i am constantly having epiphanies about what it is, exactly, that is wrong with me.
i think it started kind of late in college. i thought it was interesting to evaluate myself, examine how i interact with people, identify a certain weakness or tendency, find the cause, and then try to fix it. then, in the beginning, i think, it was a good and healthy practice. it was like i had a small man in a lab coat inside my brain, nodding, and taking notes on a clip-board. it wasn't so bad. it was nice to be figuring out what made me tick. as i get older, i am fascinated by how much i have learned about myself recently, even though i have been myself, now, for over two decades.
getting back to dr. katie's-brain: now, it's like the dear doctor decided that the job was too big for just his little self. so, he got some funding, posted an ad, sorted through resumes, and hired a whole team of little doctors in lab coats to live inside my brain, nod, and take notes on clip-boards. too often, they present to me their dissertations regarding why i am any number of things: single, afraid of failure, insecure about my abilities, just to name a few. i take these theories, i mull them over, and they seem to make a lot of sense. "i mean, there must be some reason, right? and this is as good as any. nay, it's the best there is, surely," i think, like every other person whose head turns into a dollar sign when they are looked upon by self-help authors.
then, once i finally have everything figured out, i present the idea to someone, like i'm some sort of self-analysis guru. they don't know about the team of doctors, after all, so why shouldn't i take credit? the response is never, really, what i expect. it goes something like this:
me: hey, alisha. so, i've finally figured out why i sometimes have a hard time getting to know people. i think it's because i'm generally pretty awkward when i meet new people.
alisha: that's not true at all, and now i think you're nuts.
like i said - not what i expect, after long hours of self-scrutiny.
so, i've decided - me, NOT the team of tiny doctors - that, in an effort to be less crazy, i'm actually becoming more crazy. go figure. i will call it ironic in the actual sense of the word, and not in the alanis sense of the word (awesome, but lacking a certain using-words-correctly quality).
there you have it. and, before you think you're so clever: I know that this whole post in itself is me practicing the self-destruction i just spent at least some time describing.
i get it. and to you, oh clever one, i say: baby steps, dear, baby steps.