This post is a giant pile of shit, but it was playing over and over in my head at work. I'm typing it here for all the world to see pretty much just for my benefit, but consider it a "thank you" to the people who've put up with my bullshit in the sad thread and elsewhere. Otherwise, feel free to skip right over.
Today (yesterday), I had dinner with my mother, and intimated on the spur of the moment that I was thinking of cutting my hair to something actually short, but was afraid it would look worse than it does. This is a running theme. She got out some pictures she recently found of my great-great-grandfather, and we rambled about family for a while. As we were finishing, she playfully demanded I give her some grandchildren before she goes senile. I took this way too seriously, and kind of exploded all over her, into a two hour spill of all my other doubt and self-loathing, at romance and everything else in my life. I contemplated posting about this, because that's what we do now and I've been on a moping roll lately, but thought better of it because I'd look like a tool.
No new ground was covered, I had no epiphanies and she gave me no new advice. Just all the advice about self-confidence and initiative I've gotten from everyone everywhere and refuse to follow out of spite for myself. But somewhere in that conversation, a turn of topics brought back some old memories. They were lost in the train for a while, but while my mind rambled free at work like it does, I pondered on where my life has been, and how I got where I am. Not by remembering why I thought I did things, or what I believed, but an outsider's perspective; just the what, when, how, and who.
And somewhere along the way, it all made sense. Why I love both my parents but still refuse to do anything they tell me. Why I cling to every friend I can but can't seem to make new ones. Why reading webcomics feels like crack but reading textbooks feels like a chore. Why I crave praise but do everything in my power to fob it off. Why I failed at every activity I attempted in my youth. Why Joe Walsh songs chill me to my bones. Why I put up with doing the same time wasting bullshit day in and out but refuse to do anything about it except get angry at myself. And why I constantly say I'm desperate to break out of my routines of goofing off, but violently oppose any offer or option from anyone but my old friends.
I've always had all the answers to all my problems. I've always had all the advice I could want and plenty more. I've always known there's no magic solution to anything. And I've always known the biggest obstacle in my life is my own self-loathing. And I refuse to do anything about it, partly because I'm addicted to hating myself, but partly out of fear of myself. Because I've had this dawning realization that if I ever did break out of my rut and achieve my goals and dreams and shit, eventually I'd have to explain to myself, let alone anyone else, just what I've been doing with my life. Where all the time went, and why I waited so long. And if I actually achieved anything, seeing just how "easy" it was in retrospect might drive me right over the edge to killing myself in shame, for letting this build up for so long. So instead, I just choose to do nothing, and sit around pitying and hating myself.
But tonight, I finally figured it out. There's nothing that pisses me off more than a question I can't answer, and nothing stops me from enacting a plan like not knowing where to start; and deep down, the biggest question this whole time was "why?". Not why do I do this, or why do I put up with it. But why did it start? Knowing that wouldn't actually change anything, but at least I'd have a reason. I've always assumed that I fell apart somewhere along the way, that I was just built to fail myself and never had the guts to do anything about it or take anyone's guidance. But tonight, I found it. Not just an answer, but the one thing I love more than anything, which just earlier today I would have hated myself even more for - I found an excuse.
I know what to blame, who to blame, and for the first time ever, it's not me. And it never really was. Not completely, or originally. Just hours earlier, I would have said to myself, "So what? That doesn't change any of the practical problems in your life, or let you off the hook for not thinking of this before, or do anything about that pile of neuroses you've built up in the meantime." But now, I truly don't care. So what if it doesn't change any of those things itself? The biggest roadblock to every other resolution is finally out of the way, because I don't have to hate myself anymore.
It's not my fault. It never really was. And it doesn't matter that I thought so. And I don't have to worry about that anymore. I don't have to hate myself.
I'm free. Thanks for your time, folks.
Let's see how long it takes before I forget this revelation and drop back into good ol' self-loathing and apathy. Nah, not really. I'm just addicted to self-deprecating caveats, and a man needs his habits.
Author
Topic: [MILK] There were 12 eggs here what did you do with them? (Happy thread?!) (Read 16242776 times)