Walking a Tightrope

I used to run track. I was pretty good at it. I won most of the time, and regularly put up impressive times. I owe much of my success to my ability to ignore my pain. I could dissociate in the moment and push through the agony as I sprinted repeat after repeat; chugged up hill after hill.

Despite my hyper-vigilant super powers beget by PTSD, I hated it. I loathed certain workouts, and utterly despised having to compete. A race against tough competition meant I was going to have to flay myself alive internally to win. And winning was everything. Don’t want to disappoint daddy watching from the crowd. Don’t want to disappoint mommy watching from the clouds.

I wanted to be a jumper. I was decent at the long jump, and knew I would be good at the triple jump if I got the time to practice (but let’s be real, I would never be good at high jump). My dad wouldn’t have any of it. In his own way, he kept me toeing the line of run, run, run. That’s what he did, and that’s how he would live vicariously through me.

I wanted to stop having to hurt myself. I would still be willing to hurt myself in practice to get better, but hurting myself to the extreme in a competition for who could suffer the most? I still have PTSD from that alone. I wanted to do something where I wouldn’t have to suffer like that in the heat of the moment. I didn’t want to compete; I wanted to perform.

Now I’m a juggler. Well, I got my wish. Now I’m a performer. It’s hit or miss. Either I’m awesome, or I drop it. Fortunately, I’m not at the high stakes of being on stage, so a few drops isn’t bad. But, that’s where I’m heading.

Now that I’ve had a taste of both worlds, I don’t know if it’s better or worse. Now my success is dependent on a split second decision. That’s equally nerve-wracking. While I don’t have to be an indestructible turbotank to succeed, I have to be fucking perfect. Great.

Looking into the future, I can see how this will drive me insane. I’m going to be toeing the line again, and one step in either direction can make me come tumbling down. I can already feel the failure of dropping it at a big show. I might not have to face physical pain to perform, but I know there will be pain that will drop me to the lowest pits.

I’m afraid. I don’t know how turbulent I will get. I’m already an emotional person who is terrified of failure and rejection. I can’t imagine that feeling of having a stadium full of people boo me. I know that won’t actually happen, but you can imagine what I mean when I say one step either way will cause me to fall from grace...

Hey, I wrote a short book about the experiences that led to me being in this place. It would really mean a lot if you picked it up. It's a rollercoaster ride through my childhood and explores (mostly) everything that shaped me into who I am today.

I also have a Patreon which I've recently set up as a means to help me get these messages out to the world more often!