So I got to chat with a psychiatrist this morning. She confirmed my greatest fears – that I’ve become a spineless windbag and I need to stop saying the opposite of “no” and just. have. some. balls. She didn’t say it that way, but I’ll elaborate the entire conversation as I traverse the steps that led to this epiphany that’s actually been hiding at the back of my mind for so too long. It only took three hours worth of talk for my unfortunate realization to submit to my consciousness. I can already imagine the epiphany raising his hands with a wry smile painted on his face. “Okay, you got me. Now, fix this fucker and make his life better now. Like how he always wanted to live his life.”
Minutes leading to the consultation, I was having reservations on how I would go about this “problem” of mine when ordering food from a local coffee shop where we met. What if my problem, like 99% of the population, is just make-believe? That I’m merely putting too much importance on myself rather than look into the bigger picture? What if this is just a colossal waste of time and that it’ll just put me in a deeper hole where I’m currently wallowing in mud and clay?
Turns out that I’m right and wrong at the same time.
The entire discussion centered around my inability to communicate what I really, really want. Ever since I was a kid, I was trained to drink the proverbial Kool-Aid and just see things a certain way, not my way. And I never really got my way in life completely. Sure, I was in a band, had a great education, and lived a secure and somewhat sheltered life. But if I were to go back and do things again, knowing that I am my own man with my own thoughts and opinions, I would have done things much more differently.
But I was scared. I have gotten used to the comfortable lifestyle that cradled me back and forth and told that everything’s alright that I cower from every hint of anger and argument. Because that’s not the person I am. I just bend sideways and take everything in the ass. Figuratively, that is.
This attitude has caused me great unhappiness. Because I thought I can’t control my fate, that the only way to live is to live off from other’s decisions and opinions and build on from those. But it’s not. I told my fiancee that If I were put in a different situation in life, the actual difficult life where conflict is real and not mopey-dopey shit reality that I have preconceived for myself, then I will have probably have killed myself. I don’t know how to make myself better, and I definitely don’t know how to make everyone around me feel better.
So yes, it’s a really shallow problem under the pretense that it’s common sense to have a goddamn conviction and, you know, exercise it once in a while. Given the nature of my lifestyle, I failed to see this as life is served on a silver platter in thinly sliced portions and fed to me by jamming a golden spoon to my mouth, as I’m forced to say that it tastes sublime when, in fact, it tastes like St. Aquinas’ bowel movement.
But it’s a problem I’m grateful to have, regardless of the painful steps that led me to this revelation. It’s not easy to be true to myself and others when I have to unlearn years of orientation. But I have come to believe that everything is a gradual process towards becoming the person that I have to be, and by realizing that this is not a stupid problem but, rather, a great opportunity to redeem myself, to make myself happy not just for others, but for me. I owe it to myself.