Control

Know what I loved about the past two years

2015, 2016…?

The sense of control. During 2016 I believed I was in total control of my life – headed toward a 100% recovery from my neuro condition

as well as my emotional condition.

It felt overwhelmingly great. Progress was being made. I was a ship forging through arctic ice. All I had to do was keep working.

Keep seeking out problems

Keep revising

Keep mending

Keep improving

(Keep ignoring; my body, my loved ones’ warnings, my innate and abiding imperfection that can never be cleaved away…)

 

I’m bed-bound again. Unable to even sit up in bed at the moment. Based on past experience, it will take at least a year before I can go out an have a little fun in the wheelchair again.

One day a psychologist visited me in hospital. Through talking with her, I realised there were definite warning signs my health was failing prior to the full-on relapse.

I probably could have avoided this, if I’d not been so utterly high on a delusional sense of control.

Control is a concept that has really dominated my life in various ways.

I’ve been controlled, have tried to control others… and when I stepped away from those two things I embarked on a massive attempt to control my self, my own life.

 

This is what I’ve learned so far;

a sense of total control will be followed by a fall.

As will any delusional belief, I suppose.

 

I’m a very small, petrified person. This fact has been shoved in my face over recent weeks.

 

So I guess this is where I start.

 

This is where I am. Perhaps I need to just sit here a while.

 

 

image

 

 

 

 

1 year 11 months

Note: I actually wrote this, but did not publish, 5 months ago. Things have changed since then.

 

 

Nearly 2 years since I cut contact.

 

Want the truth?

 

Every single day, I wish I could go back.

Never really understood the concept ‘One day at a time’ until this experience.

I look up info about family members online. Some I wish to show evidence of suffering – because honestly, I think they deserve a taste of this.

Others; evidence that they might miss me. Or think about me once in a blue moon.

Nothing. I’m not missed – my leaving was their biggest relief.

 

I lie here on days I’m too incapacitated to distract myself with busy-work, and the memories roll on by.

 

Struggle. Sadism.

Surrounded. Subdued.

 

Survivor. Right?

This is me, surviving.

I thought a golden dawn was beyond the crest of the hill.

When does it hurt less?

 

I’m too tied up with an immature sense of how things should be.

 

Mostly, I just wish they could have suffered

instead