I've decided that I'm as good as I can possibly get. So I've given new year's resolutions no more thought.... since my last post.
But I have been reading. And I'm roasting some potatoes as I write this. I made stir fry on New Year's eve, and it was yummy (that's right, I made something yummy). To compensate for how good I am, I bought a case of pepsi and proceed to drink it .
It snowed last night like I haven't seen in a long time. We woke up to huge drifts up against doors and over walkways...... I don't know how long it took me to clear a valley to the sidewalk and around my car, but it took several hours for my knees to stop aching. Besides being snowy...... it's also quite cold. Actually, standard weather for this season, but it's been quite mild up until now so I'm not really used to it.
I was reflecting today about a time in my life when I believed myself to be quite broken and dysfunctional.... and I think that the thing that kept me that way for so long was this twisted affection for my disease..... this safety that came with being broken. Something about being in that place..... I didn't really want to get better.
It was a dark, dark time for me, and I bought into the idea that seems to permeate my generation, and that is quite simply that we will never be better. We can never be normal. A paper crumpled up can't be perfect again (lyric courtesy of Linkin Park).
I know people in this place, hopeless for their healing, and yet loving their illness. Can they ever be whole? They don't think so, but they don't want to be. And yet they wish they could be.
Does any of this sound familiar? Does it make sense? Are you with me? Do you care?
In that case I submit an idea that may be old or may be new or may be absurd. That the first step, or perhaps an important step towards healing, is coming to hate your illness. Wanting it to leave. Despising what it does to you.
Discuss.
But I have been reading. And I'm roasting some potatoes as I write this. I made stir fry on New Year's eve, and it was yummy (that's right, I made something yummy). To compensate for how good I am, I bought a case of pepsi and proceed to drink it .
It snowed last night like I haven't seen in a long time. We woke up to huge drifts up against doors and over walkways...... I don't know how long it took me to clear a valley to the sidewalk and around my car, but it took several hours for my knees to stop aching. Besides being snowy...... it's also quite cold. Actually, standard weather for this season, but it's been quite mild up until now so I'm not really used to it.
I was reflecting today about a time in my life when I believed myself to be quite broken and dysfunctional.... and I think that the thing that kept me that way for so long was this twisted affection for my disease..... this safety that came with being broken. Something about being in that place..... I didn't really want to get better.
It was a dark, dark time for me, and I bought into the idea that seems to permeate my generation, and that is quite simply that we will never be better. We can never be normal. A paper crumpled up can't be perfect again (lyric courtesy of Linkin Park).
I know people in this place, hopeless for their healing, and yet loving their illness. Can they ever be whole? They don't think so, but they don't want to be. And yet they wish they could be.
Does any of this sound familiar? Does it make sense? Are you with me? Do you care?
In that case I submit an idea that may be old or may be new or may be absurd. That the first step, or perhaps an important step towards healing, is coming to hate your illness. Wanting it to leave. Despising what it does to you.
Discuss.
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