To whom it once concerned:

Satisfaction.

Do you know what it’s like, Dr. Bears?  In a life-changing whirlwind of events, I have gone through all the seasons of emotion.

I have tasted fear, sampled complete and utter insecurity at the hands of my own mentality.  In my heart, there had been a void of cold, placid emptiness, from which my draught was long.  My own mind rejected my body, soul, and self, and I was slowly degenerating into a mass of poisonous miasma that was projected to destroy everything in my life - everything about which I was unable to realize I cared; it would have destroyed my friends, my family, and my self, and it could not have bothered me any less.

But behold, a change, Dr. Bears!  Love, company, relationships – all were once hulking masses of insignificance, suddenly thrust forth into the bright spectrum of my realization.  I don’t know if you remember your life, Dr. Bears.  Whatever parts were joyous probably still refresh themselves in the swirling ether of your mind; this kind of impact, my life has never had.  I have, for the longest time, been so caught up in the pedantry of my constant need to fix, repair, and change, my mind would not allow such pleasantries to make an impact; you do not need to fix what is already perfect.  And perfection was the incessant goal of every conscious action with which I formed my world.  From this obsession grew an ever-expanding insanity, driven by the unattainable, impossible, uncontrollable goal of complete and total perfection.  I thought it would save me.  I thought my life was its own problem.  I thought that, to achieve perfection, I must sacrifice all about me that stained my world – all of my life’s trash – to save my standards.  But as they say, Dr. Bears: one man’s trash…

And so it has been.

I was unable to see the treasure, Dr. Bears.  I could not save myself from seeing the flaws in the ignorantly imperfect path my life once seemed to travel.  But my friends… my family… they have changed me, broadened, and enlightened me.
When all seemed to be wrong – when I could no longer fix my life and the weight of my immutable mortality crushed any hope of achieving worldly perfection and happiness – I was of the foolish impression that I was the only.  I was the only one in my world.  I was the only one who could see my faults.  I was the only one who could care about what plagued my mind.

And I was only – only wrong.

My friends… they saved my life, Dr. Bears, and not only in the physical sense, but in the emotional, social, and psychological, as well.  They rescued me – for me.  When they caught me, Dr. Bears, they embraced my heart, soul, and mind above the infinite abyss.  They saved me from plunging, in my entirety, into the worst mistake I could have ever made.  I found myself aloft, Dr. Bears.  I was aloft on the compassion of people who knew, without the clouded doubtful haze of which I could not rid myself, all that was good about me.

You see, Dr. Bears.

It didn’t matter to them that I was less tall than average, and that my hair was nothing special.  They saw past the braces and the glasses.  My face was not the focus of their attention, but rather it was the person between the blemishes, Dr. Bears, that was seen.

Of the earlier shades of emotion through which I struggled, none had been more impeding than that intense sorrow of my first honest rejection.

It was that which would later threaten to destroy me, Dr. Bears.  I used to dwell on everything.  I was calculating, arrogant, and too aware of myself and my surroundings for my own good.  But before I felt the cold sting of knowing there was someone out there who clearly did not want me in the same way I did them, I was able to coexist with any and all of my flaws.

But then came the crushing blow.

As soon as Nicole, the girl I was telling you about, said “no” to me… all at once everything I had ever taken note of with regards to who I was came crashing down around me in a storm of sudden significance.  It suddenly mattered that I was a hideous, pimpled monster, or that my hair would never lay the way it was supposed to.  That I did not have the body of a surfer destroyed me.  The way I carried myself, the slight overbite I had, the music I listened to, shows I watched, and views I had about the world all suddenly meant something to me; they collectively represented all the imperfections that could have caused her to reject me – all the possibilities and needs for improvement – upon which I started to dwell.

And dwell I did, Dr. Bears.

And it wasn’t until the night I almost took my life that I discovered exactly how stupid I had been.

But when I fell into the arms of my friends… when they saved me from the rope I had woven for myself…

It was euphoric.

It did not take me long to realize, Dr. Bears, that I was loved.  There were people who did not want my absence upon this waking world.  They would actually miss me, Dr. Bears!  They would have sorrow in my passing; the disappearance of my face, body, mind and soul would be as a tree is to a wood – insignificant to most, but damaging to many.

I do not mean to puff myself up, Dr. Bears.  But in that moment where I was suddenly found genuine affection, endearment, and love… I became aware of all that was good in my life.

I can make the people I care about happy.  They laugh when I speak.  I have an impact on their lives, and, without me, they would be somewhat diminished.  
And all that I dwelled upon became not some objects of rejection, Dr. Bears, but rather those of acceptance!  Of love, and of wanting!

My nerdy habits were something to be rejoiced!  My features were now praised for their simple existence!  All that was once to be loathed for me was suddenly appreciated, endeared, and, above all, loved!

… I have struggled through so much, Dr. Bears.  I have held death in my hands, and brought it down around my neck without so much as a fleeting thought to what this world would be like without me.  My life was one of ruin, where daunting self-assumptions dominated my existence, and consumed me from the inside until it seemed there would be nothing left to support the husk of a shell I wore.  But then, out of the blue, my friends, Dr. Bears… they came to my rescue.  They tethered me to this world with a rope separate from my own – one of hope, joy, realization, and caring – one of kindness, which flowed into my body, voiding all my previous assumptions with regard to my initially petty existence.  They made me realize that I was completely and utterly wrong about myself, Dr. Bears.

And that thought, Dr. Bears… is infinitely satisfying.

I will end by thanking you, Dr. Bears, for being right through and through, and for making it possible to have some sense of closure by me saying that I no longer need you.  You have been a tremendous help, Dr. Bears.  Were it not for you, I may never have lived long enough to learn the truth of my own existence.  I may never have learned how it feels to have the dying roots of my life nurtured by the refreshing kindness of friendship.  And I may never have stopped doubting myself and questioning all the attributes that make me who I am.

So thank you, Dr. Bears, for being there for me.  Thank you for being a voice in my wilderness.  Thank you for being a friend, and a mentor.

And thank you, Doctor Bears, for making me aware of love… and of wanting.

Inspired to live,
Gregory J. MacArthur