I’ve debated what to do about this blog for the last year. I’ve told myself it’s because I am too busy to write – which is true to an extent. I’m too busy living. Too busy discovering. To busy finding myself in the most incredible and amazing places with amazing and incredible people.
I’ve found a world open to me that never was before.
And so I forget.
I forget who I used to be because I tell myself it’s irrelevant. That’s not who I am anymore. It’s not how I think about myself. My inner change has been reflected in how others perceive me and treat me and trust me. The respect I am shown is sometimes mind-blowing and I can’t wrap my mind around it so I don’t think about it too much.
I am hard with myself. I often feel like I don’t do enough or give enough of myself in work or in school, and then I have to run an inner dialog that goes something like ‘Remember, two years ago you could hardly walk. Two years ago you had never worked a real job. Two years ago the thought of volunteering someone a few hours a week to get out of the house was too overwhelming.’
And then I run a quick mental checklist of what I have accomplished:
Living on my own halfway across the world
Recovered from chronic pain and mental illness
Working and studying full time
Learned a new language
Learned to have fun and let go
And I learned that men are human too
In my studies we spend a lot of time on inner reflection and exploration. Which can cause mini-breakdowns because you are ALWAYS with yourself in really intense and intimate ways.
Then the parts of me I’ve worked so hard to put aside suddenly rear up and I feel the huge disconnect. The things that I’ve done and that I’ve been through – things that made perfect sense to the drug and abuse induced fog I was under for so long – make zero sense to my now rational mind.
And I have no outlet for these feelings because no body knows the real details and I don’t really want to talk about it, because its not relevant, right?
But as a result of all of the inner reflection I’ve started to see the bigger picture, and started making sense of all the irrational things that happen. I can see, vaguely, how it got so bad. And in an irrational way, it makes perfect sense to me.
My memory comes and goes. Which I will always be thankful for, because it means when these inner clashes happen, I am not confronted with the full reality – just tiny bits and pieces, which after the initial shock and turmoil, I can begin to sort through.
One of the things I recently remembered was a conversation I had in a restaurant, years ago. I was in a restaurant with my ex. I remember the cold and darkness, not necessarily that it was winter and night, just the impression I get. It was probably after we went clubbing. I remember telling him that my suffering has a purpose.
And I remembered other instances as well, when those words would randomly fall from my lips with doctors, therapists, violent exes. I remember thinking it when was maybe 12 or 13. In a wheelchair, wanting to die, and drugged out of my mind.
Maybe thats why I never died, despite the effort I put into it, and despite the almost-successful attempt made on me by the same ex I said those words too.
Now more the ever I feel the truth of it. And though I have an almost paralyzing fear of people knowing,
I’ll continue writing.