(no subject)
"Today's special on cheating spouses is brought to you by Fidelity Investments."
...
*snort*
I think irony is our defense mechanism against crying.
And in other news, I think yesterday was perhaps the best day I had in a long while. I suppose I just woke up on the right side of the bed, as someone once said - if he or she meant the side where I don't pile my bedspread and pillows, OK then. My mom and I went to this family therapy session we're making a weekly ritual and a lot of stuff bubbled up to the surface. Mom's overprotectiveness always comes across to me as a vote of no confidence - that I cannot function as an autonomous individual and cannot make my own decisions without inevitably screwing something up. When I tried to express my feelings, she feels denigrated, attacked, and unappreciated. Most of all, my parents often refuse to even consider another perspective - the most infuriating and irreverent action one can take toward the human being holding that alternate view. In essence, it's an implication that he or she is ignorant, that his or her opinion DOES NOT MATTER, and that he or she is incompetent in the first degree. In the neutral territory of the counseling room, we partially resolved our conflicts and reasserted our efforts to interact with one another in more sympathetic and communicative fashions.
The best part was when the therapist asked me if I felt I needed to, hypothetically, compose various scripts for my parents to follow so they would only say things which would make me feel manly.
The answer, a resounding "no," poured from my system in a flash flood of passion and eloquence surprising all three people in the room. I cried, Mom cried, and even the therapist teared up a little.
I want no one to hedge their dialogue in order to cater to my feelings out of apprehension. Should he or she wish to do so out of a personal desire, then that is his or her choice. All I want is the freedom and the space to grow into who I intend to be, and I don't ask more of anyone else. I need room to FUCK UP! The world will not cease revolving because I pick a major unrelated to my current profession, or if I wreck my car, or if I eat too much candy and contract Type II diabetes. I will DEAL with it, and keep it coming, dammit.
In recent situations in which I anticipated feeling far more depressed over, I shocked myself when I ended up hardly all that broken up about them.
Making my own decisions, not wavering in them, and handling the repercussions feels fantastic. Yesterday my best foot was forward, I spoke with articulation and enthusiasm, charisma radiated from my person (if I indeed have permission to say something so seemingly arrogant) and I LOVED LIFE.
I can only hope I will know this happiness for days to come.
Off to write a scholarship essay, make Medical Terminology notecards, and identify archaeological artifacts in the VCC Geology Lab. Leave one, kids.
- Mead
...
*snort*
I think irony is our defense mechanism against crying.
And in other news, I think yesterday was perhaps the best day I had in a long while. I suppose I just woke up on the right side of the bed, as someone once said - if he or she meant the side where I don't pile my bedspread and pillows, OK then. My mom and I went to this family therapy session we're making a weekly ritual and a lot of stuff bubbled up to the surface. Mom's overprotectiveness always comes across to me as a vote of no confidence - that I cannot function as an autonomous individual and cannot make my own decisions without inevitably screwing something up. When I tried to express my feelings, she feels denigrated, attacked, and unappreciated. Most of all, my parents often refuse to even consider another perspective - the most infuriating and irreverent action one can take toward the human being holding that alternate view. In essence, it's an implication that he or she is ignorant, that his or her opinion DOES NOT MATTER, and that he or she is incompetent in the first degree. In the neutral territory of the counseling room, we partially resolved our conflicts and reasserted our efforts to interact with one another in more sympathetic and communicative fashions.
The best part was when the therapist asked me if I felt I needed to, hypothetically, compose various scripts for my parents to follow so they would only say things which would make me feel manly.
The answer, a resounding "no," poured from my system in a flash flood of passion and eloquence surprising all three people in the room. I cried, Mom cried, and even the therapist teared up a little.
I want no one to hedge their dialogue in order to cater to my feelings out of apprehension. Should he or she wish to do so out of a personal desire, then that is his or her choice. All I want is the freedom and the space to grow into who I intend to be, and I don't ask more of anyone else. I need room to FUCK UP! The world will not cease revolving because I pick a major unrelated to my current profession, or if I wreck my car, or if I eat too much candy and contract Type II diabetes. I will DEAL with it, and keep it coming, dammit.
In recent situations in which I anticipated feeling far more depressed over, I shocked myself when I ended up hardly all that broken up about them.
Making my own decisions, not wavering in them, and handling the repercussions feels fantastic. Yesterday my best foot was forward, I spoke with articulation and enthusiasm, charisma radiated from my person (if I indeed have permission to say something so seemingly arrogant) and I LOVED LIFE.
I can only hope I will know this happiness for days to come.
Off to write a scholarship essay, make Medical Terminology notecards, and identify archaeological artifacts in the VCC Geology Lab. Leave one, kids.
- Mead