Reflections on a necessary crash-and-burn episode

Hello, blog.  I know that we haven't talked for awhile, and for that I apologize sincerely.  Life has taken a few very dramatic turns lately.  I promised myself that I would minimize how much I talk about what happened last week and how much I write about it.  The problem is that I can't stop thinking about it.  I can't stop regretting.  In an afternoon of despondent resignation I made a rash decision, quickly devolved into a desperate emotional catastrophe--a weakened fraction of the man that I am capable of being--, cried out a few final times hoping that someone would intervene, was stopped (thank God), and spent four days of treatment reflecting upon what I'd done and about the very substance of my life--all the insecurities within me, changes without, pain that I had harbored, truths denied, depression gone untreated, cancerous alternative narratives of reality entertained mentally to the point of hijacking real reality...all this that brought me to self-implosion.  I honestly believe that what happened needed to happen.  I required a violent, epic wake-up call.  I needed to face the illness of my mind and spirit.

Last night I was browsing through photos I'd taken in Costa Rica three years ago and found this one of a broken, almost comically misplaced phone booth on a nearly empty Pacific beach.  Once, perhaps, it provided a fitting metaphor to describe the way I had come to envision and contextualize my own life: despite having been blessed, surrounded by beauty and offered the gifts of serenity, peace, and productive capacity, I could not escape the pervasive self-defeating delusion that I am an outsider destined for mediocrity--isolated, neglected, misunderstood, unlovable (with, I should add, not much in the way of self-value behind those seemily impenetrable sunglasses).  I am happy to note that that attitude, with tremendous effort and humility, is being fed to the wrecking ball right now--such effort because there's a lot to demolish, not to mention great consequences for stopping work; and that photo, rather than allegorically relating a particular story of how my life is or was, is simply a pleasant and darkly funny photo taken at a gorgeous beach.  Even that very day in 2007, when I took the photo, there were emotional struggles.  I'd decided to swim out to a rock offshore and sit behind it for two hours because I thought that a friend wanted me to disappear; she was actually worried and entertained the idea that I might have drowned.  Of course, that day later developed into a remarkably rewarding string of memories to be treasured after all.  Huh.  Maybe there's more metaphor connected to that phone booth than I thought.

I want the people around me to know that I'm confronting the reality of my situation with total alertness and, I think, a slightly elevated consciousness.  I am learning to find value within myself.  I deal with each day's challenges as they arise.  I remind myself frequently of my blessings.  I am learning to accept.  I cannot take away the events of last week (although I wish that they hadn't been necessary).  I cannot undo the damage that I've unintentionally done--the absolute horror that I caused my family and friends.  I hope that they've forgiven me, that they'll offer the gift of support as I move forward, that they will allow me to rebuild trust and to develop into a person of higher character.  I hope that certain relationships in particular can be restored, even if it takes months--or, if they cannot ever again be what they were before, that I can accept the new reality fully and with a certain amount of wisdom.  I hope that my life--and my ability to sail the inclement weather of my life courageously--will only get better with time.  I am accountable to myself, to my friends, to my family, to this world.