I like being married. I like having a stable job, a house, cats, and a meat thermometer so my steaks always come out perfect. I like my sensible car and knowing I have a pension waiting for me some day. I like stability.

I like not being a slave to my stormy emotions, being dragged around by impulse and a heart that cares too goddamn much about the wrong people and things.

But it has cost me.

I’m starting to wonder if there’s a middle ground between being a Chaos Tornado and being so complacent that I spend entire weeks and months essentially numb to all but the strongest stimuli. I’m starting to wonder if all the pills I take to keep me on an even keel, and sleeping at night, and not freaking out– if all this modulation of the highs and lows has reduced me to a dull, beige middle.

I woke up before 5 a.m. today, and like any sensible person I decided to go through all those people search websites and try to get myself hidden or deleted. In doing this I stumbled on my old blog from 15 years ago. There were words and photos that reminded me of what it was like to feel things so keenly, the sweet ache of longing, the inspiration that comes from living closer to the edge than I’ve allowed myself to be for a long time.

Last Friday, I went into the office, which is what I do most Fridays. I was surprised to learn that my former boss was there. He’s someone I always really liked and admired, and when I was his employee and just starting out, we had some great conversations about a lot of things. We managed to talk a few times throughout the day, but as the afternoon wore on I sort of started avoiding him. And as I was driving home that evening, it struck me how much of myself I now keep behind walls and gates and bulletproof glass. It might not be obvious to anyone else, but it’s obvious to me. My husband pointed out that it’s a good thing not to let my freak flag fly too high at work. But I feel like I’ve lost something. I think those walls exist in my marriage and friendships, too. I think they exist inside my heart.

Now that things are looking up, now that I’m finally getting some relief from the clusterfuck of stress the past few years have been, I’m taking a step back and admiring my own strength. I sustained a serious head injury and I didn’t die. I got horrifically depressed and almost lost hope, but I held on. I am employed, still, and married, still, and I have a house and two cats and I didn’t die.

But it cost me. I’m still learning how much it cost me.

I’m sure part of it is just getting older, and I’m sure that a lot of it is just getting healthier. It reminds me of a poem that I have probably pasted to this blog before, but here we go (again?):