m just starting to get into the age of discrimination where if I were to lose my job, I might have a more difficult time replacing it.  But still, I don’t think my time will be harder than someone just getting started who needs a BS or Masters degree for an entry-level job.

Seeing my childhood pictures reinforced all my feeling of having an unfair advantage in life.  I’m sure a therapist would say that’s not something that can be changed and I can’t feel guilt for something I had no control over, but discarding that self-awareness isn’t the ticket either.  Look at all the selfish, unreflective, unaware individuals polluting social media and the news today.  The world could use a little more humility and self-reflection.  And that was the crushing emotion of scanning my early childhood photos.  And then we continue on to later photos…

You can sort of see the change in my demeanor as I grew older, ending in the "sullen teenager" photos.  Why this happened, I can’t be entirely sure.  There are plenty of things that could contribute to it: my social isolation starting to bear fruit, my parents getting along less and starting to live independent lives, or maybe it was my brother.  I don’t want to pin all my misery in life on my brother, although we haven’t spoken in years and I have no desire to reconcile.  But to see childhood pictures of the two of us happy, then ending with me scowling at him in a picture with my prom date as he takes the pictures (compared to me beaming in pictures at my GF’s house as her dad took pictures), well, I don’t get along with his personality.  I have enough problem in my life without needing that too.

Then we get to photos after I’ve left home and am living on my own.  This should be peak life right here, young and healthy with no responsibilities, right?  But it wasn’t as good as I wanted.  I recall reading a confession by a famous person who said she wished she had a lot more sex when she was young.  And you know, that really resonates with me.  I’ve recently had some general observations that apply to me specifically, and again, at this point in my life, there’s no real shits to give about the me 30 years ago.

To sum it all up, my problem when I was in my teens and 20’s was that I was a "romantic".  That bullshit should be trotted out in your 40’s.  When you are young, sex is the thing, not love.  Growing up in a tiny, conservative town sort of limits your opportunities, but looking back, I surely could have made more happen.  While I was trying to woo girls with sincere displays of affection, they were being snatched up by more aggressive guys.  I promised stability, they promised fun.  As a 20-something, I had it all fucking wrong.  I was a 40 year old in a 20’s body.  Such a shame.  But thank god there was no social media back then.  If there was, I would publicly and ruthlessly labelled as "cringe", as the modern terminology goes.  "Cringe" has a lot of meaning, but the one I feel applies best here is, "you’re doing it really wrong and you don’t realize it."  It’s embarrassing.

The cringe factor is something that really digs at me when I think of my past.  Consider me and my competition.  For my part, I do the love letters, the poems, the flowers, all the romantic stuff.  The other guy just strikes up a conversation, gets friendly, then either pushes hard or builds a rapport until he gets laid.  His work is simple and risk free, mine requires lots of effort.  Again, this is complete bullshit when you’re young.  And when the guy has had enough of sex from her, he dumps her – no big deal whatsoever.  You might think that’s shitty behavior, but you know what, it doesn’t matter.  He’ll be remembered as "an asshole, but we had fun and he made me feel good," whereas I would be remembered as "that weird guy.  ew."  No contest.

While that’s really in the realm of MGTOW sentiment, I want to stress that if you’re pulling that 20’s shit in you’re 40’s, you are an unredeemable asshole and you deserve to die alone.  There is a time to act like you’re young and a time to act like an adult.  Unfortunately, I never had my time of acting young.

So that sums up my reflections on life from 600+ photos dropped on my doorstep, as well as my reflections on life past 50 that I never intended to have.  Life is good and it can always be worse in hindsight.