Have you ever seen someone die? Watched the light go out of their eyes? Have you ever watched the light go out of your own eyes? I have.
Before you ask, no, I’m not dead. This isn’t one of those twist ending stories where OP was dead the whole time. Hell, I wish I was dead, because then all of this would be over and I wouldn’t be trapped in my own life. But I’m getting ahead of myself. Let me give you some backstory and perspective.
Everyone is born with that light in their eyes. A fully intact soul, bursting with hope and ambition. Full of promise for a future. But, as we progress through the journey of life, that light gets chipped away little by little. Call it a loss of innocence or facing down the facts of life, but one way or another, that light slowly dims over time. These losses of light can vary from person to person, and even the more common experiences can have a different impact on each individual. The severity of the loss of light is subjective.
As an example, finding out Santa Claus isn’t real is a common loss of light in early adolescence. Some children bounce back quickly and continue on with their lives carrying on the secret of Santa’s identity for future generations. Other children feel that loss more heavily, because Santa was one of the only things that held magic in their lives. Still others will go through the same loss multiple times when they subsequently realize the Easter Bunny and Tooth Fairy are also not real. See what I mean? Some people are more resilient. Their light burns brighter and they can hold onto it harder.
But some people, it doesn’t matter how much they are able to get back up. Sometimes, life deals you bad hand after bad hand, and your light becomes barely a flickering glow amidst the darkness. That’s what happened with me. I always told people that God or the Universe or whatever definitely has a sense of humor, because I have 35 years worth of anecdotal evidence to prove it. But after what I’ve been through…what I’m going through…it’s really not a joke anymore.
Most people don’t notice their light beginning to dim until later in life. Those little inconveniences in the early years don’t typically stand out. That was the case for me. Now, granted, my childhood wasn’t puppies and rainbows by any means. I was bullied mercilessly throughout elementary and middle school, and was the perpetual “new kid” due to my dad’s job moving us around every few years. I didn’t even have any real friends until Sophomore year of high school. But it wasn’t until I was 16, when I was shoved into a locker for being gay, only to come home and get a lecture from my religious parents about how being gay was evil, that I was really confronted with my reflection in the mirror and how I didn’t look the same anymore. It was almost imperceptible, but even through the tears, I could see that something was off.
From that day on, I paid attention to my reflection. It became a daily routine. I looked deep into my eyes at the beginning and end of each and every day. Studying my face and eyes. Learning the intricacies of who I am and what lay behind the eyes staring back at me. I noticed that anytime something traumatic or heartbreaking happened was when things shifted.
When I lost my virginity to a guy and struggled with the years of religious upbringing and the guilt that came with it, my eyes dulled a bit. A couple years later, when I ran away from home to an unfamiliar city to be with a romantic interest, only to have it crash and burn and be completely alone to fend for myself, it dulled a lot. When I realized that I’d burned all my bridges, was having to chose between eating and paying back student loans, and was doomed to a life of a dead-end job in the mall or joining the military, my eyes took a turn for the gray instead of the vibrant hazel they once were. When I signed my life away on that dotted line and got shipped to boot camp, they died even more. And it goes without saying that being in the military wasn’t a cakewalk either, dimming a little more each day.
It was around the time I turned 25 that I started losing time as well as light. I’d “wake up” multiple times during the day, completely unaware of what had transpired for minutes at a time. I chalked it up to ADHD, poor sleep, or just being on autopilot at first. That went on for a few years without me ever giving it much attention. Judging from the talk amongst my fellow military friends, and countless other Millenials around my age, that just came with the territory of growing up in our crumbling society and having lived through multiple catastrophic events in our collective lifetimes. If I knew then what I know now, I would’ve warned all of them to monitor their reflections too.
Depression hit me for the first time at 29. Or at least, clinical depression did. The kind that requires medication. I’d had my heart broken twice in one year, and was suffering from constant bullshit from “toxic leadership” at my shop on base. It was the kind of situation where I’d literally show up to work a half hour early so I’d have time to cry in my car before going in, and then cry on the way home. My light was a sputtering mess during that time. And while the anti-depressants helped me not feel so empty, they didn’t help rekindle the flames behind my tired eyes, nor did they bring back the ever increasing length of missing time.
Things started to look up for a while. I got moved to a new state. A new job. A fresh start. The job was great, and leadership was actually caring and involved. I bought a house at 32 years old. I had friends, and my hobbies were thriving. The bouts of missing time were getting smaller and further between. I was even able to get off the medication because I was doing so well. Keep in mind, those things don’t bring the light back that you’ve lost. From what I can tell, once it’s lost, it’s lost for good. But I felt like I was actually on track to be able to hang onto it. Maybe even until the end, like most people do, when that light fades for good and you pass on to whatever awaits on the other side.
I shouldn’t have gotten complacent. I shouldn’t have gotten my hopes so high. Anecdotal evidence, remember? Things took a turn for the worse when I met the love of my life. You read that right. I know that sounds ironic, and in a cosmic way, it is. You see, up until then, despite a few missteps in my teenage years, I’d somehow managed to keep my family convinced that I wasn’t gay. I don’t know if it was because I was a good liar, because I lived so far away, because they chose to be blissfully ignorant, or a combination. But it’s hard to hide when you start spending every single day with someone. It’s hard to hide when the anxiety of being with someone emotionally traumatized rears its ugly head. And, to no surprise, they found out. Well, I was outed to them by someone I trusted more than anyone. My brother.
Needless to say, even leading up to that point, the light was fading again as the lapses in time were increasing. Only this time, they weren’t so much lapses in time as they were…like being in the backseat of my own head. Like someone else was driving. I was awake, but I wasn’t in control. I could see everything, feel everything…but I wasn’t the one doing it. He was. I didn’t know his name, and I still don’t honestly. He’d whisper to me. Tell me to just relax. To just let go. That I’d been through enough and it was time to let someone else take a turn.
I got put back on anti-depressants again soon after. But things continued to get worse. The relationship ended. Then started up again. Then ended again. This happened a few times, with each time the light getting fainter and the voice getting stronger. Constantly offering, begging me to let him just have control. To let him feel the pain for me. Offering me the chance to be a spectator and finally be at peace.
Finally, after weeks of non-stop whispering. After hours, and sometimes days, of seeing what it would be like to let him fully take control and the calmness it gave me to not have to worry. After one final breakup that hurt more than all the rest. And after all that was seemingly left of the light in my eyes being a smoldering cinder behind my once vibrant, hopeful eyes, I surrendered. That night, that last ember died as I gave him full control. And now I lay witness, merely a spectator, as he drives my life off the rails.
I wish I’d known. I should’ve known that he was putting on a front. That he was on his best behavior when he gave me tastes of the freedom I’d have by letting him take control. I can still feel all the pain he promised I wouldn’t. I can feel the anxiety as he drives too fast, drinks too much, and binges on all of life’s earthly pleasures. And there’s nothing I can do to stop him. The only time I’m in control is for about an hour every night, right at 3AM. Who knew all those stories about “the witching hour” were true. I spend that hour staring in the mirror, desperately trying to find a piece of the man I once was. But there’s no life behind those eyes. The loss of light is glaringly obvious to me, but apparently not to anyone else.
I’m taking my hour tonight to type this out. To warn you all. They come for you when you’re at your weakest. They come bearing promises of an easy life where you don’t have to worry. Don’t believe them. Don’t lose your light. Don’t make the same mistake I did. It’s too late for me now, but it doesn’t have to be for you. No matter how bad things get, life isn’t a joke. I have 35 years of anecdotal evidence to prove that.