A dysfunctional way of thinking...

I have tried oodles of times in my grown years to figure out….life.  I guess I’m still young enough that my potential for eternal bliss is still existent.  I have definitely come a long way from misery.  I just thought heaven was a little closer than it is.  I’ve paid my debt to society repeatedly and I’ve come to terms with the things I cannot change.  I’ve been the best mother I could be so far and according to my wonderful husband, the best wife, as well.  I think I was a good daughter although it’s always going to be somewhat of a mystery to me.  I feel like I’ve been a good friend and I have plenty of them myself, so I must be doing something right.  I have everything I need in life and nearly everything I want.  I would use the term contentment loosely for fear of misguiding anyone who thinks that word is a cover for ‘settling’.  I’m happy.  I like my life.  I’m happy with the decisions I’ve made so far and I look forward to what the future holds for me.

So why on Earth do I get so discombobulated when I think about the things I feel like I’m still missing in my life?  I realize I’m very fortunate to have a job with the way our economy has been fluctuating as of late.  I love what I do and I’m grateful for my 12 years and running.  I often complain that it’s getting to me but it’s not the work, it’s me.  I’m the one that is changing.  I’m the one who has less patience and more stress than I did 12 years ago.  I get tired of having to deal with the same people, day in and day out, complaining, taking their frustrations out on me, repeating their offenses and denying they have a problem.  I’ve dealt with these people all my life.  In fact, it was these people that caused me to grow up so fast and miss out on parts of my childhood.  It was these people that caused me pain and suffering. It was these people that took from me the two most important people in my life.  If it weren’t for these people, the ones who will continue to damage themselves and those around them, the ones who will repeat their offenses over and over until they themselves are six feet under ground, the ones who steal the innocence and the comfort of loved ones by creating negative atmospheres, the ones who always have someone else to blame for their short comings….well, I guess I wouldn’t be who I am today.  I am virtually stuck in this dysfunctional circle of life. 

I wish there was a way to press pause, rewind and fast forward so that I could redirect a few of my decisions over the years.  Why have I done this to myself? Why have I chosen to surround myself with the same negativity I’ve been running from for 36 years? I think I know the answer to that.  I am a fixer.  I fix things.  My name means ‘listener’, for Pete’s sake.  I have an uncanny ability to listen and advise some of the most screwed up individuals….and some more sane than I.  It’s my gift.  It’s what I do. So why didn’t I get into social work? Why didn’t I try to go back to school to become a Psychiatrist like I said I wanted to all those years ago?  And why in name of all things Holy would I want to get into a field like that anyway? I can answer that too.  Crazy people make great Psychiatrists.  We can relate.  We understand. We can sympathize without judgment.  We connect to the minds of the people that so desperately need to be heard and understood.  Does that mean that we, the listeners are equally as needy?  I believe it might.

Maybe I’m just looking at this whole journey of life thing the wrong way.  Maybe I’m right where I belong and I just need to be patient and wait for the world to understand me.  It’s not that hard to figure out, is it? We’re born. We live. We die.  Yeah. That couldn’t be farther from the truth for most of us.  I think most of us have forgotten how to live.  We’ve conformed to the idea that working 9-5 and paving the way for monotony is the only path that will get us to our blissful eternity.  Well damn it, I’m ready to break the monotony! I’ll be a fixer until the day I die, regardless of where this life takes me.  It’s where my soul resides.  I believe my mother and father had a hand in that.  In 8 short years my children will all be adults and I won’t be ‘fixing’ them anymore.  If I’m not careful, they’ll be the ones trying to fix me.  While I still have most of my wits about me, I’ll embrace the dysfunction and the chaos and move forward with my always positive outlook on my life. I can only hope that when I reach my final destination I’m still surrounded by the same people that put up with me today.  Without them, I would need a psychiatrist.