Most people go through an identity crisis at some point in their lives. For many, this identity crisis hits in their teens and twenties; the years where we are heavily invested in figuring things out and discovering who we are. And, it’s something I’m currently in the thick of.
I have a love-hate relationship with my current crisis of identity. On one hand, it is nothing short of an amazing, awesome miracle that I was blessed with. After all, up until just a year and a half ago, I thought my purpose in life was to die at a very young age from Cystic Fibrosis. But, before I went, I figured I ought to write and publish a memoir not just for my family to read when I was gone, but so I wasn’t just another statistic. Yet, that no longer seems to be the case. I will not become another victim to the progressive condition I was "blursed" (blessed and cursed with) with. I will live to die old.
On the other hand, there are no words to describe how terrified I am by the prospect that I’m not gonna die young from a handful of congenital diseases, and will instead live as long, if not longer, than many of my peers. In my mind, this wasn’t supposed to happen. I wasn’t supposed to survive the things that I somehow did, let alone relatively unscathed. Yet, due to a series of miracles and numerous chance run-ins with people who were willing to help me find a way to heal and survive, I made it. I lived. Not only did I just “make it”, but I am currently thriving! I can almost forget that I was born as genetically fucked as I was. I can practically live as though nothing has ever been wrong.
Except, that isn’t entirely true.
Physically speaking, I can (and do) live as though basically nothing is wrong. Because, by in large, nothing is wrong (at least right now). But, mentally speaking, I’m struggling very, very much. Not just from depression and anxiety. But, from depression and anxiety bolstered by my adolescence and my belief that I’m not supposed to be alive, let alone healthy and alive. Scarier still, I will be in college in less than a couple months, which to me, is the scariest thing ever!
Logically, I know that I will be kicking off the semester taking only one class at my local community college. Logically, I know I will do just fine taking just one class that only meets a few hours a week. Logically, I know I don’t have to worry about a major; I’m only picking a major to get financial benefits and general outline of what I’ve gotta do to get my associate’s, and I can easily switch majors whenever I want to.
But, emotionally, I feel wholly unprepared for what is fastly approaching. Emotionally, I feel like I’m destined to fail in college. Emotionally, I feel like I’ll hate college just as much as I hated school for ten out of the twelve years I was attending it. Emotionally, I feel like I will never find out what I’m good at or what I enjoy, and I’ll spend the rest of my long life miserable and financially struggling. Emotionally, I still feel like my life is passing me by, and I will die any second; if not by Cystic Fibrosis or Pulmonary Atresia, I’ll probably end up skidding on ice and driving off a cliff, or I’ll get trampled to death by a moose during a hike or a hunt (and that’ll definitely happen if I dare go camping). Either way, the universe will find a way to kill me Final Destination style because I’m not supposed to be above ground.
Obviously, I know my emotions are not facts. I know that I’m not at any higher risk of dying in a car wreck or getting murdered than anyone else. In fact, many would argue that my hyper-vigilance actually makes me statistically less likely to die than many others, because I know better than to drive like a fucking idiot or trust just anyone I meet (and only meet strangers in safe, public places). But, as I’m sure I’ve said many times before, logic rarely trumps feelings.
I may know that I’m probably not gonna get mauled to death by a bear while hiking, but I still treat every rustling bush and unusual shadow like a potential bear when I’m out hiking. I may know that I am good at (and have the potential to learn) many enjoyable things that can make for very viable careers, but I still have nightmares of being stuck working a 9-5 office job in a big city surrounded by nosy, gossipy extroverts. So on and so forth.
In short, I’m more lost than a porcupine with its head stuck in a peanut butter jar, and I hate that. Uncertainty frightens me far more than dying or meeting new people. So, I spend my nights and drives making up every worst-case scenario possible, so I may just be prepared to face it when (if) it happens. And, I rarely test my luck in life, because what scares me even more than uncertainty is failure.
The last thing I ever want to do is fuck something up, even if it’s just a small mistake. So, I do everything I can to avoid making mistakes, even if it’s as far as making the biggest mistake of them all: not trying at all! Because, if I make any mistake, that’s it. I just ruined my entire life, and I’m destined to become homeless and die an even more horrible death than suffocating on my own mucus in the hospital.
Again, I know that none of that is true. Obviously, everyone makes mistakes both big and small. It's what makes us human. And, the vast majority of the time, those mistakes don’t ruin lives or kill people. But, at least in my life, I could never make a mistake without paying a major price for it. If I missed just a single treatment session or medication, I’d get very sick and sometimes even end up in the hospital.
Socially speaking, my social blindness caused by undiagnosed autism led me to become vulnerable to making a fool of myself and getting bullied for it, as well as made it much harder for me to learn in school because I didn’t and couldn’t learn the conventional way. As a result, of course it makes sense that I struggle to try new things and subsequently make mistakes, because in the past, my seemingly minor mistakes always led to catastrophic consequences. And I carry that trauma from the past to this day, leaving me feeling stuck, lost, and unprepared for what is to come.
Before anyone says anything, yes, I am seeking help for this. Therapy and the right medication have certainly reined in my anxiety and depression so it is manageable. That help is certainly why I felt just comfortable enough to learn how to drive and get my license, and is why my courage outweighs my terror just enough so I can give college a decent shot. But, I have a long way to go before I feel comfortable enough to boldly try new things, subsequently making mistakes both big and small.
Just a few short years ago, I was too shy to order my own food without being a stuttering, sweaty mess. Now, I can order my own food confidently, at times feeling good enough to even make eye contact with the waitress. Hopefully, in a few years from now, I will feel comfortable enough to boldly search for a career, armed with lots of knowledge, courageous goals, and a sense of purpose and identity; a few of many things I currently don’t have.
However, judging how far I've come just in the last few years, perhaps there are lots of things to look forward to in my future. Maybe, just maybe, it is safe for me to dream.
