I've been thinking about why I am who I am a lot lately.
Thinking back through my life, comparing to others, I come to some interesting conclusions.
I was, apparently, a quiet child. Often suppressed by my older, louder and more dramatic sister, I'd take a backseat as if destined to become an introvert.
I was raised in somewhat poor conditions, but not so poor so that I couldn't eat right. But my family was broken, divorced and dispersed. I hadd two birthdays, two christmases, this was cool.
But there are some effects to my life I wonder if these are related. I have a slight stutter in my speech. It's really slight, to the point that I never even considered it until about 2 years ago when it just occurred to me. I doubt anybody else really paid attention either, but it's there, constantly having re double-speak certain consonants, making my voice vanish in social situations when my subconscious knows I can't push my voice successfully in the first place if I tried and it woudld create an awkward moment.
I also noticed recently that this doesn't happen at all when I'm in the very rare position of complete comfort, something I have never accomplished around family, friends, phone calls or otherwise. It's a rarity that I only typically accomplish with the most intimate relationships, one on one.
I few months ago I looked up stuttering, and it often is a result of anxiety and stress, both of which can in turn be caused by stuttering. Some results say people who stutter:
...may show certain personality traits. These can include being overly emotional and having trouble adapting to their emotions," notes Conture. Some research shows that people who stutter are socially anxious.
This seemed incongruous to me at first. I always considered myself particularly emotionless compared to the average crybaby out there; the offended, the triggered, the anger issues and the despair. I've always just kind of floated along through life, somewhat content, occasionally frustrated.
I rarely cried growing up. There are a handful of occasions I could probably list right now, from a little breakdown I had when I was super poor, to a time my step-granddad came in and watched golf when I wanted to watch Dragonball Z. And when the Final Fantasy IX disk I had rented wasn't working and I was stuck mid-battle. Silly things like that.
But the more I think, the more I realise I probably cry vastly more than most people, just not for reasons that one might expect. Perhaps as a result of British culture, or family upbringing, or friends, I don't know, but I have like many learnt to hold them back. Not consciously, but when I'm not entirely alone in a comfortable environment, the iron gates come up and the deadbolts fastened tight.
But when music comes in, and movies, and TV shows, and novels, reality gets taken away. Suddenly, all those cultural teachings throughout my life break down. The deadbolts simply drop as if rust wore them away and tears flow like rivers.
I have cried at least a tiny bit in more movies than I haven't cried in. This is not necessarily sadness and rarely occurs during inert, cliche love stories. I mostly cry at visually spectacular moments, vast landscapes, even in things like a Marvel movie. Just something being cool, or the soundtrack being exciting is enough to get the tears flowing. This is kinda tough in a cinema environment because I have this complex battle between social expectations and natural inclination, both of which are fighting for their lives to adhere to what they think is OK at this moment.
Music, in contrast, really does have a truly emotional punch to my gut. I am frequently moved to tears by beautiful music, music that makes me feel inadequate, a failure. But I rarely sit there thinking about how relatable a song is, and how I also have been going through sad times or whatever. Most of my thoughts tend to fall along the lines of 'Just think how they felt, the pain in their voice is hard to compare, the poetry unfathomable'.
What I'm trying to say is my sadness rarely comes from myself, but from the pain of others. My tears are for those who have experienced loss and tragedy, and have had the tenacity to sit down and explore those feelings, write them down and transform them into something beautiful.
I always acknowledged that I am highly imperfect, not fulfilling my potential, wasting life bla bla, but I take it in my stride. It really, genuinely has little conscious effect on me. I feel little need to talk about it because I simply don't feel I'm somebody that matters. I've no need to waste other peoples' time on what I'm going through.
Because others are going through so much worse. If I'm not going to sacrifice my life to saving the lives of others directly, the least I can do is empathize to the best of my ability. There's no point giving a damn about me.
I think back to that stutter and wonder if it's related. Growing up stoic, distant, untrusting, but at the same time, shy, insecure, emotions deep inside that can only escape when the mind is taken away to another world apart from society.
Was I taught to care little about myself and think about others, resulting in this strange imbalance of emotion, or was it just an inevitable side effect of my culture, or my genetics?
Has my life been determined, forever shaped by my stutter, my anxious defence, my carelessness for my own quality of life? Does this explain my apparent bouts of depression, of laziness, the profound appreciation for art, music, games, movies?
You know, the movie I cried the most at was Bladerunner 2049. Aside from it possibly being my favourite movie of all time, a title I usually refuse to give out, the main character seems to reflect these sentiments.
A replicant; a machine, unemotional, built to follow the status quo, follow orders. Unaware that he can pull away from this 'life' and become free, because he's 'never seen a miracle'. In his discovery of who he is, he finally has emotional breakdowns of rage and despair, and ultimately, sacrifices himself, acknowledging that he has little value compared to the cause he is sacrificing himself for.
Perhaps somewhere deep inside me, long before I had this train of thought, the most central part of my being related to this replicant, and felt his ultimate fate reflected my own, albeit more fantastical and grandiose. Perhaps I've yet to accept that my only purpose on this earth is to bring joy to somebody else, to save somebody, and without that purpose realised, I'm lost, imprisoned to my anxiety, my stutter, my deadbolt iron gates.