I Used To Be Numb

I recently realized that I used to be numb. Numb to my feelings. Numb to the things that were making me sick. Numb to my relationships with people and how they affected me. Numb to what was going on inside my own head. Numb to my experiences.

Basically, I was numb to the very core of my being. I was completely out of tune with myself and the world around me.

For many years, I didn’t allow myself to consider how I felt. I didn’t allow myself to think about why I reacted the way I did and what my reactions meant. I didn’t allow myself to sit in a quiet room for five minutes and just exist. And ultimately, I didn’t allow myself to feel much of anything. Even when I did feel something significant, I quickly found a reason to invalidate the way I felt so I could go back to being numb.

It’s not that I was a robot or that I didn’t care about other people or that I was an asshole. But I understand now that I was unconsciously taking the emotional path of least resistance at every possible turn. Whenever anything got too difficult or uncomfortable or painful, I shut down. Shutting down became my go-to characteristic in life.

And along with this realization comes shame and embarrassment. Because being numb to so many important things is a heartbreaking and irresponsible way to go through life.

But when I was numb I was happy. Or at least, I thought I was happy. In hindsight I know that I wasn’t actually happy. Instead, I was numb to the point where I didn’t even know how I felt, and since happiness is such an omnipotent presence in our culture, I assumed I was happy because that’s what gets shoved down our throats at every stop along the way.

And the more I think about the way I was going through life, the more I realize that I could have remained numb for a few more decades until I died a seemingly happy, numb old man.

But after plenty of self-introspection and often-painful trips through the recesses of my mind, I’m starting to reject the numbness that carried me through nearly three decades of life. And in the process of doing this, I’ve found myself in a place that is the opposite of numb. Almost as if I’m being punished for all those years of numbness by feeling everything at an excruciating level. And this newfound existence only reinforces what I already knew but refused to acknowledge for so many years:

I was numb because it was easy.

I was numb because it protected me.

Because when you don’t allow yourself to really think about things or feel things, life is simpler. Because it allowed me to get through the day without breaking down. Because there were times when I was faced with difficult events or circumstances but I was able to shrug my shoulders, say “fuck it,” and keep moving forward while the things I numbed out affected me on a level that I was not in tune with.

Of course, a numb life isn’t an especially well-lived life, but it prevented me from feeling the lowest lows that life has to offer. It also prevented me from experiencing the highest highs, but that’s a tradeoff I was willing to accept even if I didn’t realize I was consciously making this decision.

At this point, it might sound like I’m getting ready to tell you about how amazing and vibrant life is now that I’m no longer numb, but that’s not where this is going.

Where this is going is me realizing how intense and heartbreaking life can be. This is me trying to reconcile the fact that I was numb because it kept me safe. Because when you don’t allow yourself to feel things or think deeply about yourself or your life or the world around you, it is often a much more pleasant existence. It was, in many ways, a cowardly existence that didn’t serve me particularly well, but it was also functional and it permitted me to be relatively productive.

And because of this, I’m torn about where I find myself right now. Because it might sound great to say that I’m no longer numb (or at least not nearly as numb as I used to be), but not being numb is exhausting.

There is a certain sense that I’m giving myself paralysis by analysis. That I’m overthinking things and feeling too much. That small events in my life are getting blown out of proportion. That I’m constantly in my own way because I went from one extreme to another and instead of being numb, I now find myself feeling everything. Instead of being able to live life, I’m hyper-aware of the problems and issues that exist inside of me and in the world at large.

And now I’m left thinking about how the hell I navigate the world when I’m not numb. When I’m no longer the person who made it years (possibly even decades) without shedding a single tear and who clung to that fact like it was a badge of honor.

Things are different now. Because I know that truly feeling things makes you vulnerable. Because taking things to heart can sap every ounce of your strength. Because being invested to the point where it feels like you’re about to lose your mind is a slightly exhilarating, slightly terrifying place to find yourself.

But I hope this doesn’t sound like I’m telling you that it’s difficult to be me. Such a statement is not only ridiculous but it’s also impossible to make. In fact, I know it’s just as difficult (if not more difficult) to be anyone else, but maybe the truth is that all those years of being numb have left me ill-equipped to deal with what I’m feeling right now. Or maybe we all have our own defense mechanisms and when I stopped being so numb to my life, I lost the defense mechanism that was keeping me safe.

I’m not exactly sure what I’m getting at here. But what I do know is that numb is easy. Numb is comforting. Numb is closing your eyes and letting someone else worry about it. Numb is a luxury, a privilege. Numb is not thinking too much about things that you unconsciously know will hurt you or make you uncomfortable. 
 
 But I also know that numb isn’t real. Numb misses out on so much of life and the things that truly make it worth living.

Numbness is paradoxical in that way. You can feel almost nothing and not really be alive, or you can feel everything and be alive but also feel like your brain is about to ooze out of your eyeballs.

I don’t know which alternative is worse. But more importantly, I’m wondering if it’s possible to find a balance between the two.