Obsession...

I wrote this in Quedlinburg while sitting at a fountain. I don't know what inspired me to..

My obsession compulsiveness is my greatest enemy. And my truest friend.

I always thought it was shyness. But now I realize it's my tendencies for obsessive thoughts; the fuel to my frustrations. For the last thirty years. I never gave them a second thought. They were as natural to me as breathing. I ignored this problem long enough. The first step is to observe  'what.' The 'why' isn't important now, and may never be.

It's not even the panicky feelings I have anticipating an event. It's the obsessive thoughts that give them credence. 'ohmigod, what if A and B happen? I'm so unprepared!' Over. And over. No wonder I never got over my social anxiety. I'm addicted to the feeling, but not the feeling, the thought cycle. No wonder I could never solve this, I was attacking the symptom, not the cause. The way I was attacking it furthered the cycle. 'Prepare, overprepare for my anxiety, I'll beat it this time!'

What I learned about myself on this trip is how little things affect me. Like a black bird's claw around a walnut. They color, shape, and create a world view that has direct results in what I get and what my life really is.

It stops me in my tracks when A and B and C are not taken care of. D only happens, and then somewhat rarely, unless the trio of prerequisites register as 'done' in my mind.

It prevents me from the smallest of tasks. I first need to wash my hands. Or know where I'm going. Or have a reservation. Or ponder all instances. I need to feel prepared. Otherwise I'm hollow. Empty. Purposeless.

It allows me to do the grandest of things. I had every site in Ireland written down, plotted on Google Maps. I had the dots. All I had to do was connect them. And I did, in perhaps the greatest three weeks of my life. I didn't have to waste time figuring out 'what' to see, only 'when' and 'how.' And I did, the freedom of a car let me..

It stops me dead in my tracks when I want to connect to people. To really communicate. To be part of the crowd. To gel. 

I could talk to person X, but  I need to feel in the mood. Less panicky. It has to be quieter. Less people. First I need to master my public voice.

I want to feel natural. Blend with the flavors around me. I don't blend. I'm a rebel. In a crowd I love to be the only one walking the other way, people parting like a crest of waves around me. The foam, the glitter of the sunlight leaving an afterimage in my retina. I feel like I'm going somewhere special. Somewhere forgotten.

It allows me to prepare for numerous possibilities. I prepared to live out of my home country for four months. I tracked down every item, researched to the smallest detail, imagined myself on a hostel and asking, "what do I need?"

I found the shirts, pants, rain jacket, backpack, towels, water bottles, map-organizer (iPod Touch), and just about everything else and it's near perfect (plus or minus a few instances). Now I don't have to waste time tracking down what I need. Haha. Instead I waste time thinking compulsively. In Europe. Life is so ironic.
 
Hahaha. It is a curse and a gift. It is as part of me as thought is. It is as separate from me as a lingering habit, hanging by a thread that can be cut at my choosing.

I hate it.
I love it.

I don't know where it ends and 'me' begins.

I wonder if I can change.


No one is going to tell me what to do, nor should they. Everyone has their own conflicts. The only person that really understands us is ourselves. In the end this is my responsibility. People are responsible for solving their own conflicts. That's one purpose in life. In a weird way our struggles give us that.

So here I am. In Europe. Writing about my compulsiveness. And it feels good. Because I'm sitting at a beautiful square and feeling inspired. A compulsion in itself? Might as well enjoy it, haha.

Children are playing, people eating ice cream, and I just had a pizza at an Italian place.

I'll walk into the twilight knowing that the future is unwritten, but we only feel as good as our last fight with our conflict. Change is good, but slow down. Compulsively fighting compulsion is an ends to the means.

Enjoy the life. The ice cream. Enjoy the struggle. Is all I can say now. Some people don't even get that chance.

Sometimes I think I'm too serious, haha. So I'll end with a joke.

Why was six afraid of seven?
Because seven ate nine.

It doesn't work in Germany.

Why was sechs afraid of sieben?
Because sieben acht neun!