A lot of people have asked me why I switched from psychology to art. I'm not going to lie, it is a big switch, and it wasn't an easy. Most of the time, I just answer that I have more a love for art, or it's easier, or I want to impact people in a different way. They're all true, aside for the fact that it's easier. I find my art classes take up more of my time and I can't just BS it, it all has to be true and real. But it's not the reason.
Do you want to know the real reason why I wanted to switch? Why I abandoned the plan that would have me graduating this December? Why I still watch certain shows with extreme passion because I know that that could have been me? One day, I woke up. I had my then boyfriends arms around me while he's sleeping soundly, our kittens curled up at our feet, the sunshine coming through the window. Life was perfect and happy; it was blissful. I got to thinking how I wanted to be a criminal profiler. Yeah, I wanted to chase after the craziest of crazies. Then I thought of all of the statistics I've learned about those people. Divorced or no marriage, children abandon them as soon as they can, and they die alone. It was a morbid thought that brought my very blissful morning to a halt.
I was going to die alone. That was the last thing that I have ever wanted. I always wanted to be the soccer mom, have the house that all the kids wanted to come to, have a sweet husband who brought me flowers randomly because he wanted to. I guess you can say I wanted the American Dream: 2.5 kids, white picket fence, 2 income family, and retire in Bora Bora nice and happy. Okay, yeah, that last part isn't part of the American Dream, but it is part of mine. I realized after about 45 minutes of thinking that to have one dream, I have to give up the other.
I had to figure out what dream was more important. It wasn't easy, there were, and still are, pros to both. I could go and catch the sick bastards that commit these horrendous crimes. It would also provide me with the capabilities to read people so if I lasted in a family long enough to see my daughters first boyfriend, I could know his true intentions, along with other people in my life. I would be making the would better for everyone else, while slowly self-destructing my own. Or, there's the other side. I could have the dream that I had been having for 19 years (because I was 19 at the time). To have a dream for 19 years is a long time. I wasn't about to see it get away. And that is why I changed my mind.
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