I’m a mess of a person. Really, I am. I’m chaotic, unorganized, emotional, nervous, obsessive-compulsive, talk to myself, get headaches by thinking about the most idiotic things et cetera et cetera. Some of my even crazier friends ask me how I can handle putting up with them, but I guess that’s just because behind the wall of normality I’ve put up over the years, I’m just as insane and psychologically unstable as them. Trust me, it’s good that I got this wall of mine.
Luckily, I know when to get help. I don’t think that showing weakness is a sign of weakness, but rather one of responsibility. Considering that, I’ve made sure to put my mental health into the hands of not just one, but four very capable therapists. Alone, these experts are already formidable doctors, but combined, they create the foundation of my mental health. Seeing how it’s almost the first birthday of this blog, I think it’s time to introduce you to my four specialists.
First among them is Mr. Food, the first member of my team. I met Mr. Food when I was pretty young. Back then, eating was something I found comfort in, and Mr. Food was there to make me understand why chocolate and sandwiches are so damn satisfying. Essentially, food was something that made me slow down, chew carefully and re-think my situation. Getting annoyed by my siblings? Why not sit down with some macaroni and wait until it all passes over? Trouble with the parents about some grades? Why not take some candy and retreat to your room, sobbing about how they just “don’t understand you”? Mr. Food just never judges. He’s just dare to give me a warm feeling in my tummy, making all the problems in the world seem small.
Sadly, Mr. Food just wasn’t strict enough with me. At a certain point, my gluttony became a problem. I had to do something about it, and Mr. Food was just not motivating me. Fortunately, coach Fit came into my life. Coach Fit is a strict and powerful woman, one of those gym moms who put all the ripped boys to shame when they dead lift thrice their own body weight. Coach Fit saw the pickle I was in (and that I was eating at the time she met me) and did the only right thing: shout at me, force me to “give her fifty” and then run a few lapse. Unlike Mr. Food, coach Fit made me suffer. Where Mr. Food told me that everyone would be alright if I just laid back, coach Fit shouted at me and made clear that things don’t change when you don’t change them. Together, these two therapists showed me both sides of one coin: some things can be solved by slowing down, while others require all your strength, commitment and maybe even some blood and tears.
While Mr. Food and coach Fit were busy counseling me, I always had doctor Gamer to spend my free time with. What I didn’t realize until a few years ago was that doctor Gamer did not just have a Ph.D. in game design and giving me a heck of a good time, but was also versed in providing me with communications training and logical thinking. Being the awkward kid I was back then, doctor Gamer showed me that communicating with strangers is not a bad thing. In fact, you might get to know someone you’ll really like. Doctor Gamer always knew how to adjust my communicative therapy, while also relaxing from every day’s trouble. Slowly, he made me turn from an introvert loner to the extrovert talker I am these days.
Finally, there’s the one therapist who brings my experiences from the previous three together. She’s the one who makes me combine the insights of her colleagues, structure them in my mind and voice them in a way they can be shared with others. She doesn’t have a title, and she actually doesn’t like her real name. That’s probably because it’s something ancient no one can pronounce any way. To me, she’s only known as Writing, and she’s the one I turn to after Mr. Food has fed me, coach Fit has tortured me and doctor Gamer has relaxed me. After all of that, Writing turns to me and asks: “Well Chin, what have you learned today?” With great enthusiasm, I pick up my keyboard and reply.
My therapists, ladies and gentlemen. Without them, this wouldn’t be here.