Madness From Uncertainty
Reflecting on fun times and exhausting events
I never thought I would need therapy. During my childhood, I had lots of energy and curiosity. There were certain thrills I got as a kid that I’ll never experience again. I remember the days when I’d listen to rap music and imitate the artists I saw. I wanted their style and confidence.
In front of my mom’s mirror, I bounced with the music I heard and made swift hand gestures. When I heard 50 Cent’s In da Club, I perked up and rapped his lyrics. His menacing tone and gritty delivery made me dream of making it big as a rapper. I dreamed of the day when luxurious cars and pretty women would surround me. Wouldn’t any man desire flawless jewelry and a mansion to live in?
McDonald’s and Burger King were my favorite places to eat. The smell and appearance of cheeseburgers and French fries infatuated me. As I sat in the backseat of my aunt’s Honda Civic, I’d desperately tear through the French fries before I started unwrapping the cheeseburgers. I made sure to eat all the French fries before I tossed the bag on the car floor. Working at a fast-food restaurant didn’t seem like a bad idea. The free food was appealing.
The day my aunt gifted me a PlayStation 2, nothing could ruin my happiness. When I arrived home and played Tony Hawk Pro Skater 3, the visuals were beyond this world. I thought I was skating in Saturn. I never thought grind rails and half-pipes could be in such weirdly cool places.
By middle school, I wanted to try skating, but I never built the courage to make a hobby out of it. Since I wasn’t confident enough to get on a skateboard and practice, I became a poser. I dressed like a skater, paid attention to the popular skateboarders, and collected issues of Thrasher. Even though I couldn’t skate, I was proud to represent the culture in my own strange way.
Maturity pushed me away from happiness and innocence. There is nothing necessarily exciting about being an adult. You experience similar events and find different qualities about them each time. That is not to say growing up is horrific. I’ve had fresh experiences as an adult that positively changed my outlook on life. Yet, the feeling of being a kid is irreplaceable.
I’m no stranger to therapy. My experience started when I was a troubled adolescent. Instead of addressing my issues, I masked them by engaging in isolative and confrontational behaviors. When I was teased at school, I sat by myself at lunch or skipped class. I gained peace from avoiding people.
If my family or friends criticized me, I withheld my opinions or overreacted emotionally. I stored my negative feelings, and when they became too much of a burden, I argued or lashed out. I slowly grew into a socially awkward kid and struggled with forming new connections. I began attending therapy to address my behavior.
The initial stages of my therapy sessions were perplexing. I struggled to reveal certain parts of my life. In a way, I felt like I was betraying people I knew. Slowly, I accepted my thoughts as forms of expressions, at least that is how the idea was pitched to me. This change of stance stripped some of my guilt. Eventually, my expressions transformed into dysphoria.
I noticed patterns that were unhealthy in my daily surroundings. My expressions felt like complaints until they grew darker. What I shared became agonizing hurt I could not escape. My painful experiences became less harmless. They grew into terrors that I tried hard to separate from. I escaped through technology and entertainment until reality intertwined with my coping outlets.
When the voices and actions were difficult to ignore, I lost pieces of me internally because I felt defenseless. When I sat across from a stranger and described my background, I felt disoriented. Seeing them in front of me making judgements and writing notes was intolerable. My discomfort drove me to believe I was at the brink of desperation. The sentiment caused me to think that my answers and solace resided within the confines of a small furniture filled room.
The blank walls felt like they were closing in on my head and slowly squeezing crippling thoughts from my mind. I couldn’t sit still so I moved in multiple directions and forms. My feet shook like a dog wagging its tail. I avoided looking at another pair of eyeballs.
After several therapy sessions and stints with different therapists, I learned how to speak about my issues with more comfort. I found humbleness through vulnerability and accepting that my imperfections were not an embarrassment. Having personal conversations with someone I didn’t completely trust wasn’t as scary.
I quit therapy for a bit once I established some direction, gained purpose, and received guidance. Then I found myself in another phase where I didn’t have anyone who could fill one of my voids. This became a rough thing to accept since I felt like I was reverting to old tactics. In hindsight, I passionately believed that I progressed enough to not use therapy for healing and sustainment.
My perspective on therapy was jaded since I let people influence my outlook on it. Every strong figure I knew didn’t go to therapy. They held strength within themselves which is what I aspired to have. In my mind, if I turned to therapy again, I would be a weak individual who required validation. Then I began to realize that even the strongest people battle demons they tend to hide.
I started therapy again in September of last year. Around that time, I began a new job and felt overpowered. I forced a lot of pressure onto myself to be successful and not mess up the opportunity. There were financial and lifestyle aspects I needed to learn and adjust to. Information that I needed to digest in a short amount of time.
Everything hit me at once and I had nobody to speak frankly with. All I wanted was a person I could dump my disgruntlement on. Even if it was simply talking about the disastrous process of modern dating.
Waitlists aside, I found a service that suited my needs and provided flexibility. Although, the younger side of me appeared. My first few sessions were riddled with anxiety. Weird flashbacks of me in previous therapy sessions presented themselves and my body reacted unsettlingly. After 5 or so years of not being in therapy, the feelings associated with the process never left. They were stored on a little shelf somewhere in my brain.
To think I could quiet those feelings for so long because I avoided them was alarming.
In a way, I feel like a science experiment when I go to therapy. I’m getting advice on how to reconstruct my outlook even though I barely want to. Each session unlocks parts of my mind I avoid investing time in. My therapist presents explanations and reasonings which combat my hardheadedness.
When I feel exhausted from work, I like to lay down in therapy. Sometimes I like to close my eyes or look at my surroundings. If I could find a way to soothe the experience, I would present the idea and hope for its acceptance. Creating a safe place within the rooms I once dreaded being in overcomes the possibility of missing appointments.
Remaining in therapy feels like my only best option. Therapy helps me discover what I want in the future and the habits I must create to combat my personal struggles. Through conversation, I found more of my flaws. Finding them led me to building a plan of actions and habits to improve myself such as going to yoga and meditating. All of us have things to work on, so therapy can be the first step towards making life changing decisions.
Consistently being in therapy teaches me to stay in the moment and appreciate the past for what it was. I can only take the good from the past and not desperately wish to go back. No matter the circumstances, the past shapes the person I am. The purpose I serve now surpasses the life I wish I could relive. Therapy has taught me that I must keep going in life.
