So, a few nights ago, We had another fight. I bet you can guess what it was about. That's right. About how I don't care of myself. About how I don't stand up for myself. How I, supposedly, let other people walk over me. And how I let others make the decisions for me without even realizing it.
After a long screaming match, the subsided tears and quiet sniffling, he lands a whamee on me, something I had never realized and now don't know how I could have been so blind to it.
He finally coerced me into really opening up about my family - and about admitting the fact that they have fucked me up. That I have no confidence in myself mostly because nothing I ever did was quite good enough for them, while their opinion meant so much to me - my sister always told me my writing was good, but could be better. She said the same thing about my drawing and singing. My mom and dad were never quite satisfied with my grades and couldn't understand how it was that they were not my top priority. And while they told me all of this, they never really told me why the expected all of that. Which has led me to believe that...well, I'm just not good enough. In anything.
So, we're talking about all of this, and then he says:
"And that is why you're studying psychology - something that you're not really interested in."
Now, excuse me, but I like psychology, thank you very much. I started being defensive and then he said it:
"You started out as a journalism major, and don't give me any of that bullshit about one class making you change your mind -*that's what I always thought, journalism isn't for me, but I never really let myself say outloud why, more on that later*- that's stupid, one class can't do that. When I like something, I read anything I can on it, and if I were a psychology major and really interested in it, I would read every book that I could get my hands on. But you don't. You know what you do? You write. And that's what you really want to do, isn't it? And if it weren't for your family, for your sister who is a social worker, your father who is a scientist, you would be writing in college."
And he's right.
There was a point when I didn't want to write - a short point, but long enough for me to change from a journalism major. The real reason I didn't want to continue with journalism? Not enough writing. That's right. I have always, always wanted to write. I took a creative writing class freshman year, was ripped apart, and didn't write until the middle of my sophomore year, when little plot puppies started to gnaw at my brain. And then it was like a dam exploding - and still is.
I like psychology. But somewhere in the middle of my second semester, I began to realize that I don't love it. That I don't feel passionate about it. But I do about writing.
And now I feel totally lost and confused, and DAMN HIM for being so goddamn honest and poking his nose into the private parts of my mind. How is a person allowed to do this?
His friends call him the button-pusher. Now I know why.
Bah.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
