Jul. 1st, 2017

Yes

Jul. 1st, 2017 05:37 pm
quirkytizzy: (Default)
There are things I am getting tired of saying on Livejournal. Things such as "I tried to kill myself again." Things such as "I spent two days in the ICU and another 5 days in the psych ward. Again."

Things such as "I'm sorry I didn't treat your love as carefully as I should have. I'm sorry that you got woke up by the EMT's again. I'm sorry I don't remember you holding my hand in the ICU. I'm sorry that I didn't listen when you said that I needed a medication check. I'm sorry I lost your coat in the emergency room. I'm sorry that I scared you. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

Wellbutrin, as you said about your own medication maladies, Franklanguage, flattened me so hard. What was that quote, the one from Peter Pan? The one that kept circling a week ago, the one that goes "Dying...would be an awfully grand adventure." Surely I'd feel something.

I did. )

I had a breakthrough, one that found me sobbing silently through a night group meeting, for hours afterwards, and has split my heart open to the idea that maybe it's okay to be flawed and still be loved. To be okay with being loved.

Out of the last year, all of the blood spilled, the hundreds of pills I've swallowed trying to do myself in, I have surrounded myself in a cocoon of shame. Of low self-worth. Of wondering how anyone could love someone who is so careless with her own skin, her own life, and wondering how long those around me could hold on before having to let go for their own sanity.

And there was shared the story of the Cracked Pot. An old parable in which a cracked pot, filled with shame and apologies about not being able to hold as much water as another, fully functional water pot, finds out he has been inadvertently watering a beautiful line of flowers along the road he traveled. Its flaw had given it a chance to give a gift that none else could without such a crack in its pottery.

I've heard endless stories like these over the years. Heard and dismissed them all, because hey, I am WAY too cool for school. But suddenly, with my heart still limping from too many drugs to keep blood pressure low, it struck me with such force that at first I didn't even realize I was crying.

I had to wonder if it was possible, if it were even just the slightest bit possible, the tiniest molecule of a chance, if that was why my loved ones had kept me around for years, if not decades.

Could it be possible that some of these flaws I spend so much time apologizing for actually foster something beautiful and useful for my loved ones? Was there any way they ever got anything positive from my experiences, no matter how "different" that positive might be?

Could their love be the product of a beautiful thing that I cannot see, instead of pity or mere moral obligation?

Is it?

Is that why you are still here?

Is that why after the last year of endless wailing, countless self-inflicted scars, attempts to die despite knowing how loved I am, people still say that they love me?

Am I not a mistake? Am I more than a collection of sad stories, pottery shards, and pills strewn across counters and floors? Am I useful? Am I more than just a year's worth of endless fuck-ups? Are these words something I can be proud of, even if they scream that I'm not sure if love or trust is enough to live for?

More than anything now, I want to live long enough to find the answer is "Yes". I want to live long enough to find the answer is "Yes, and let me give you as long as you need to know it." I want to live long enough to find new reasons, new goals to be loved for. Hell, I even want to live long enough to make new mistakes and still know the answer is "Yes."

Yes not for the things I do but the things I AM, yes FOR the things I do, yes for an entire goddamn natural lifetime.

Yes. Yes. YES. Yes to the new circle of support I have created by the psych ward (mental health visits that do HOME visits), yes to the first paragraph of that goddamn memoir that I finally fucking started, yes to living, yes to crying, yes to the tears of joy writing this, because I am alive enough to write.

YES. YES. YES.



Yes.

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