The Fear of Revealing Myself

I regularly meet with a therapist. This shouldn't surprise anyone, many folks do this in today's disconnected world.

But I'm a combat veteran with PTSD. And the PTSD, oddly, doesn't come from any of my experiences overseas. And my therapist is a former Navy officer turned pastor/man of God. And I've got him swearing during our sessions. So I'm pretty proud of that.

Oh, you don't know anything about me. Whoops.

So my name is Bob Abbott, I'm a goofball, love to entertain people and put a smile on their face. I'm also struggling with depression and have been for decades. It seems that my goofy actor persona is simply a long stick to keep people away.

I'm writing for two reasons: maybe one of you struggles with the same dilemmas, and because my therapist told me to. Well, he ordered me to, really. And I follow orders.

When I was 2 years old my mother died from cancer (F CANCER!). I have three older brothers who would torture me, and an emotionally distant father who was working all the time. But I had my grandparents who I saw all the time, and they instilled in me the concepts of love, joy, and being good.

Then, when I was 12 years old, I moved from the little town I grew up in that had all my friends to East San Jose. Gone was the neighborhoods filled with kids happily riding bikes and playing basketball, replaced by hoodrats and gang fights.

That, my therapist and I discovered, was when I lost my joy. That was when I put on the mask and started going through the motions.

Flash forward 30 years and I'm a father, husband, and actor. I have a wealth of experience in my resume, but due to some medical issues exacerbated by the military, I'm effectively retired. So I act, and goof, and have fun with people.

But, in all my acting experience, I cannot smile naturally on stage. I have problems emoting joy.

So the discussion with the therapist went deeper, and it appears that because I had to hide myself from others after the move, lest I get the shit beat out of me, I shoved all my emotions way deep down. I accepted my fate, that I somehow "deserved it", and just shuffled through life.

Oh sure, I had fun times. But it is hard for me to look back at the fun times and characterize myself as "joyful". I laughed, played, and loved....but joy is an emotion that seemed to escape me. I glimpsed joy at the birth of each of my children. I glimpsed joy after marrying my wife. I glimpsed it passing through me, but it never would stop and dwell in me.

Thus, the writing. My therapist told me that paradoxically, letting others get to know the real me would unlock my ability to feel joy. Seems a little hocus-pocusy, but I might as well give it a go, right?

So get ready folks. I'm about to be that goofy ass oversharing guy at the bar. I start off all funny and witty with the first couple beers, but in a bit I'll be proselytizing about the Celtic gods and their views on redemption. Ironically, the Morrigan is my god of choice, perhaps because She is the chooser of the slain, perhaps because She is the Goddess of Fate. But that's a segue.

I love feedback. Comments are great. And I'll continue to pontificate here, in hopes of revealing myself and finding joy again.