It feels like this may be the last time for God-knows-how-long that I’ll be able to stand in a place alone, listening to the wind singing through the grasses or my eyes be met by the sunlight with a tinge of freedom. I take one long last look at this place of refuge and breathe in the clear air and pure light, commiting them to my deepest explicit memory. A large part of me fears that I won’t be able to again feel even this moment of solace, for reasons of which I choose not to relay. But I know that I will profoundly miss these calming winds, mountain peaks, and quieting skies-
Only because I remember how vastly different they can look and feel in different times and circumstances.
But it’s my fault again.
I myself subtly, inadvertantly surrendered my ability to come and go at all. I made the mistake of lacking the appropriate ambiguity within my speech and bought myself an additional indefinite stay in another treatment center.
I should always have just stuck with speaking in analogous poetry.
But I’ve started with this and for whatever iota of clarity it brings me, I’ll permit myself the wandering ranting to try and figure out why this is so much harder than the last time.
I know everyone is optimistic that this is going to help, but that’s what they said last time, and most people in my life can attest to it only having made things worse in the long run. Maybe I’m overly biased because of my awful experience of feeling like a fucking lab rat for which college interns to practice theoretical pharmacology and psychology. I can still see those oppressive bars over the windows, the little white cups with the yellow pills, and the stupid fucking observatory boxes. I’m reminded of being cooped up, claustrophobic, mind- numbingly sedate, watched and mistrusted. Even if there were no bars- every tiny aspect of my life will be measured and controlled by an independently subjective opinion about what “better” even IS.
Maybe there isn’t a solution for everything.
Or maybe I just needed to completely fuck up everything on my own.
Maybe it’s just because I’m really fucking stubborn, and don’t tolerate being told what, how, or when to do or not do something. Because I did that for what seemed like a lifetime. Maybe that stubbornness was born from fear- fear of finding out the hard way again, that sometimes well-intentioned people don’t always know what’s best for me.
But I’m having deja vu and I’m freaking the hell out (yet a major understatement).
I don’t want to go through ALL of it again.
I’ve always said that I would rather die than go through treatment again- a statement that would seem absurd to most. Most, unless they are amongst the specific group who know exactly what I’m talking about.
I still feel that way. But don’t exactly have any choices.
I know that’s part of why I’m pushing everything and everyone away so fiercely, Like a fucking animal backed into a corner. Yet I can only make conjectures as to what it truly is about treatment that makes me want to do it alone. When this happens I just want to sink below the surface and save everyone from my most cold hearted of reactions…
But somehow, I have to continue to find strength in these times that I feel utterly trapped and powerless.
I never know how the hell I’m going to do it- but perhaps it’s when I have no other choices, that I will find the strength I’ve always had.