In life, my indecisiveness has complete control over me. It used to be something that was quirky about me, even cute at times. Now it's just this painful, humiliating and debilitating disability that I have. I guess I should back up a little bit for it to make more sense.
I'm almost twenty six years young (a little less than one month until my birthday.) and in that time, I'd like to think I've done a pretty good job of taking care of some people. Myself not so much included. (More on that super soon.) I grew up with my mom and my grandma in the same house (along with a brother for a little bit.) and as a young, able bodied person, the responsibility fell on me to help do whatever it was they couldn't. I was fine with it, until I realized that I was living more for other people than I was myself. Doctor appointments, grocery shopping, household chores, the list goes on. I would miss certain things because I had to come home early because they went to bed early. I never really stayed the night anywhere (especially if it was with a boy) because supposedly my grandma had a problem with it (according to my mom, who I suspect was the real voice behind that opinion.) I tried not to come home drunk, tried not to be too loud, tried to say the right thing, make all the right moves, and please everyone who I came in contact with.
Sure, it's easy to be happy in your own life when other people are happy. But what happens when that fades and you're left with this empty void of sadness that can't be explained? You start making decisions for yourself, that's what happens. Since I was 21 years old, I've made three decisions in my life for myself. I mean, really, truly, honest to goodness, just for me, without thinking about what other people would think, say or do.
When I was 21, I joined the Navy. Within a few weeks of being in basic, that pretty much blew up in my face, and three months later, I was home. Decision one, super fail.
When I was 23, I got my first tattoo. I loved it. I've been wanting more the second I stepped out of that shop. (Along with a few piercings too.) When my mom found out about it, there a was a big fall out, but it was worth it to me. Not too much fail, but still a little.
When I was 24, I packed my life up, and moved across the states to be with the man I loved. About nine months later, we discovered we had too many differences to really make a marriage work, so I packed up my car, and left just the way I came, all alone. Super duper huge fail.
These three instances alone are why I tend not to make decisions. And I know what you're thinking. Big deal, you made a few decisions, and they blew up in your face. It happens every second, of every minute, of every hour, of everyday. I guess it just goes back to the fact that I'm just tired of dealing with the pain that comes along with these failed decisions. It's huge. It still hurts when I think about the military. I still cry over my ex (even though I have moved on, more about that beautiful new boy later. <3)
But recently, I have truly learned that making other people is all well and good, but it can't last forever. When those people are gone (whether by choice, or accident) it's me, myself and I that I have to live with. And when I look in the mirror, and into the past, I'm not thrilled at being where I am. And sure, I could place the blame on other people. I could point fingers, name names, scream, shout, cry, and none of it would make a damn of a difference. It's my life, and it's time I started to put myself first. (Even if that means my mom gets to say all the meanest shit she can possibly think of, and she will. But that's another entry for another time.)
