Decisions, decisions…

I hate making decisions.  In fact, decisions and I go to together about as well as oil and water – we just don’t mix (except the impulsive ones, I do a really good job making those)!

This is what happened the last time I made an impulsive decision…

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It’s probably obvious from the photo, but that’s me inside a tattoo parlor and the guy at the end of the table, he’s the tattoo artist holding a needle.  And if you look closely, you’ll see that he isn’t even touching my leg with the needle yet, so I’m not sure what’s up with the painful expression on my face, other than I’ve decided that’s my decision making face, the one I make before, during, and after every decision that screams…What should I do? What the heck am I doing?  What did I just do? – it looks the same but means something different depending on which stage I’m at in the decision-making process.  

Decisions are very stressful for me. Mostly because of the “I have to make them” part, and also because I suck at making them on my own and so I usually have to rely on other people to help me. And when they’re not available, I depend on traffic lights to tell me what to do – like if the light turns green by the time I count to three, then I should or shouldn’t do it – (whatever it is).  Sometimes the light doesn’t corporate though and I’ll give it another chance to tell me what to do; “Ok, if it turns green by the time I count to six,” and make adjustments until it tells me what I want to hear, just like I’ll go to a bunch of different people until I hear what I want to hear. But even then I still don’t know what to do because by the time I finally find someone to tell me what I wanted them to, it’s been so long since I started asking that I’ve changed my mind and don’t know what I want anymore.  

Which is why I prefer to make impulsive decisions, they’re a lot easier.  Unless of course it’s a decision that has permanent consequences, like getting a tattoo; especially since I have a lot of other issues besides decision-making to deal with, like anxiety and claustrophobia…anxiety-ridden because I didn’t take time to think about what I wanted for a tattoo (not that I had a lot of time to think about it, I actually only had  40 minutes and the only reason I decided to get a tattoo in the first place was because I had some time to kill), and stricken with that claustrophobic feeling people with claustrophobia get when they feel like they can’t get out of something or get something off – which resulted in a very extreme and dramatic anxiety/claustrophobic attack the minute I got home and realized my tattoo was never coming off…EVER!

To make matters worse, because I didn’t put a whole lot of thought into the design, other than knowing I’m a Capricorn and being 99% sure that Capricorn is an Earth sign, I decided the symbol for earth would be a good choice (plus it’s on my ankle, which is close to the Earth, so that made even more sense to me).  

But when I got home and Google’d Earth images, after I recovered from my anxiety/claustrophobic attack, I didn’t see my tattoo in any of the Google images. So now, not only was I going to have to live for the rest of my life with a tattoo on my ankle, I’d have to live the rest of my life with a tattoo on my ankle that doesn’t even mean anything!

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This is me feeling proud right after I got my tattoo, before I knew it didn’t mean anything, and the fact that it was never coming off hadn’t occurred to me yet either.

The point is, for whatever reason life in general (the whole “I have to live it” part) is too overwhelming for me sometimes, and I live in constant fear of fucking up. And then other times, in a brief moment of courage the naïve voice inside me, the one that’s really stupid and pushes me even though I know I’m about to fuck up really bad says “Everyone messes up, Theresa, heck, some people mess up every day and they get through it just fine.  And then the other voice, the logical one who knows me really well, reminds me who I’m dealing with says “Yeah but, those people probably have better coping skills – you don’t, remember?”

Clearly, I forgot:

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P.S. With the help of my dearest friends, and shit ton of Googling, we finally figured out my tattoo does mean something; it’s actually Tibetan for Earth. The Z is the Earth part and the dagger is a Sa, which in Tibetan is the equivalent to a period or exclamation mark in English, so essentially my tattoo is more or less Earth !…as in, Earth YAY!  Like my ankle’s really excited about Earth, permanently…forever!

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