The Upside Of Downtime

In the past two years I've been involved in semi-regular headchecking sessions. No, not hockey with quadraplegics... that's not going to help my "not going to Hell" campaign... I'm talking about therapy. In these sessions I have bared my soul to a person who has been trained to address any issue like a professional, but with heart and concern. It is in that chair, 10 feet from a non-judgmental professional that I found out how I became who I was then, and how I got to be who I am now.
Perfect? Nope, far from it, and totally fine with that. Nobody will ever get a diploma declaring them to be Normal, no matter how much counseling they participate in, nor how many pills, pies, or pints they throw down their throat. I have come to the realization that pretty much everyone's got a flaw. Perfection is solely the work of the Creator, and she's letting things go of their own accord these days, even parenting, even society... even Me. I like flawed people who call out their flaws. If you have a fake leg, address it by saying "I have a prosthetic leg. Hand me those bottles and we'll make this the best OzzFest EVER, WOOOOOOOOO OOOZZZYYYY!!!" Anybody who thinks they have cruised into adulthood without a few chips in the paintjob, rocks to the windshield, thrown-door ding & scratch combos is in desperate need of a full oil, lube, and filter, and they best get a look at the tranny, too. Especially if they're dating a cross-dresser.
I first sought out a counselor while battling a deep depression brought on by a number of things. I felt as if I was unworthy of the best of life because I hadn't suffered enough for it. I was living in fear that if I did, indeed, achieve anything of note in life I would next be struck down by God, errant golfballs, rabid gophers, or a dipshit named Nick on a Harley-Davidson. The last of those actually happened. But I hadn't felt such a dark pall over my life ever before, and I was tired of lugging it around. It affected my friendships, my relationships, and worst of all, it affected my happiness.
The stigma of therapy comes from people believing in the old "laying on the couch griping about the unattentive parent." That's all false. I sit in a chair. The point is this, our brains get wired as kids as to how we will love, achieve, and get through life. That wiring isn't always done by the most skilled of hands. Some kids turn out to be arm-chopping back country hikers. Some turn out creating computer languages that revolutionize how we get recipes for porn cake. Some turn out to hear voices that tell them kidnap prostitutes, while some just hear the voices that suggest haggling with her. How? When? Why? Those are the questions I had to ask myself, and then step back and look at my life's tapestry (so confidently masculine that I used the word "tapestry") for the Big Slideshow.
I turned out just about how every kid who comes from my background turns out. So, for what was mine, I'm normal. But that "normal" SUCKED. And I decided to unravel those threads and fix what flaws I could. It was scary, because who the F knew if I could ever get it back to looking like it used to. Then again, that's why I was there, because of how it looked. It takes far more courage to admit one's faults, and work to right them, than it does to fault one's right to be happy. In other words, you can be your own best critic or your own worst opponent. Don't fight dirty with yourself. You can't win.
Long story longer, I now realize that the journey of self-assessment and enlightenment NEVER ends. When you stop growing, you start dying. Simple biology lesson for ya, sans tax & tip. So I've decided that I am never going to stop taking time to assess my life and Who I Am. The more I learn about me, the more I can empathize with others, and the less I feel the need to neck-bat people for standing in front of me in a coffee shop without knowing what they want.

P.S. No, I am not crazy. However, I did have a tendency of attracting them for a while. Sorry Crazy-Moths, this bulb is needed for the stage lighting.
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