WHO AM I?

It seems like such a cliched question. Who am I? Yet it's a question I've asked myself recently. And the answer hasn't exactly been all that favorable.

I find myself at a crossroads in life. For the first time in a long time, I face an uncertain future - a future that I don't fully control.

And I'm scared. I'm very scared.

I'm scared of what lies ahead and what could be. How I got to this point really isn't important. What is important is what I do about it now. In the past, when faced with something like this, I basically gave myself two options. One was to run away. The other was to retreat into a corner and hide - which is somewhat similar to running away as well.

Recent events have caused me to examine my own life - who I am, what I want to be, and how I want to be. And I've reached one basic conclusion. I don't like myself. I don't like the person I am. I don't like the way others perceive me. And I don't like the fact that my poor wife has often had to cover for me and make excuses for me. "No, he's fine. He's just shy."

I have faults. I have a lot of them. Is that unusual? Probably not. But some of my faults are big ones, and have far-reaching consequences. Example? A few months ago, my wife was visiting with her brother and their mom. I wasn't around. But I came up in conversation. At one point, my wife mentioned that I am a really funny guy, with a great sense of humor. My brother-in-law then looked at her as if she were retarded. It blew his mind. Why? Because he doesn't know me. Truth be told, I am a funny guy. I do have a great sense of humor. But how many people know that about me? Very few. And whose fault is that? I only need to look in a mirror.

Ready for a bitch session? I've only just begun.

I spent most of my childhood getting picked on. I took a lot of verbal abuse. I was an outcast. I wasn't popular. I had very few friends. And that abuse took its toll on me. I simply recoiled. I chose to not let it bother me. But I didn't retaliate. Instead I just retreated into myself. I clammed up. I rarely spoke. I didn't interact. My self-esteem was shot. And you know what? I have never recovered from that.

Today I am a 36-year-old man. But in so many ways, I'm still a little boy. I have a beautiful wife, two beautiful daughters, and an overall good life. Yet hiding underneath that surface is an immature boy who is still scared of life.

I have no social skills. Frankly, it's a miracle I was ever able to find someone who loved me. Yet I somehow pulled it off. Bless her soul, she's an angel for seeing through all my bullshit, and finding the real me beneath that surface. With her, I let down all my defenses. And she saw the good in me - the good person that I am - the kind, gentle soul that is me. But in doing so, she also saw the bad - the self-esteem issues, the argumentative issues, the stubborness, the selfishness, the air of superiority that I sometimes carry.

I say it again. I have no social skills. So what does that mean? That means when we get together and go to a party or go to a relative's house or something like that, I quite often find myself sitting alone because I don't care to interact a whole lot. Basically, I speak when I'm spoken to, and rarely utter another word otherwise. I look to my wife to be my safety net. I want her by my side. If she's there, she can talk for both of us. She shoulders the load. When she's in another room, I often divert my attention to the TV, or a newspaper. Why? So I don't have to participate in the conversation.

And how does that make me look to other people? I come off as smug and standoffish. Am I that way though? No. I'm just painfully shy and have no self esteem. That may be an explanation. But it is not a good excuse.

So why do I retreat away from the limelight? It's because I'm afraid. I'm afraid I might say somethng stupid. Or I might say something I think is funny, but no one else does. And that fear is powerful. It's so powerful that it overwhelms me, and prevents me from saying a word. It's safe and comfortable in my own little world. It's quiet. But it's safe. And sadly, it's also very lonely.

The ironic thing is that when we leave a situation like that, I feel like shit. I feel like my wife has once again had to shoulder the burden for both of us. Everything falls onto her shoulders. And of course although she may not say anything, deep down I know she resents it. She knows I feel bad about it. On top of her own irritation, she also feels bad for me. It's an endless circle.

Shall I continue? Of course. Let's talk about arguing. I have been argumentative my whole life. It started as a young child with my parents. I always wanted to do things MY WAY. And quite often, I did. And that's why I got into a lot of trouble as a youth. As I grew older, my rebellious nature subsided to some degree. I still often did what I wanted - only I conformed enough not to go outside the limits of the law.

But the arguing remained.

Some would call it debate. Hell, my best friend and I have been arguing since our freshman year in high school. From the long walks home from school, to the modern-day E-mail exchanges of today. Our debates are legendary. But no one ever sees them. It's private between him and I. But at times, they're ruthless and sometimes even mean-spirited. Sadly, when we get together, we sometimes argue then as well. But my friend has a way of pulling back. He's learned to keep the inappropriate nature of our private arguments from the public who sees us. In other words, there's a time and a place for that sort of behavior. But unfortunately, I haven't been smart enough to learn that. Even in a public forum, I need to always be right. And I fight for my opinions. And in the end, I come off looking like a fucking asshole. I come off pompous and smug. I'm a jerk.

Now how could I not have recognized this? I'm a smart guy. Yet I act like an ass in front of people, and then pat myself on the back for being right. And the most ironic thing is, I'm not always right. Yet I argue and argue and argue until the pther person simply gives up or gives in. Either way, I look bad - and rightly so.

Let's move on to manipluation. Another wonderful character trait of mine. Again, going back to my wild childhood days of getting in trouble, I always had a knack of getting other people to do my bidding. In my circle of friends, I often was the leader - dictating what we should do. Yes, I could get people to get in trouble with me - or get them to do something wrong that would benefit me somehow - or something that I would get a kick out of. I sometimes would hang out with complete idiots - probably for that very same reason. They were easily manipulated.

And now, as an adult, I still find ways to do that sometimes. The recipient - my lovely wife. I do things. I plan things - often without her input. Well, that might not be completely fair. I do get her input. But too often it's been the result of arm-twisting. I'll plan something, then tell her about it. And if she complains, I'll start to work on her so that she can see my point of view - which of course I believe is the "right" point of view. And again, I argue. I manipulate. I lay guilt trips. "Well, if you don't want to... I think it's a good idea... But obviously I won't do anything without your ok..." And what happens? She gives in. She succumbs to my wishes. And that is that.

Now how does this make me feel? Honestly, I didn't feel bad at the time. Why? Because I didn't see what I was doing. I didn't see the hurt and disappointment. I was blinded by my own short-sightedness. I see it now. I realize it now. What an asshole I have been. It's always been about me, me, me - never a thought to the feelings of others around me.

The past few weeks have been very eye-opening for me. I've had to look at myself for the first time. And like I said, I don't like what I see. In fact, I hate it. And it makes me incredibly sad to think about what I've become. How did I get this way? And what has it gotten me today?

Well, for one thing, I have very few friends. The one guy I've always considered my best friend seems to want nothing to do with me. We haven't hung out and done anything for 14 months. We still communicate via E-mail sometimes. But that's about it. I've discovered that I also have no support system. And right now, is a time when I need it the most. Yet the only people who have reached out to me (save for my parents) are a guy I haven't laid eyes on in over a dozen years, and a girl who lives five hours (and two states) away. There's no one else right now - no one to put their arm around me to tell me it's going to be ok - no one who can give me a shoulder to cry on - no one to talk to - no one to comfort me. And why is it this way? Because I've refused to let people into my world. I've refused to be social. I have no one to blame but myself.

I have always been a strong-willed person. When I set my mind to do something, it gets done! And no one who knows me will deny that. But now I face another challenge - perhaps the biggest fight of my life. It's been said that a person needs to hit rock bottom before he can pick himself up again. I thought I hit rock bottom 10.5 years ago. I was wrong. I've hit it now. The question becomes, what am I going to do about it?

Do I retreat? Do I hide in a corner? Do I run away? That's been the norm thus far. And don't think that those ideas haven't crossed my mind. Because they have. But what has that gotten me thus far in life? Read above. Does this sound like a healthy existence?

I've signed up to begin therapy. My first appointment is December 26th. I consider it a Christmas present to myself. I certainly need it. I have no doubt that I will once again be diagnosed with depression. I've been there before. I know how it feels. God knows what else the therapist will find wrong with me. But I'm sure there will be more.

But therapy is not the only answer. What else can I do? Well, for starters, I just listed a shitload of things that are wrong with me. And I need to work on those things myself. Regardless of what the future holds, these are things that I need to do for me. I am a good person. I know that. But I have problems. And I can be a better person. It's quite simple really. I have to be. And it all starts with thinking about other people besides myself. This whole "me, me, me" attitude is sickening. I am ashamed of who I've become.

I have to focus on the positive right now - take things one day at a time. I need to be open to new ideas. And I need to cease having the need to always be right. It's not right that I demand to always get my way. That's bullshit! And it's done. I need to focus on being the best husband, best father, and best overall human being that I can be.

I need to grow up. I need to act my age. I need to stop worrying that when I walk into a public place alone, people will look at me funny and laugh at me behind my back. Silly you say? Perhaps. But it's what I feel. It's what I've always felt since I was a teenager. Some feelings simply don't go away.

I need to be social. I need to talk. I need to be funny. I need to speak up. How awful is it that my wife's own family doesn't even really know me? I'm embarrassed and ashamed. I've wrestled with this issue for years. And I've vowed to try and overcome my shyness. Yet it still refuses to go away. Why is it that I can sit in front of a computer screen, and type my most intimate secrets and memories for the entire world to see? Yet when I get face-to-face, I shut down and put up a wall. Well no more. Can I be the life of the party? Maybe I can. Why not? After all, I do have a good sense of humor. Once people see it and respond to it, it will be easier the next time. And pretty soon, it will be like second nature. Even if I'm not the life of the party, I can be a nice, added addition to any conversation. People don't know me. But it's time that they do. A big part of my life depends on it. And you know what? They will like what they see. Because those few who have known me, know I'm a likable guy.

I'm repeating myself. But again, it's not all about me. I need to start giving back. And I've taken some steps to do that. Earlier this week, myself, my wife and our daughters volunteered our time at a nursing home. We helped several of the residents decorate some small Christmas trees for their rooms. And you know what? They enjoyed it. And so did we. It felt good to do something for others - people in need. And tonight I took our daughters back to that nursing home. However, this time, there was no one to supervise us. I was supposed to play some balloon games with them. But when I got there, I was on my own. One of the staff members handed me three balloons, then left me on my own. Umm... help! But you know what, I did it. I blew up those balloons, and the girls and I played with the residents - at least the ones who were receptive to playing. I talked. I was social. I asked what their names were. I introduced them to my girls. And I saw joy - pure, non-phony joy on the faces of those residents who played with us. Ok, there was one grumpy guy who was a stick-in-the-mud. But besides him, we all had a blast. I was reminded of that scene in "Patch Adams" where that elderly woman got to jump into the giant vat of noodles. The look on her face was the look I saw tonight on several of the residents. And as corny as this may sound to say, it was very rewarding. And I'm happy my girls got to take a part in it. Tonight brought several smiles to my face. And that's something that has been missing recently.

I recently signed up and committed myself to six months of volunteer work with my local humane society. I'll be helping animals in need. I'll be walking dogs, cleaning cages, petting cats...

I'm now on a voyage of self discovery. And I'm still very scared. But over the past three or four days, I've also been hopeful. Hope is a beautiful thing.

Is it too little, too late? For some people, perhaps. But it's not too late for me. I'm only 36. And there's a lot more living to do.