I’m listening to Metallica. The maligned mainstream. Ride The Lightning is 35 years old. It’s one of those records I could play note for note if I could play an instrument. It’s been in my musical lexicon for 25 years (I wasn’t a fan at age 4; I preferred watching Exploited videos with my then punk teenaged sister). Music felt revolutionary as a teenager. Especially when I got into the fringes of it. Life changed forever when at the tender age of 14 I first heard Emperor, Enslaved, Mayhem, Darkthrone, Satyricon, Immortal, Marduk, etc., etc., etc.. At the time that bomb dropped it was a steady diet of punk, hardcore and thrash. Then one of the DJs on a weekly show I listened to (called aggressive rock, on college radio CKLN 88.1, now a privately-owned hipster ‘indie’ channel) started his ‘satanic appeasement’ set in the midst of spinning hardcore 7″s, playing the above-mentioned bands and then some, blowing my fragile little mind with Norwegian black metal. I recorded the show and made mix tapes that I played ad nauseum, of both the hardcore as well as the metal. None of my “metal” friends at the time were into the extremity of either; Slayer was pushing it for them.

When I showed up to paramedic school in spikes and chains I wasn’t exactly winning anyone over. I still believe if the professors had seen a picture of me prior to my arrival that they wouldn’t have let me into the program despite my intro testing being exemplary (I was 1 of 3 out of 57 to be let out of the english class based on my intro testing, and I had no previous formal education). Every step of the process was a fight to prove myself against higher standards than my classmates had. On the first test we wrote 13 people were asked to define ‘apnea’. 13 people wrote ‘not breathing’. 12 got it right; I had it wrong for not putting ‘condition of’ in front of my answer. I was back in high school, only it wasn’t classmates demonstrating immaturity this time. This went on throughout the whole program. The only thing I seemed to excel at were the ride-outs where I had a uniform on hiding my love of extreme music. That and getting 86% on my EMCA without studying for it. I was used to being judged over the superficiality of my musical tastes and style of dress, but college took it to a whole different level. The professors implied I didn’t deserve to be in there, and took it upon themselves to try to sabotage my success by mis-marking tests and denying I had checked things during scenarios, lowering my marks every chance they got. They refused to find me a preceptor crew during second year, then told us we weren’t allowed to solicit one ourselves. This despite knowing for months I would need a new one due to my first preceptors going into ALS class. I started my October ride-outs in January. Obviously their efforts to prove me incapable didn’t come to fruition, but for a while it seemed inevitable. If it wasn’t for the ride-outs going so well, having a friend find me a new crew (they never said friends couldn’t ask on my behalf) and a small group of paramedic student outcasts sticking together I probably would have given in to their pressure and dropped out.

Am I bitter? I suppose I am, but to grow up being told to make something of myself then face people who didn’t fucking know me but who took it upon themselves to try to sabotage that anyway is maddening. I still ended up being a paramedic despite liking extreme music. One doesn’t prevent the other regardless of what some may have thought. As I take that trip down musical memory lane (I’m now listening to Slayer’s ‘Hell Awaits’) I’m reminding myself that back in my youthful days I had the fortitude to face adversity and come out on top. Now that I’m potentially losing the career I worked so hard for I need to find that strength again. The difference now is I’m questioning myself which doesn’t help me find it.

I’m letting the depression and anxiety (or was that weed?) keep me down. PTSD has turned me into someone else. It’s hard not trusting myself. I convince myself I’m being reasonable when I’m actually shut down and not communicating. I have been questioning everything about myself. What I need to do is changing. I am still me. I am sick, not gone. I have not ceased because I have changed, I have gained. I might not always like it but I’m learning about myself. One of those lessons is to stop maligning who I am for being the cause of what I have. I’m going to keep being who I always was. Or rather I’m going to go back to being who I was. The hollow me of late is nothing to aspire to.

Engagement doesn’t mean I have to start doing things I never would have. It means being as much a part of what’s in front of me as I can be. It means including those around me. It means lifting my head up from myself. Punishing myself isn’t engagement. Doing the things I used to do aside from work is engagement. I have been withdrawn for so long it’s not going to come back overnight, but it’s not in the places I have been looking for it in either. There’s a reason it hasn’t been working. It’s depressing to think everything about myself needs to change to get better. It’s time I stopped seeing it as being so all-encompassing. Sure I need to change some things but I have stopped existing while I ponder and stress over that. I’m questioning what makes me me, and that’s taking things too far. I emotionally denied the experiences I was having at work as a paramedic. Off-the-job me wasn’t the problem until I became ashamed and started drinking instead of asking for help to take the pressure away. I’m not that person anymore. I’m not going to keep thinking that I am.