Journal to the center of the earth…
I’ve decided to start journaling. I have so many things to get off my chest and limited outlets for such. My friends are tired of my tales of woe, and if any of them found this they may be able to piece together who I am from various clues in my writing style or a combination of facts and scenarios I may talk about — but all names will be changed to protect both the guilty and innocent.
Since I am no longer a practicing Catholic I no longer have an anonymous confessor.
Bless me medium, for I have sinned.
But why here on a public forum? Well, it’s ego, I can’t stand the thought of writing something that no one will ever read. My eldest daughter used to believe (when she was little) that when we watched TV we were getting glimpses into other peoples lives, and when we were out and about that others were watching us on their TVs. Perhaps in the back of my head I’ve always believed that too — that I am performing to an unseen audience. I am sure this is a common perception that likely has a definition in a psychology text somewhere (i don’t feel like stopping to google it right now, thankyouverymuch!)
I am not named “Joy Mudville” — it came from my habit of saying, when I am deep in depression “This is no joy in Mudville”
Too much going on in my life right now, so best to start at the beginning, which is for me the late middle.
I was once a rich, self made man with a beautiful and ingenious and industrious wife (part of being self made was having the foresight to marry such — I won the wife lottery), two gorgeous, intelligent and talented daughters, a thriving business that paid us loads of money to do very little, three homes, an airplane, and the imperial facade of a successful businessman who did it right. American dream writ large!
Ohh, what bullshit.
I literally had everything, but I took a fucking sledge hammer to it all to make my life “new” again.
Newly found youth, new loves, new heartbreaks, newly minted poverty catalyzed by divorce and hubris, new friends/posse/tribe/what have you. The “warm thrill of confusion” as the Pink Floyd song says. My first time sinking to the depths of despair and suicidal depression.
But “Why?” you ask.
Well, mid life crisis is real…WAIT! LET THIS BE A WARNING TO YOU ALL.
If mid-life crisis gets ahold of you DO NOTHING FOR TWO YEARS. DO NOT ACT ON IT. Actively try to improve your life and relationships and be positive for those two years, but by all means WAIT. You may think you can’t stand another day, but the pain will pass.
Back to my story — now it’s turning to the story of a mid-life crisis. So let’s properly title the next chapter.
MY MIDLIFE CRISIS
(I am writing this in stages, continuing here where I left off — I don’t know how long this piece will be but I will keep it up, mostly for me, and hopefully I may land on a few gems that will help you, or at least entertain you in some voyeuristic sense. )