Tell Me Your Story

     I went to my first psychiatric appointment this morning, bear with me while I vent about the pointless excursion that was. Basically, psychiatry can be defined as an obnoxiously optimistic person with no idea (outside of what their books have told them) what you are going through, trying to tell you how to fix the decaying life you lay before them. Their goal for the session is to change your opinions about existence and alter the way you see reality entirely --and if that doesn't work there is always drugs!

     I really do apologize for those of you who find it useful, I just had a rather negative experience today while a lady seemingly listened to my life story and what causes my anxiety attacks, but it was painfully obvious that she did not truly listen or even genuinely care. She kept reverting back to the same conclusion, that I need stress therapy because I work too much. Really, that is what you think is causing my stress currently?! It couldn't possibly be this ridiculous health issue I have been dealt... no that would be too simple. She wasn't hearing what I was really saying, she had put me in a demographic box and I could not penetrate the walls no matter how forcefully I shoved. I was a 20 year old full-time student, who works full-time, and does not allow myself time to relax. Her solution to my life's dilemma was to find more "me" time. What she wasn't hearing was my desperate attempts to educate her on my well-being and acceptance of death as a whole. I do not have anxiety because of a lack of relaxation or too much stress, I have anxiety because currently my life is in shambles. My health is not where I would like it. My relationships crumble before I can even consider them relationships. My self image is depreciating daily. And, I am overall just bored with what life has to offer. In contradiction to her theory, I actually have the most anxiety when I am relaxing. I can not sit still and just be, for it is when my hands are not busy that my mind harmfully wanders. When I am constantly working or engaging myself in activities, my worries seem to step on the back burner. Maybe this is because I am really good at faking that I am happy when in contact with others, so much that sometimes I actually believe it too! I guess my point is that she didn't listen. Sure, she heard the words that I was uttering, but she didn't really listen and comprehend what I was saying. I found more genuine interest from the "How are you today?" the receptionist offered when I checked in.

     I think this is something we lack as a society, and it is gradually wearing me down. We do not understand what it means to have compassion or empathy with other beings and it utterly disgusts me. I mean if we would just digest people's actions, words, and feelings more thoroughly, and genuinely care about them as a person, maybe we would understand each other so much better. My point is simple: Everyone has a story, and if we could just hear and truly listen to people's story we would not know hatred. That is what compassion and empathy are, they are not just taking a person at face value. Instead, invest some time in your fellow man. When you ask them how they are doing actually care about their response, not just because that inquiry has become a social stigma in today's culture. I hurt to know that we live in such a selfish society that our first inclination is judgement instead of trying to comprehend the soul and what it has endured. I say things things not intending to sound as if I am better than anyone else, because I too need to work on this. Life sucks, it sucks for everyone. No one's problems are any greater than another; each struggle is unique in how the person experiences it. My goal in this life is to never leave a life untouched. I want to bring something positive to every soul I encounter, even if that means just understanding who they are as a person. I deeply long to know the true story of everyone I meet, and if I do not know yours, trust me I want to --please share your life with me. (I say this, and I am so hesitant to tell people my story. My sincerest apologies for the hypocrisy that comes from my insecurity to talk, but I live to listen and try and understand others.)

    I heard this song in seventh grade and it still affects me daily. It isn't really one I would willingly turn on, but the lyrics are meaningful. 

     On an entirely unrelated note:

     I started keeping a notepad of all of the beautiful things I witness or encounter in the day and told myself I would reflect back on them in my personal journal keeping. This is in attempt to remind myself that there is still beauty in this world, because I think in the last few months I have dramatically forgotten. In my defense, life has not pulled any punches lately. But today's beauty lies in the eyes of Hannah and Kate, the girls I nanny for. I need not say more. They added beauty to my day, it is simple.