A completely unorthodox list of what I’m truly proud of. Inspired by the ramblings in the previous post.
- for knitting my very own lace over-knee stockings, even if it took me three years (I took a break for 2 years)
- whenever I manage to be myself in an unfamiliar social situation or with people I don’t know well
- for taking a shy and difficult cat, having the patience to endure her first week’s antics and somehow intuitively do things right so that after a month and a half, I had melted her heart and earned her trust. She no longer hid and hissed, but purred and wanted to be stroked more often than I could manage
- for conquering depression and overcoming other similar challenges
- for the things I know and understand about the workings of human nature and life
- for sewing my own pretty 19th century inspired pyjamas
- for having the capacity to think outside the box and trying to live my life outside the social confines I don’t agree with
- for putting together my own bike and other jobs I’ve done for the first time and not made a complete mess of
- for the items in my wardrobe, which are ever so pretty, by far my wardrobe is prettier than most people’s, and obviously I say so myself and don’t expect others to agree
- whenever I manage to cook something that tastes reasonably good
- whenever I do all the pesky tasks I set out to do that day instead of procrastinating
And as a proof of how proud I am… I made pizza some weeks ago. From scratch. It didn’t turn out horrible and I was quite proud of the sauce. The dough could do with improvements, but here goes my first self-made pizza. I don’t take photos of food unless I’m proud of it, so yeah, no joke, I truly am.
Today is one of those days where my strangeness is oppressive and slightly frightening. Normally I embrace it.
I’m intensely aware of how far my ideas have diverged from the mainstream and it frightens me what may await in the future yet. I can almost see myself turning into a solitary weirdo living in the woods somewhere, with cats and sheep. And having maybe one friend. Or it may just be a mental solitude. Inability to talk to anyone of anything beyond the daily stuff. I feel recently that I’ve become disagreeable and struggle more than before to find common ground with new people.
I’d like to become a therapist one day, but the university programme puts me off the idea. I happily study human anatomy or learn techniques of making people open up and improve, but there is not a lot of practical focus like that. I have also stopped seeing the point in all the course work. Exams should be enough to prove I understand, since proof of understanding is required. I’m not a circus monkey who has to demonstrate my skills in three tests, an essay and a presentation in addition. And that in 10 subjects per term. The entire Western education system of forcing students to perform so they get a nose bleed and caffeine overdose is not something I want to participate in. But that is only half of it. The biggest problem is incompatibility of values. My values are not academic or scientific. My values are artistic and spiritual. There is something in most lectures that I find grating. Yesterday it was seeing introversion listed among negative traits, along with aggressiveness. Also, the only science I respect fully is the one free of ideology. And psychology is mostly not it.
If I ever talk militant or aggressive myself, it’s because I feel so out of place – the world is coming down on me like a ton of bricks.
I just don’t know what to do. Drag myself through the university circus or not? Facts are: a) I want to help people as a therapist b) I have talent for it c) university does not make my eyes shine and feels like a gigantic ordeal, so packed with unpleasantness that the end result is hardly worth it.