Thursday, June 14

Extraordinary

Therapy Thursdays. Gotta love 'em.

I was feeling pretty down this afternoon for no particular reason. In my book this is much worse than having a reason. Basically I start feeling bad, then I start feeling bad for feeling bad, and then I start feeling bad for feeling...you get the picture.

When I left work I felt incredibly melancholy and didn't understand why. I had a great time on my mini-break, a great week at the office despite some project setbacks, and am looking forward to hanging out in Philly on Saturday for the comic con and Phillies/Tigers game. Life is good.

Then my "must-feel-bad" go-to thoughts jumped into my head: I'm fat, poor, boyfriendless and still eat my fingers. Poo.

Lucky for me I was on my way to therapy so the blahs didn't last long. I had a fantastic session with Cee tonight. It took me about a good 25 minutes of babbling to get there, but I made this realization:

My whole entire life, all I've ever wanted to be is extraordinary.

The session began with me saying how badly I wanted to be in love, but how deathly afraid I am of it at the same time. We discussed my commitmentphobia, my ex-slutness, my current tongue-slutness and how all three were my way of making for damn sure I wouldn't connect with anyone on an emotionally intimate level.

I read once that we do what works, whatever we want to achieve we attract it, good or bad. So I thought about it, what exactly am I achieving by keeping others out and holding myself in?

After throwing some ideas around it finally hit me. It started much earlier in life, way before I kissed anyone. It goes all the way back to my impulsive ways, my sense of urgency, my identity crisis, my everything.

Ever since I was a child I've longed to feel special, to be different, to be more than ordinary. What kid doesn't want to feel that way, but throw in some mental illness and a wild imagination, no wonder I became a freakfest stew.

Now when someone says "extraordinary" it's usually meant as a positive. I got straight A's, was in the honors programs, the top clarinetist, and the MVP in softball, and you know what? These things meant nothing to me. All I knew was self-destruction so my extraordinary behavior became completely negative.

From 15 years old, I've taken drinking, drugging, nail-biting, cursing, fucking, kissing, obnoxiousness, and god knows what else to the next level. I've actually taken great pride in them, all because I wanted to feel "special." To this day, I barely ever sit and reflect on my positive accomplishments, simply brushing them off to tell a ridiculous story about banging some guy in a UPS truck. The ironic part is, I pretended I was free, a rebel in a world of sheep, when really I'm still just a punk. A 29 year old punk.

Think about it, what is rebellion anyways? The quick answer is that we rebel against our parents or The Man to stay true to ourselves. Tonight I've decided that's wrong, I mean:

What if I've really been rebelling against MYSELF in FEAR OF my own identity?

In other words, can I allow myself to believe that after all this time...I'm extraordinary just as I am?

1 comment:

Stephanie-that chick you knew from Penguin :) said...

Just wanted you to know that others see your extraordinariness even when you can't. I haven't seen you on over 4 years, but I have always known you were extraordinary. I'm glad to know you are starting to see it too!