This past year has been a roller coaster of emotions, and these past few months have been the equivalent of that gut-wrenching feeling you get when the coaster reaches the top and drops suddenly. That's the thing about roller coasters. You know what you signed up for when choosing to stand in line, hop into the cart, and strap in for the ride. You know that as you steadily make that incline the only way to go is down, and you still ride it, despite the loop-the-loops, despite how fast it travels along those rails, despite how high it soars, and despite knowing what comes next when you reach that peak.
I've heard people talk about life being a roller coaster before but they always seem to think the opposite of me. Other people hate the uphill climb but love the fall. They say the climb is the hardest part "because you have to work harder to get up the hill". So, when you reach the top and finally start back downhill - well, that's the easy part. I disagree. Does that make me a pessimist or an optimist? Maybe it just means I'm thinking logically. We aren't talking about a hike. You don't physically have to climb a hill, the coaster climbs that hill for you, and the entire ascension is full of excitement and anxiety.
You reach the very top and every roller coaster I've ever ridden hangs there momentarily, teasing you with the knowledge that it's about to drop you, but at that moment you get to take a look around. The view is beautiful. See, when you're sitting at the top you can see every ride you've ever been on, the possibility of new attractions that you may want to try, and you can catch a glimpse of the people sitting near you. What are their emotions?
I've learned that once you start descending everyone around you reacts differently. For me, I've seen a few comforting nods, I've felt one hand grasp mine and hold on tightly, and I've watched friends I thought I knew so well not have a single care in the world about whether or not I was breathing or screaming, and some are just so oblivious that I could have yelled out and no one would have heard me. The moment it all goes downhill, who forgot that you were riding with them? Who remembered? Who cared that you were afraid of heights, afraid to fall?
As the ride comes to an end and you finally hit the straightaway you're left with the harsh realization that some of the people you boarded with were only along for the parts of the ride that they enjoyed most, and not for any other reason but their selfish endeavors. I think the hardest part is recognizing that every one you may have thought would share this adventure with you, well, they won't likely stay for the entire trip. Instead, we'll ride this ride through the highs and the lows, and when it comes to a halt we'll alight from the cart and go our separate ways. That low rumbling hum you hear as the coaster gets ready to return to its station is depression and anxiety. It's loud and it's deafening.
The ride is over. The cart has come to a stop and now you have three options. Do you get off and leave the amusement park? Do you get off and find another ride to be apart of? Or, do you stay on this roller coaster and take it for another spin? I'm still trying to decide.
I wish I could say this blog had the answers that maybe whoever is reading this is searching for, but I'm going to go ahead and let you know that it doesn't. I don't have any answers. All I have are my thoughts. The ones that keep me awake at night. The ones that may get shared in a moment of desperation, or late at night when you've had just a little too much to drink and you accidentally let it slip.
Life is a ride. Good or bad. Life is a ride. You don't always pick what adventure you'll go on next. Sometimes you get pushed and shoved into a line you didn't ask to be in and the next thing you know you're strapped in and there's no turning back. Sometimes this amusement park isn't fair. Sometimes you're not quite tall enough to get on the ride you wanted to be on. Sometimes the line seems too long. Sometimes you're just too damn scared. Sometimes we find ourselves riding the same ride over and over again because we're too afraid to change.
I do know one thing for certain, you can't let fear hold you back. You will miss out on a lot of amazing adventures. Just because the last roller coaster was horrible doesn't mean the next one will be. You will never know until you try it. I do know that when your coaster comes to its end you have to get off. You have to move on. You have to try something else. Its easier said than done. I know. I'm preaching to myself, too.
I'm sitting in that cart right now. My restraint is lifted, and people are getting off and starting to board. Now I have to make that decision. Do I ride it again? No. That one is obvious. Do I leave the amusement park? Do I find another ride and hope for something better? That decision is inevitably mine. It doesn't matter who was left waiting on me after we stopped, though their caring smile ushers me off to safety. It doesn't matter how much the descent took my breath away. What matters is what I choose to do next.
I remember being in middle school when my parents divorced and they sent me to therapy to help process everything. Its the only real time I've ever spoken with a therapist. I recall, and I usually tell this as a funny story but as I'm writing this I can see the relevance now, my therapist asked me to start recording every dream I could remember. (I hated my therapist) So, I begrudgingly did it. In my next session I showed up with my dream journal and I was excited to share the awesome dream I had. I remember thinking, "Wow, that was a great dream. I was a hero".
In this dream, I was at an amusement park at night. It was crowded. There were happy faces everywhere, the park was well lit with neon lights, and you could hear the gleeful shouts of hundreds of people; but, amid all that joy, something wasn't right. Someone wanted to destroy everything in the park, and it was up to me to stop them. I was the sole hero, the one who stopped the bad guy from turning out the lights, and from draining away the fun.
12-year-old Collin thought that it was a cool dream. I was a badass spy, and I saved the day, or at least I tried to. See, I woke up, just as I was about to win, atop of the glowing carnival sign and everyone completely oblivious to the potential danger they were in, just as I was about to win... I woke up. My therapist told me that my dream meant I had suicidal thoughts. I went home that evening and I told my mom the therapist was crazy, and I begged her to not make me go back. I never went back again.
The funny thing is, now that I'm writing this, I understand. 12-year-old Collin was fighting a battle that no one else could see. Everyone at the carnival was so unaware of what that 12-year-old kid was going through, and all that kid wanted to do is stop the lights from going out. The unsung hero, but not the hero to everyone else, the hero to myself... because, while no one else could see what I was going through, somehow, deep down, my 12 year old conscious knew. I was saving myself. I was trying to keep my lights from going out. 24-year-old Collin can see that. I wish I could go back in time and tell that kid - I SEE YOU, and you are a hero.
I think we can all relate to this roller coaster we call life. Whether it be in our friendships, relationships, financially, hell, maybe even just life in general. We're all on our own coaster. We all have our own amusement park. We're all sitting beside someone else in that cart. So, my question is, where are you now? Are you on the incline? Or are you on the descension? Are you watching your friend fall, and can you hear their silent screams? Are you even listening? Are you so entangled in your own ride that you cant see that kid climbing that sign desperately trying to keep the lights from going out? Or maybe, maybe it's you trying to hold that last light bulb in.
Life really is a roller coaster. So, what will you do next?
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