I had an appointment with my psychiatrist last week. I didn't go, blaming anxiety. I took another appointment, for yesterday. I did go this time, still feeling about equally anxious, but knowing I had to go.
Sitting in his office, I had to answer the question of just why I hadn't shown up. I babbled about stress and muttered the beginning of incomplete sentences, until ultimately I managed to form the truth in a clear, straight-to-the-point way: I knew that, by going to that appointment, I would need to reflect on my current state of being, looking at myself in a metaphorical mirror and say "This is how I am right now". And, shit, how far am I from the way I wish things were.
I keep imagining that I'm a published author, that I help out charities, that I travel the world...but when I get up in the morning (I did manage to stabilise my sleeping schedule), I don't go out into the world. I go down into the basement, sit at my computer and read news, play games and generally get nothing valuable done.
I do not need psychiatrist help at the moment (I have, in the past, been in need of therapy, for depression or something very similar to it, and for phobias). I just need to think really hard about exactly what I want to do with my life, and then proceed to do it. No one can do it for me and, to paraphrase my psychiatrist, it would be a pity to wake up in 40 years and realise "Fuck. I haven't done anything yet." (My psychiatrist didn't say fuck. Or any expletives.)
As I walked from the office towards Mario's home (Mario! Awesome!), there was only one thing I knew for sure: I want it to be FUN.