I’ve never been a big sharer. For as long as I can remember, I’ve always preferred not being noticed or remembered by anyone. This isn’t the same thing as being introverted; it’s like my depressive mind seeks to devour and destroy all aspects of myself, including that which I create. As a result, I realize that there is very little about myself that I leave anywhere. If a person is what they leave behind, I don’t really exist.
The problem I have with this is that in my more lucid moments I feel like I have or will lose important parts of myself forever. Although some teachers encouraged me to keep journals when I was younger, any of those records I made got lost through calculated neglect on my part. Even fiction that I wrote – which always contains trace parts of myself – has been annihilated because it contained hints of my existence. This constant battle to save and destroy records of myself even makes me reluctant to have pictures taken of me or to be mentioned anywhere in any capacity.
It has only been recently that I’ve developed a desire to reflect on who I am as a person. I can’t do that fully without reflecting on who I was as a person. So much in my life has shaped me into the creature that types this, and most of my recollections contain negative impressions of myself. Any happy memories I have or positive developments are hard to bring forth. Just trying to dredge them out involves traveling across a horrific memory landscape. Although I want to remember what has got me here, I don’t want to just remember the fear and terror that drives me.
Does this mean that as a person, I am doomed to lose the best parts of myself? Or is it a product of my depressive thinking? What makes me give up trying to do anything for myself is this inescapable feeling that I am doing all of this in the most macabre sense of futility. Self reflection for me is like a bull fight. My memories are a bull that gets wounded until it cannot be too dangerous, and then the matador of my self-hatred comes out and does what he always does to rapturous applause.
And I don’t have tangible evidence to make any of it stop.