Last Sunday, I went to Enchanted Kingdom with two of my brothers and my cousins and their kids. We were pretty much a huge group and of two generations — one really young and one middle aged. I wasn’t planning on going because I have so much work but my brother insisted and he told me my godson, Liam, wanted me there. So I had to go.
I’m glad I did.
I had another reason to want to go to Enchanted Kingdom. I wanted to get on the rides and really just let go. It has become very apparent to me, lately that I don’t know how to really let go. I’m always taking things to seriously, especially myself, and it’s horrible because that’s something I thought I didn’t do. It’s something I always tell people. It’s, like, a mantra of mine.
I have always thought that I didn’t take myself too seriously. I always thought that I would be goofy and talk about myself in a self-deprecating manner because I didn’t take myself too seriously. I realized, just recently, that I did those things because I had such a low self-esteem. It was a way to handle or deal with the smallness of how I saw myself. I played the fool and put myself down because it’s what I really think of myself.
So going on the rides, getting on a rollercoaster and feeling that rush of adrenaline allowed me to just let go of any preconceived notions of myself. I was not in control. I strapped myself on the ride, put on my seatbelt, and gave in to the motion that was there. I let myself be flung around and I screamed my ass off with the hopes that I can throw away all this tension and self-importance.
That’s another reason why I wanted to go to Enchanted Kingdom with my family. I wanted that rush and to submit to something else outside of myself. I wanted to be free of the shackles of myself; to really be silly and to really not care about how I looked or how I was perceived.
I am my own worst enemy. That has got to change. I’m actually thinking of going to therapy. This self-esteem problem needs to be fixed.