i will find my fears and face them, or i will cower like a dog

i said i was going to write something on the drive home, so i’m going to do it. i don’t care how tired i am. wait, no, that’s a lie, of course i care how tired i am. but i have to write down what i said or i will forget it and then i’ll have to wait another four months to feel like i need to write something.

i have often joked that i should develop a drinking problem so that i have some sort of real issue in my life to worry about. tonight, i have officially determined that such action would not be altogether wise. you see, while i do give myself quite the benefit of the doubt, the doubt itself lingers. at some point i’m going to have to realize that nothing is going to change unless i change it.

one of my favorite things to do is to find hidden metaphors in my daily life. my clever adamism of the other day read “my face is a metaphor for my life, and i need to shave.” on the way home tonight, i think i may have found a new clever little metaphor, one that i hope might actually do me some good.

i probably have an ulcer. i say “probably” because it’s not really definite; my doctor doesn’t really know what it is, and i suppose there’s no real way to know without some seriously invasive tests--which i may or may not have to go through since my next stop is at a gastrointestinologist’s office--but all signs point to ulcer. she prescribed me harder antacids this time with the hope that they’ll make a difference, but when it all comes down to it, i need to realize that this isn’t something that has any sort of quick fix. this is pretty much going to require an actual lifestyle change, something that i’ve been avoiding for just about the entire time i’ve had my own lifestyle. i’m going to have to eat better and take better care of myself if i ever want to heal. this isn’t something i can put off any longer; my body has finally had enough of my bullshit and it’s trying to bring me down from the inside for revenge. i’ve been faking it over the last several weeks, but only because i thought--well, i don’t know why i was doing it, because i thought that the meds would take care of it. even just typing out that sentence makes me realize that i didn’t really believe that; i guess i was just putting it off just that little bit longer. but i can’t do that anymore.

so why, then, do i think the rest of my life is any different? do i really believe that whatever constitutes the meds in this metaphor is going to suddenly turn my life around and make me happy? do i think that someone is just going to come along and hand me the answer to my problems? i don’t think i can, if i’m being completely honest to myself, just get a new job and make it all better. i can’t blame my job for everything that’s wrong with my life, everything that makes me unhappy.

i need to grow up. i need to eat a salad. but no tomatoes still, thankfully; they’re on the ulcer no-no list. i can’t expect to cold-turkey my way into this, though, because a) i know myself and i don’t have that kind of conviction, and b) i don’t really know what it is i need to fix. so let’s extend the metaphor, then: i’ve been to my life general practitioner and i know i have a problem, now it’s time for a trip to the life specialist. life gastrointestinologist. whatever.