Monday, January 18, 2016

Unappointed Regrets

like the book of faces Every decision I've made for say the last decade has been dictated by two things: a fear of regret and a fear of disappointment. The two often go hand in hand, sort of like a pair of aces in the poker game of emotional-dysfunction. To keep it snappy for all the Twitter tweens out there, I lack the emotional toolkit to deal with that shit and I will therefore do and compromise whatever it takes to avoid it. Whether you want to call it the debris of an only-child upbringing or just human nature, it's had me by the thoat since my mid-teens.

Yeah, you're probably thinking "so what? Everybody hates regret", and you'd be right, but they also fear things like rejection and failure, and they let those fears take precedence over the fears that I fear - regret, disappointment -  and that's what drives them. Theirs are barriers to action and it breeds inaction; go figure. Mine breed action, sometimes not the best action, but action nonetheless.

At the nucleus of my being, I carry regret around like a heavy bag with a broken strap. It debilitates me like a broken heart. The torment of lingering questions keeps me from functioning as a person. My motto as I entered adulthood was to leave nothing unsaid and no stone unturned. Whether it's calling someone out on their bullshit or making sure someone knows that I love them everytime I'm about to leave the room, it virtually became my number one rule. Why? Because I spent my childhood not doing it and it pretzled me into a frenzy of sleepless nights and low self-esteem, emotions I only recouped after I posted my first blog.

You see, I believe that a big mouth and a modest dose of arrogance was genetically-coded in me at birth, but someone was selling silence and I naively bought that instead. I would stand up for myself and be reprimanded for it by my garbage Catholic school. My parents taught me polite conversation, meanwhile they also told me that people who swore and had tattoos were ‘rough’, which just goes to show how much you can value what they said, considering that describes me at the moment. Regardless, my child-like mind interpreted those two things as censorship and I bit my tongue for a decade while I let people around me get away with murder. I would let teachers say shit to me. I'd let bullies do shit to me. I'd let dicks hurl garbage across the dinner table, while everybody stuck their forks in and ate it up. That was all until one morning when I awoke with bad breath and an epiphany: I needed to refuel the courage in which I was severely bankrupt of.

I brushed my teeth that morning and I haven't closed my fucking mouth since. I'm now a person. I'm Ryan Quinn, the one I should've always been and the one I like being. While I once thought that silence was polite and "right", I now know the opposite to be true. Sure it's a case by case thing, but silence less typically causes a reaction and it less than often changes anything. People may think of me as an arsehole, but at least I can sleep at night knowing that I'm me and that there might be one less arsehole out there speaking out of their's.

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