I Don't Wanna!

Some days, I want to stay in my comfortable rut. Depression and anxiety are my constant companions. I want to be taken care of so I don't have to take care of myself. I relish the sense of calm and satisfaction I get from chewing my fingers and picking my skin until they bleed. It's like popping a fresh sheet of bubble wrap (Note to self- buy bubble wrap), but more awesome. To get healthy means exiting my comfort zone, putting forth a great deal of effort, and trying new things. It requires patience and diligence and a slew of other character traits that I don't feel I possess. It means fighting the magnetic pull my pillow has to my head. It means picking up a fruit or vegetable when all I want is a king size Reese's Fast Break and a cherry Icee (Seriously, both quite tasty). Like cleaning your house, it means getting more messy and shedding more tears, so that my life can ultimately be more content and satisfying. It means folding clothes, doing dishes, cleaning hamster cages on a regular basis, taking the dog for walks, paying bills, planning and cooking meals, flossing, exercising, and- I better stop there. You've heard the saying "All or Nothing?" Yeah, that's me. I look at the mountain of to-do lists and I give up before I try. I think I need to take it all on rather than taking one small step at a time. "Don't quit picking all at once," my therapist tells me. "Pick one body part, the left side of your face or your right arm, and don't pick that one spot."

I know that people in their 30's should not be the way I am. People in their 30's should be able to function like an adult. I'm not proud of myself. It makes me feel ashamed. Sometimes some people get so used to being my parent and caretaker that they have been conditioned to enable me. If someone else does something for me, then I don't have to. Which is great for me. I love avoiding the anxiety of being responsible and making decisions. I would rather be ignorant of my financial situation than face it and fix it. All of that has to change, though. I made the year-long commitment to learn new skills, do the therapy, and improve my ways.

Writing it down makes it real and puts it out in the open: I admittedly am incompetent and I'd like to stay that way. The people in my life can't expect little from me anymore. I will fight responsibility, I will hate the people I love, I will have tantrums, I will cry and panic, and the weight of adulthood might even make me feel like I can't go on. And when the pain becomes too much, the people I love can't help me. It's an odd but necessary requirement of my therapy. I have 24/7 access to my therapist which allows me to call her anytime I fall apart, can't stop crying, or can't keep living. I've had access to this luxury for the past three weeks, but I haven't worked up the guts to utilize it. I tell myself that I am a bother, a nuisance, that it's really not bad enough to call. No one else can change my thoughts and feelings but me, and there is no one else that can teach me the skills to rein in my feelings than the gifted talent of a great psychologist.

I don't wanna, but here I go, reluctantly off to uncharted territory.