Make something of yourself.
I heard these words, and I decided not to capitalize them for the title of this post.
Recently I have struggled with finding my identity. I’ve realized just how fabricated everything I say or write has been all my life. When I was a kid, I’d write in my journal as if someone would read it in the future. I’d write to impress…someone. There is a very large portion of my writing starting around fifth grade where I stopped writing about boys, for instance. I hated looking back at my own naive words and cringing at yesterday’s foolishness. I hated realizing how immature I had been.
Yet, such fabrication has bled into today. I’ve been seeking psychiatric help, with the nicest and most approachable lady on the planet. Yet in the three sessions I have attended so far, I don’t think I’ve said a single genuine thing. Not that I’ve been lying. Just that I haven’t dug deep yet. I haven’t faced who I really am inside.
So I am starting to make something of myself. Who cares if I didn’t write this perfectly? Who cares if I made a typo somewhere?
I didn’t capitalize the title. Yesterday it would have irked me. “Make Something of Yourself” is the proper way to write it. But yesterday I was fool, wasn’t I?