I.
I began the first part of this series with the below:
There's a certain horror in coming to know one's own patterns too well. Not necessarily because those patterns themselves have truly become known, but for the plain fact that what one believes to be a mere case of "pattern recognition" is all too likely to be a case instead of pattern manifestation.
And so comes The Unpostable, that which cannot be posted, written, made public. That which, by personal conviction, must be kept private at all cost.
And while I no longer consider it 'Unpostable', I think much of what I wrote then, in that first post, still holds. And so does the pattern recognition. Indeed, there's a certain meta-element in that, a brief hour before writing this paragraph, I found myself rewriting something I'd already written. I think, some half year after the first post, that I'm ready to provide an answer.
II.
Is it too late to reneg on what was already said? Not in the sense of what Skinner said - his problem was what he did, not mere words, but to reneg on what I said? Last time.
There's a pattern to my listening, surely, of 'It's Too Late'. But the day came for change and I actually changed. I stopped the pattern of self-destruction, chose to face things, head-on, rather than fearing the turn around the corner. Not that I ever really feared what hid behind that corner. Fear, as multiple great thinkers have pointed out, seems to require for itself an object - anxiety, in turn, is totalitarian.
I didn't succumb to anxiety, and I didn't succumb to self-negligence. I kept my head high as I turned the corner, as I turned the page, as I opted to move on alongside the world rather than keep my feet fixed, glued to the ground on which they rested.
III.
Not all too inappropriate, I went climbing today, bouldering, and attempted a climb towards the end which was too difficult for me; I simply couldn't get a proper grip. I think that's a common theme throughout, in turn. And I'm not sure how much training my grip strength would do to resolve the issue.
I am in genuine pain. My chest hurts. I had to leave a party that I had invited friends to after but a single hour. I turned the page, and what I found was not some sweet bunny-rabbit, sitting and waiting there, ready to debunk my old fears. I found the abyss. I found stress and sleepless nights, I found pain, ongoing pain, pain which doesn't really recede so much as awareness of it does. I faced the abyss of a world for which I was not meant. A world for which I am unsuited, a world of difficulties which I am simply incapable of facing.
And it's not like there was anything at stake, either. Not in a concrete sense at least. But turning the corner means confronting a possibility. And what I found was that it wasn't the abyss itself that was intimidating, but something within it. The abyss doesn't stare back at me. The anxiety present is an anxiety concerning what some might call a "positive development".
I can hardly think any more for the pain.
It was supposed to be so easy.