For the longest time, I tried to figure out why I really decided to take on a Psychology degree. Initially, it was because I figured it might be something I would be interested in. You see, I gave up on IT because I realized that codes and scripts just doesn’t do it for me. I like writing, and I heard that Psychology involved a lot of reading, so why not?
After a while, as life went on and with all that has happened to me, I started to feel a lot of things. The feelings were not new, only heavier. I tried talking about my feelings, with my so-called friends and with professionals in the field, but I got nowhere. It was always the usual “get over it” or “It can’t be that bad”. Even people with similar feelings would have different opinions. I decided that these things were not as common as I’d thought, that just because it wasn’t printed in a journal, it didn’t mean that it doesn’t exist.
I made plans to be somebody. To someday earn my credentials, thinking that when I do, people would listen to me. People would know and be more open when I talk about my feelings, and my thoughts, and how they continually haunt me.
Three years in a four year course, I realized that I was wrong about why I chose this field. I did so predominantly because of my inherent fear of people. I’ve always been the kind of person who would shun away from the crowds. Shy, I suppose, but so much more, and this is the part where people stop understanding. The part where I find myself making up excuses not to meet people because of the places they choose, and the people, the stares and the crowd I imagine to be there, just waiting to stare at me, judge me, and maybe more than that. The little things that I would meticulously plan in my head so that, hopefully, things would turn out the way I need them to. Things like walking a little slower, so that I’m not the one who has to brave the crowd and find a seat in a crowded cafeteria, or choosing my moments wisely to avoid other unbearable (to me) situations. This is the part where people tell me it’s all bullshit, and that it’s all in my head.
They tell me that I can get better and that I just have to take the necessary steps to do so. People are always telling me to change, but they never stop to consider even the slightest possibility that I could be right. That, if they’d listen for just one minute, I mean really listen, they might, perhaps, understand. Tall order, I always say.
I came to realize that I decided to formally study human behavior because, well, I’d been trying to understand people for as long as I can remember. I know people use that phrase a lot, but I mean it. Since I was a kid, I tried so hard to figure out why people do, feel and think the way they do, because I never did, felt, and thought like they did. Once a weirdo, always a weirdo. Studying people always includes an element of objectivity, which then breeds distance. You know, for my fear of people.
I might find the answers that I am looking for, some day. I hope not to. It would appear that people with a purpose go further. I may never feel like I belong, but at the very least, I would know that I have a purpose, albeit one that I create for myself.