Testing myself against the blank page, giving myself a chance to say something – what’s it about? Neglect? Abandonment? But I’m not abandoned – just feels that way.
Has felt that way for a long time, but those are the pheromones I’m releasing – maybe the cycle of abandonment is of my own making. Not in the starting of it, but maybe I bought into the idea, and, as is my wont, I’ve been selling it ever since.
Imagine: bringing all my charismatic charm and mental acuity into selling my own destruction? I’m not so unusual, but now that I’ve caught my reflection in the mirror – just as I was passing by, on my way to sell another installment of Joanne’s not worthy – what am I going to do about it?
It’s not easy – seems damn near impossible – to swing around the thinking of almost an entire lifetime, but I’ve been given a great deal of help, especially over the last little while.
It was a huge and clanging revelation when I discovered that the initial copywriter who penned my “you should die, why are you even here?” campaign when I was tiny is actually mentally ill – diagnosable. There’s no turning away from that.
And then to have independent witnesses confirm that my primary caregiver, the one standing by who should have binned that campaign and escaped with me immediately, admitted it was wrong, but didn’t know how to change it – there’s even less turning away from that.
But now it’s down to me.
Sure, my wings are pretty stunted, but even if I can’t fly away from this, I can walk, I can hop, I can run. Just show me where the exits are – show me whether I have to press in and open a door to where the treasure lies, or whether I have to leave this building because it lies somewhere else.
– just the start 29/09/2013