Self Therapy Session #1

As I sit here thinking what to do, I wonder if there is any point to doing anything in the first place. I always wanted to do something with animation, as far back as I can remember. Over the course of trying to do so many things, I found that some things are just inherently related to people. 

I’ve also come to believe that there is no inherent purpose to one’s life, no absolute destiny they can seek advice from. Instead, I choose to believe that the best purpose of life is to see it as an experiment. A playful dance that lights up the dreadful boredom of the eternal abyss. 

In that sense, the purpose of one’s life is to have fun. Of course, life is what anyone makes of it. You can pinch pennies to accumulate great wealth, be content as a shoddy beggar, or aspire to be as simple as possible. No matter what you choose, there will be far more joy and suffering than anyone could handle on their own.

Of course, there are many aspects to one’s life, each introducing its own special shade. Physical, mental, emotional, spiritual, and social. Breaking down each one can help paint a clearer picture.

Physically, I was never really active, involved, or alive much. That part of me seems to have eroded the most. The best I’ve ever felt was when I was training in MMA. There was a set time at a set place that I had to reach. Once I reached, people were already doing a thing, and I just had to follow.

One day it was something, the next day something else. Every day, however, had a warm-up, mobility, strength, endurance, and cooldown activity. In just 1.5 hours each day, 6 days a week, I felt more alive than I ever did before. It was a place where I could challenge myself with little to no repercussions.

I truly got a chance to rebuild myself from the ground up, and it was most enjoyable. I also enjoyed feeling my physical world expanding, as each day stimulated a different realm, lighting up parts I didn’t even know existed.

The worst I ever felt physically was after I quit the bakery. I had enough money to spoil myself, and I worked hard enough to justify grotesque indulgences. It was soon enough to remember how good I left it at the old gym, but long enough that I could feel it all start to slip away. 

I couldn’t face anyone or do anything, and had the unbearable urge to run away, and run away I did, to Pondicherry. That was that. 

Mentally, I’ve always enjoyed the uniquely intoxicating self-righteousness that came from understanding. I loved connecting dots, finding truths, and standing my ground morally. Of course, this often came in the form of supposed selflessness, but that’s how it goes with the self-righteous.

All in all, I love to figure things out and enjoy “being prepared” in advance for pretty much anything. The best I feel is when I find real-world problems that I have experienced, and try to come up with practical solutions for them. 

Of course, I never end up applying those successfully, being wholly content in “knowing” the correct answer. The worst I’ve felt was in the kitchen working in Pondi, when I had more than enough time to think about anything and everything in the world, to learn, and prepare for all kinds of possibilities, without ever being able to do anything with all that thinking.

The best I feel is when I read great works of fiction or non-fiction, and think about all the possibilities and implications. 

Emotionally, I’m a mess. Violently oscillating from one end to another- depressed and suicidal one day and manicly gleeful the next. I’m also impulsive, lonely, self-hating, covertly narcissistic, and passively empathetic. 

When I try to think of the best I’ve ever felt emotionally, it’s only in the mountains and vacations where I was reasonably well off, but I remain hesitant. That’s because wherever I have ever gone, I’ve always carried a deep sense of misery that I can’t seem to shake. 

I sincerely hope to be free of myself one day, because I can’t help but feel like a cage in search of a cage. It feels hopelessly and hilariously my own choice, yet inexplicably inescapable at the same time. Like a bad habit that I refuse to shake, because of how much pleasure I derive from it in spite of the crippling pain. 

Of all my life’s challenges, goals, hopes, roadblocks, and ambitions, this one perplexes me the most. It seems to affect me the most as well. I want to will into existence this perfect moment where I break free. 

I imagine myself exploring my inner knots, suddenly discovering the exact shape of the fault, and letting it all go completely, in a triumphant sweep of glorious release. I imagine myself as a completely new person on the other side, one with a strong foundation, who can do whatever they set their mind to, and know what needs to be.

Yet, would that even make me happy? Is the fantasy at fault because it eludes me? We talk of goals and mindset because of focus, strategy. And direction seems to trump blind momentum. The idea being that if you only aim better rather than shoot more, you’re more likely to hit your mark.

If I did experience a rebirth, would it not have to be a single moment? If so, would I not just become a slave to whatever happens to be the content of that moment? For instance, if I view this very collection of words and the writing process behind it as the seed, the initiator of that wonderful moment, I would be inclined to imagine myself a writer, through and through. Because writing and reading would become the means to my salvation.

Yet, writing was always a fallback, something I settled into rather than chose. If it were up to me, I’d rather it be storytelling. Does it really matter? I suppose it doesn’t as long as it’s good for me and the world at large. The real point or insight here is that transformation is rarely the breaking point itself. 

Instead, successful achievement of ideals is a living, continuous process of accumulation. As such, the real path to my vision of emotional well-being is a methodical, deliberate, and consistent one. One that relates to a process or journey rather than a final destination.

I suppose that’s true for the other dimensions as well. 

Socially, I’ve always felt best at music festivals. More than fun-loving, I find a real connection with lovers of art. I love it because art is not necessary for survival, but it justifies it. 

All the struggles in the world are worth it if I get to watch one more episode of One Piece. Years of loneliness, hardship, and pain magically make sense when I watch Monster: The Ed Gein Story. 

I find love, comfort, joy, and understanding in fellow lovers of art. YouTubers, writers, and creators who engage with it, make me feel like I exist. The experience of art makes me forget my existence.

It’s beautiful, sacred, and magical. I feel the most lonely surrounded by people who are simply content with playing the game of survival to the best of their ability. Those who idolize the wealthy and condemn the so-called lazy.

I feel horribly alone when conversations extend only to paychecks, problems, and solutions. It’s all so dreadfully miserable, devoid of light and color. Spiritually, I feel full when I am full of acceptance and devoid of thought.

I feel the worst when I’m full of stress, knots, and obligations. Fearfully shrinking, fleeing, and frantically running around aimlessly. When others set my agenda for me. When life forces my hand to act against my values and judgments.

What does that really mean? I think the whole point of this writing was that I wanted to know how I’d like to live my life day to day. To align my ideal self-image with my current one. I shall do so in the next one.