Do you ever pause and muse, “how did I get here?” Not your physical location, but rather your location in life. Married or single. Employed or not. Friendless, or surrounded by people you love. A grimace, or a smile, gracing your face as you emerge from your bed.
How did I get here?
People tell me it isn’t fair to try to pinpoint a moment, a decision, where things began to go awry. They tell me I am too hard on myself, that life happens, that you have to try things and make mistakes to learn what kind of career you want (that is ultimately the source of my mental panic – how am I going to make it for myself in this world?).
I desperately want to believe them, a penitent sinner scrabbling at the hope of salvation.
But I don’t.
I must have gone wrong somewhere, I must have f*cked up, I must have made a series of illogical, cowardly, or rash decisions to get me to this place. I must be deficient in some way, that I cannot function as a normal employed adult in a civilized society. I must be too childish, I must be lazy, I must not have what it takes. I must lack perseverance. There must be something wrong with me…call it an imbalance of neurotransmitters or a weak and meek spirit. Take your pick, I don’t care what worldview you subscribe to.
I must be bad. Dysfunctional. Not enough.
See how easily my mind slips from doing something bad to being something bad? As far as I understand it, “emotionally healthy” people don’t slip up like that, at least when they are thinking of themselves.
I have no doubt I previously wrote other posts similar to this one. Surprise surprise, I haven’t changed much. Personality psychology, I salute you. Anyway, I didn’t have an end point in my mind for this post, other than to get myself out of this eddy of thought.