If you were to take a 1,000 foot view of my life, you would probably sit back and laugh at the pointlessness of my endeavors. My passion, which borders on addiction, doesn’t come from a deep-rooted love for anything in particular. I certainly enjoy lacrosse, don’t get me wrong. But what drives me isn’t that. It’s a feeling of inferiority that has rooted itself so deeply inside of me that the only way to stave it off is through consuming involvement that leaves no time for reflection.
After I finished with lacrosse season 13 days ago, and final exams three days later, I had significantly more time for rest and relaxation. After the most difficult semester of my life from a stress perspective, I was certainly ready for a break. I spent a few days celebrating my birthday with friends, and taking care of assorted tasks that had built up over the semester and been neglected. That busyness carried through the weekend, roughly. By Monday, I had reached a level of boredom. I was searching for things to do, something to pass the time while I waited the six weeks until I leave for lacrosse camps. I haven’t found something, and this week has been awful. Even the most stressful, sleep-deprived weeks in March and April didn’t come close to the feeling’s I’ve had this week. When there’s stress in the season, it’s exhilarating. I’m doing two things I love, lacrosse and academics, and having to be incredibly focused and productive to be successful at both. When I am (3.6 GPA, boom), it’s incredibly rewarding to see the results of the work I’ve put in. In fact, I write “incredibly rewarding” and that does not seem like a nearly strong enough word. Success is my drug. I live an entirely results-based life, one that depends on numbers and specific instances to provide me a sense of success or failure. Doing it so much, and for so long this spring, was the ultimate high. My life was basically one big game, and everything I did was an opportunity to win. I got to be someone else, an incredibly successful, no-nonsense person, an opportunist who doesn’t take shit from anyone. I would work all night watching film, then come back and ace an exam the next morning. I’d write a paper at night, then make adjustments that’d help us win a game the next afternoon. I bristled at people who were watching TV or going grocery shopping, because I obviously didn’t have time for either. I’d be up late at night, then my alarm would wake me up early the next morning. We traveled the country, and I got to go on runs in some of the most beautiful parks in America. I hooked up with a sorority girl I never in my wildest dreams thought I’d be able to get with. I didn’t have any insecurities, because I didn’t have time to think about it.
Now is the comedown. I want to train for an ultramarathon, but am lacking motivation. I sleep late, and am lackadaisical in my work ethic. I fell for a girl (first time it’s actually happened in more than a year), and screwed things up. Basically, I came back to reality. All my old insecurities come back out, as I sit and think about all my shortcomings. Soldiers who go off to war say that coming back, and re-assimilating into civilian life, is by far the toughest part. I understand their dilemma. I associate strongly with the main character in The Hurt Locker. If you haven’t seen the movie, I urge you to. Unbelievably powerful. The main storyline, which becomes clear when he returns to civilian life, is that “war is a drug.” The main character can’t handle the “real world”, where he’s a father in a white trash family, and goes back to disarming bombs in Iraq, with the consequence of death with one false turn of his wrist. This is basically my life. I’m not off at war, but the adrenaline is the same. I had so many unbelievable experiences over the last few months, but never had time to sit back and think about any of them. They just kept rolling through. I miss that. It’s not gone forever, which is the one saving grace, but that doesn’t do me any good right now. I could sleep until noon tomorrow and it wouldn’t be an issue. No one would know or care. I hate that. I am 100% an addictive personality, which is both a blessing and a curse. A blessing in that it allows me the ability to accomplish everything I have up until this point, being successful academically at Michigan and being a Student Coach for lacrosse, in a great position to make a career of it after graduation. But at the same time it’s a curse, because of times like this. I can’t help but feel that this is the real me. The loser one. The one who screws things up, and overthinks everything. But since this is so temporary, odds are I’ll get a job, live the fake world for years at a time, get married under those pretenses (probably more as a business agreement than anything else) and be living that lie. But it can’t last forever. Those last 2-3 weeks of the semester, I was so burned out. I needed a break desperately. And I got one, for five days. But then I need something new. I can’t have free time. I can’t think. I can’t live this life. Emotions are my weak link, something that never come, but when they do, they come with force. I despise going back to Clarkston now. When I’m there, I always revert back. Everything brings back emotion, and the old life I try to avoid living at all costs. I have to get away from everything. The longer I can live the addictive life, I’m hoping it becomes who I am. When I move away, hopefully that personality becomes the only part of who I am.
I need to always stay consumed with something meaningful. My life is nothing but a rotating cycle, from one addiction to another, trying to become the very best at everything I do. All to avoid the moments, like tonight, where I have to come to grips with the fact that I’m a very flawed individual who struggles with personal relationships. I really do live a joke life.
