I takes real dedication to be aware of one’s bouts with emotional issues and to use every fiber of their being to ignore it. Some would call this willfully stupid; I would call it the last ten years of my life but I guess it is finally dawned on me that the feeling of perpetual sadness isn’t exactly normal and sheer force of will isn’t going to make it go away either. Ultimately, I suppose I just got tired of being disinterested in the things that should theoretically bring me joy and I have at last made the connection that seeking help doesn’t make a person weak.
I amazed though, that it took me this long when I was on my parents health care I decided that it was pussy-ish to admit that I had a black cloud that forever hung about me, when I got in to FSU and had access to free student health care I declined based on the idea that a real man just suffers quietly. The litany of my stupidity is endless but the health issues my mother has endured has really driven home the fact I need to be much less stupid about my physical and mental health.
I know that there is this idea that exists that says men should never cry, admit they have soul crushing depression, and feel inadequate about the bone headed choices they made in life, but closing off those feelings is closing off a part of the human experience, and I for one am tired of feeling like a god damn bloody robot. Happiness should be more than a theoretical concept in my life and while I am sure that therapy isn’t going to solve all my problems it will at least allow me the opportunity to have a much more rounded life and not have one that tilts towards cynical defeatism. In another age I would have already drank hemlock so there is something to be said about progress.
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