Sunday, August 7, 2011

The Truth

When I was in therapy, I had a lot of anger to deal with (funny how it and depression go together so horribly well) . . . most of which I could not express directly, since confronting my mom is a lot like punching a brick wall (except even more infuriating: if you punch a brick wall, you at least get some bloody knuckles to, you know, show for it) and my dad is dead.

Speaking of my dad being dead, I really believe that that has a lot to do with why I have depression in the first place. I always figured it was my fault that he died. Mom went out of her way to assure me and my sister that it was absolutely not in any way our fault, because she really is a good parent and a fairly stable, capable, competent person in general -- but, you know, depression is a twisted little thing. Even when you've got every possible person silently yelling at you that things are one way, you can very easily convince yourself that they are actually another way. You can very easily believe a lie, no matter how stupid it is.

For sixteen years, if you're me.

Anyway. One (enormously hugely helpful) thing I was able to do to express my anger was write down whatever was pissing me off or making me sad and then BURN IT. Of course, being the anal-retentive dork that I am, I had to first copy it onto my laptop "just in case."

Which is funny, 'cause now I'm glad I did.

This is from June 7th:

It wasn't my fault.
    It wasn't anybody's fault. (If somebody must be blamed -- which is not the case -- it might be a good idea to ask why the fuck he was driving without a seatbelt, or why he took his eyes off the road!)
    It just happened.
    If it hadn't happened that day in that way, it would've happened another way, probably within a week.
    It wasn't my fault that I spent so long thinking it was my fault. The important thing is that I'm learning how to let it go now.
    It wasn't my fault.
    It wasn't my fault it wasn't my fault it wasn't my fault.
    I was just a little kid then, a harmless little stupid innocent seven-year-old human kid.
    Dad was my hero, and it sucks that he died so horribly, but death and grief are parts of life. They are both totally normal and completely natural.
    Dad died too soon, and that was terrible -- but that does not mean that everyone I love is going to die or abandon me sooner or later. I do not need to push them away to protect my heart from breaking.
    In fact, I deserve to be fucking ecstatic at least once a day, EVERY SINGLE DAY. And also make someone else fucking ecstatic. Once a day, EVERY SINGLE DAY. For the rest of my life.
Holy fuck. Realizing this after all these years feels so good. On every possible level.

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