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.* O . . .. ..O .. 310 09 Mar 2001 ) ( ')
.* O O* o o o o o o o ( / )
* ***O O O O O O O O O \( _)|
* O o o.*..o.*..o.*..o. .net "How I Became a Productive *
* O Member of Nothing" *
*. o |\ _,,,---,,_ *
* /,`.-'`' -. ;-;;,_ *
* |,4- ) )-,_..;\ ( `'-' by Gloomchen *
* '---''(_/--' `-'\_) *mE0w* o
*. .......................................*
'Anada is cat-friendly..o*`
It was all laid out in the mirror in front of me.
Never before in my life until that point did my entire existence seem
more logical, actual, and easy to define. I'd spent years trying to decide
who I was, trying to find myself, and trying to grow up to be a successful
person in a typical society living an average-to-good life and fulfilling
all of the "supposed-to"s and "should have"s. Until that moment, it was all
a massive block of confusion, doomed to eat me alive and hold me back while
I melted into oblivion. For so long, that's all I had wanted to know: I
wanted reason. I wanted peace. I wanted purpose. And now I had it.
I stared back into my own eyes. For once in my life, I was
completely objective about everything. The funny thing about self-
actualization that they don't tell you in the user's manual is what to do
with the newfound information. And there are only so many viable choices.
I was a college dropout in a dead-end job. This wasn't how my life
was supposed to be going. I should have been finishing school and entering
the career of my dreams--whatever that might have been. I was supposed to
be like the bouncy girls on the campus brochures. Why didn't I ever know
what I wanted to be when I wanted to grow up? And I don't mean being a rock
star. Cute when you're in second grade, but not when you're nearly 21. No,
alas, I still had no idea what I wanted for myself, and that was the true
actualization: no, I didn't want to be a teacher like the advisor told me I
did. There had to be a future out there for me, but at least I stopped
dreaming about something I never wanted.
I had convinced myself that I was in love with someone else, clinging
hopelessly to the idea that I was happy. It was obvious to everyone BUT me
up until that point. Since when had I ever been the kind of girl to cling
to the first person that walked my way? Since when had I ever put up with
anything and everything for the sake of being in a relationship? Oh, but it
was far from a relationship. I had forced myself into thinking that I was
perfectly happy with someone whose thoughts, ideals, and dreams were the
complete opposite of mine and who couldn't stay committed to me thanks to
the advances of my so-called best friend.
I re-read my most precious mental note, the one that reminded me that
those closest to me in my life had only used me for their own gain in more
situations than I could be bothered to remember, and that I was all I had.
My closest friends in days past were infamous for standing steadfastly by my
side until opportunity knocked for them to seize my good fortune for
themselves. Ahhh, but how can I blame them? I was too trusting, too blind,
and to naive to have any idea what the world was really about. At least I
had learned my lesson. At least I had made absolutely sure that I would
never be open again. I had myself, I had my cats, and I had no one else.
Under any regular previous conditions, those thoughts would float
through my head often, and I would flush them out immediately. Suppress
them. Negate them. Turn myself into someone else and pretend it wasn't
happening. Oh, it worked just fine for day-to-day living, all right. Equal
parts were spent in amusing company with others as they were spent crying
and flailing about my bedroom, trying desperately to define WHAT WAS WRONG.
The answer would've been plainly obvious to anyone else taking up residence
in my brain for a while. Perhaps it was time for a vacation.
In a world full of people I couldn't trust and couldn't respect, I
hated using the term "depressed." Nowadays when every 16 year old in
adolescent crisis feels a bit distraught is termed "depressed," however, I
didn't want the label. It cheapened what I was feeling. Telling anyone I
was having problems coping with basic functions of life and calling it
"depression" seemed absurd. I chose, instead of degrading myself with that
silly terminology, to thumb my nose at the world and those who I supposedly
could trust and didn't do a damned thing about it. That was, at least,
until now.
And that brought me back to the mirror, my eyes piercing my own gaze
and forcing me to look away. I knew full well who I was at that moment. I
knew that any road back from this brink, this utter pit of emotional
emptiness, was going to sting far harder than any "depression" diagnosis.
Time to be a big girl and stop feeling sorry for myself. Time to put aside
the attitude and the pride and come back to whatever role I needed to fill
for myself. Time to stop whining and to start facing facts. Time to put
the bottle of pills BACK in the cabinet, to walk away from the mirror, and
to start fixing everything that had gone wrong.
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( o.o ) (c) Anada e'zine anada310 by Gloomchen o
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