Yesterday’s entry, given the time of it, was relatively truncated, so I will continue. I fit into the imperfections of others and it is devastating, because I want to feel like I fit on their mountains, their greatnesses too. My parents’ belief in self-sufficiency to a fault and blindness to actions; Family Friend and work’s unwillingness to see my worth, crossing that line; my wife’s disbelief in her capacities for strength and kindness; my brother and some other family members’ self-centeredness – these flaws are parts of their stereos, some of them belonging and others that just need to be tuned up or down.
Acceptance of these flaws as beautiful imperfections and not pain-inducing, soul-reducing, love-darkening, life-force-obliterating spiders doesn’t take very much. I’m sure that High School Friend’s and Family Friend’s fuck-ups would be remedied by a fraction of care, a relatively minute sliver of support that would overwhelm the scar. Dad’s lack of comfort has been easily ameliorated by random car-auction phone calls and offers of salt (the new-age concussion-sitting). Right now, Mom’s attempts seem forced but hopefully those pathways will be rebuilt and they no longer will, they will simply be enjoyment and the warmth of tea and soup; the same goes for my wife and her attempts – they sometimes seem forced but exposure therapy works, even scheduled/checklists rebuilds those pathways, the beautiful things that I appreciate so dearly.
Yes, I am sometimes blind to the pluses because the minuses have overwhelmed me, and proportionally, the minuses last longer, feel stronger and take that much more away from me. I am struggling to come to terms with this, but I will write it down and make it real-er: I am people’s second/third/64th chance. I am people’s life lesson. Rephrased, I am durable enough to take a licking and keep coming back for more, optimistic enough (or stubborn enough) not to fall down during the hardest of times because there is light, brightness, calm at the end of this. Like my wife said, I need to hold on because the life boats are coming. I am tethered to hers and while I’m still unconscious, still half-underwater, I will be able to spit the water out of my lungs and be revived and see the world, look up to see the people I love and forget the drowning.
I have to believe in this; no, I want to believe in this. Otherwise, what else is there to believe in? Blackness, pain, existing? I have built a religion on love – that is where my faith, where my belief system lies and through the present’s darkest of times, it will keep me stubborn.