The False Project of Self-Repair

When self-improvement becomes self-destruction

So…how do you sum up a life? Narrowing that focus feels nearly impossible for me. I often wonder if other people’s lives are as full and varied as mine. I have so many selves to choose from.

So, now I feel a moment of truth. And I really want to stop taking my meds after this sentence. I always want to stop taking my meds.

But I write, I post, I text, and yes, that builds up the wanna-be. But where does that leave what is?

In the dark again, of course.

Where are you, what is? Who are you?

But don’t stop asking yet….

How can I accept so vastly how I am without accepting who I am? What kind of bypass is that? Do not get poetic again. Get real. Open up. What does it mean to love myself, right here, right now?

This is the way I am.

I feel a small surge and tingle, very, very deep inside when I say that. Like a little worm trying to break through the earth.

But my hands are shaking in a way I’ve never felt before. It’s tremors. I’m familiar with this. The legal and illegal drugs are and are not doing their job.

I’m scared to keep writing.

But…no poetry!

Stop and start all over.

When it sounds too crisp and manicured, you’re needing to start again.

You need to listen. We are here because you are not hearing me. You can’t fix yourself by trying to fix yourself.

But what exactly am I trying to fix?

The brokenness comes from breaking myself, and not because I am inherently broken. It comes from not appreciating who I am is already who I am.

But don’t confuse this statement with self-love.

I am trying to repair something that is broken because I never loved it to begin with. There’s nothing to fix, only something to love.

….that basic, unpoetic and uneventful.

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