Is This as Good as it Gets?

Short Answer:

God, I hope not.

Long Answer:

Four years ago I thought, College is going to be the shit.

And, in the most abbreviation summation of the past four years, it hasn't been.

College did not compensate for almost two decades of feelings of social inadequacy or exclusion. College has not made me cool or particularly interesting. And I don't want you to think that I haven't taken advantage of opportunities. I have a fully stocked resumes and more accolades than I feel I need...or deserve for that matter. And how terrible it is to constantly be trying to living up to the expectations of an insatiable monster. And how terrible is it to realize that the girl I can never make happy, the wicked witch of the east moved west, is merely an inhabitant of my mirror.

The unfortunate clarity of this realization raises the question, am I ever going to be happy with the objectively delicious meal set in front of me? Or am i destined to be dissatisfied for the rest of my days...

It's truly absurd to think that the best has already happened. I can look at it logically a million different ways and day, "no, I have oodles to look forward to. I'm going to graduate. I am going to have a real apartment with matching dishware. Only 70% of my furniture will be from IKEA." But as soon as I've allowed any logic to spare me from my own cynicism, I feel it. Like a black cat walking across my consciousness. And i think "yea, all that could happen. Or I could end up a destitute dog lady (there's literally no way I will own cats) living in my parents' basement." And somehow the faintest glimmer of fear burns all the beautiful possibilities that I could entertain.

This really has to stop. Because the obvious answer to my title question is "obviously not." The obvious answers are "it's as good as you make it," "the best is yet to come," "the best will always be the very moment you choose to live fully, and that moment should always be right now." But somehow my brain skirts around those obvious answers and instead decided to get lost in alley ways without street signs where even the locals can't really figure out escape routes.

And at these times, when I feel like I'm drowning and the surface of the water is flaming oil, there is a certain comfort in dwelling in the misery I'm certain I'll encounter in the near future. Perhaps because misery is something that I can easily will into existance. But the problem is that whether that reality with the the dogs and the basement comes to life or not, I know it's not what I want. And if I know that, I know that I can choose to be happy. Even if it's simply by avoiding the worst possible fate I've drafted in my mind.

Choosing to be happy. It's really that easy.

And that doesn't mean that I'll never freak out about the inevitability of my failure again. But it does mean that I have to believe that one day it will all be enough. That something will shift, probably within me, and I'll look out on my beautiful life more than three days in a row and feel like yea, this is right. I can make this work. Because if I don't believe that all of that is possible one day, then what's the point?