and that's when I Let Go

I go away for three days, no phone, no internet, and just like that its gone. No more anger, no more confusion. just sweet, sweet clarity.

It seems I finally got the space I need to reconcile everything that happened and move on. But it's the space that was the key because it was space I was not allowed before. And having finally got that space and time not to be irritated for hours every night, I was able to breathe and let go. Not that I'd say that I've healed, yet. I still get frustrated and I still get jealous, occasionally, not nearly as much now though. But it happens. I think that's human.

The other thing that happened while I was away was me being honest, to a degree. They more or less forced us to share and I relived a few of my more painful memories, ones I make as unhuman and emotionless as possible for my various former therapists. I by no means let everything out, and I probably never will, but I let enough out that people now actually understand. Those who were there were most horrified to hear my brief history recounted. Their horror really only made it worse for me. I've always hated pity, but the horror makes me go 'is it really that bad?'.

And it must be.

But apparently I'm so used to it that I accept it as normal now. Is it kind of sad that I deem being sick and crippled as normal? I more or less define myself by my injuries and illnesses and mark the years with the dates of appointments and dates of initial injuries etc. It's easy to get lost in it all. Easy to just be that sick person. Easy to accept that you'll never be whole, functioning... normal.

And I know you all know what I mean by normal here.

While I was away on camp I slipped running and threw my 'good' knee out. The kneecap doesn't track normally and causes me a great deal of pain. How the fuck does that even happen? I can scarcely believe it because I slipped and I know it wasn't that bad. So I just. I don't know. The pain is incredibly frustrating. I'm a little bit stuck on the 'how did this happen, again?', but I'm trying so hard not to dwell because if you don't laugh you cry. I guess this whole little incident really reflects how painfully abnormal I am, and I'd be lying if I said it wasn't trying. It's very trying. It gets more and more trying every day.

And there's no outlet for my feelings.

I blog, yeah. I tell people a few things, yeah. But mostly what I'm thinking and feeling stays within the secure confines of my head. Trust issues born so long ago that I can't remember who first violated them or why I'm so hard pressed to talk. So once again we come back to cutting. I can't believe how far back I've gone into that. I look at my little 'collection' and I'm kind of astounded. But not horrified. I don't care. I could mark myself a thousand times and it would honestly make no difference. My perception of self is already so warped and weird that I don't really see the harm in the damage.

I mean, I'm so screwed up I truly believe I'm doing myself a service. Of course I am. Why would I do myself any less? I'm just out to help. To help myself feel better. To feel like I can face another day.

Even if it's one cut at a time.

But I'm not normal anyway. I'm a freak.

- Sky