On Healing

Every ounce of delusion has passed. I guess I was right. I don't need it anymore. I can't help but wish I'd managed to dig it out of me much earlier. The need was there, though. It was a survival tactic. There are those who know some of my delusions, and maybe I should feel shame, but I don't. I've listened to enough people who were delusional and opened up about their experiences that I understand and I feel compassion for myself that some others cannot feel. One who was working as a social worker with children sticks with me the most. I hope she managed to overcome her prejudices to learn to work with those kids who might be suffering, better. I hope she learned that mental illness doesn't just switch off at adulthood for everyone - or that those of us who do need assistance into adulthood aren't frightening creatures.

Yet, I did use my intimidation tactics to keep people at arm's length. It was easier for me to let people think of me as a threat of some sort. It was like a wounded animal lashing out at others, though.

I no longer need that, either. There's no rage left in me. There's some snark and some bitterness, but no rage. The intensity of all that emotion has left. I no longer feel empty with its absence, either.

There are limits in my life. The metaphor in my head of having only so much cloth that I can use to cover all aspects of my life only goes so far. It's not as far as others' allotments. It isn't a bad stretch, but it'll never be all I want it to be. That's okay, too, though.

It's the same idea behind the way people were never passionate about being with me. I didn't inspire that level of acceptance. I was the good-enough girl. And that's fine, too. It helped me see very clearly the truth of people's intentions and personalities. I never had to suffer after finding out someone wasn't what they claimed to be. When a guy in my senior year lamented and whined about what a good guy he was, it took everything not to snort and yell, "NICE? You're a total ass to me. But then, you don't want to fuck me, so yeah, I can see how un-nice you are." I was able to retain information and spit it back out on command, though, so I looked smart. I know now, though, that too is just good-enough. And I think I'm coming to terms with that.

I've healed a lot. I've learned my limits. I've learned where I still falter. My recovery or whatever the hell you call it is nearing completion. I feel the best I have in a very long time.

BUT GODDAMNIT WHY THE FUCK DID IT HAVE TO TAKE UP HALF MY LIFE?