Wednesday, its Wednesday right?

I've been doing most of my writing free hand these days. I find I like the process of writing again. The physical act of putting a pen to a page. It requires patience and there is much to be learned by how we write. I realize my sloppy writing was a product of my anxiety. Its the type of subtle clue that leads to a chain of thoughts that leads to further realization. I then thought of how in school I was always one of the first people done with tests. I rushed through them. My mind moves too fast. The reasons are less important. I understand them, but what's important is recognizing and adapting. I won't say fixing. By writing I and focusing on the form of the words and taking care to do them justice I slow my thoughts. Sometimes I will lose the train of thought. That's ok. I will have others. The idea is to be mindful. To be in the moment and allow both my thoughts and the words to unfold more slowly and legibly. I wrote something today and it moved me to tears. Good tears. So I thought I'd share it. There is also much to be learned by the process of transferring our written thoughts to the digital sphere but that can be for another day.

The tragic truth I've been wrestling with lately is how much abuse has shaped the parts of me that I love the most. Primarily my compassion and my curiosity. I'm not sure they aren't the same thing. What is compassion if not a desire to know and what is curiosity if not a desire to love and accept. We aren't looking for things to hate. To hate us. At least I never was.

I don't really know what to do with this fact. The origins of who I am, being found rooted in emotional violence. I know now that the first thing I have to do is to love myself. But what after that?

Am I supposed to thank my abusers? Who would I have been if I had been loved properly? Would I like that person? How can so much pain produce so much of what I find beautiful within myself? How can I forgive those who seek no forgiveness? How can I forgive future abuse? Does it even matter?

Questions answered with more questions. Are there answers to be found? Why should I care?

How did I become this person I love so much? Why am I alive? I think I won. No matter what I do or don't do from her on out, I've done it. I've passed the level. I've done the thing I needed to do to be a version of myself and know myself in ways I suspect few do.

You won't find me dwelling on this. There is no endpoint to the process of healing and learning and accepting. This mountain's summit will forever be a day away. If you're lucky.

The idea is to want to wake up each day want to start climbing. Whatever the fuck the mountain looks like. I imagine it looks quite different each day and from each perspective.

One thing I can say is I'm not sure I've ever felt this way before. This complete and powerful. It's hard to know for sure. I've had at least for sustained periods of intense psychological trauma. That word was not in the vocabulary for most of my life. But each time, I brought myself back somehow. Each time I brought myself closer to the truth and closer to the myself. It took me a very long time to close the doors I needed to close. I didn't want to do it. But this time I understood that if I did not have the courage to slam the door I would die.

So that's the difference. I did what I did not want to do. What I had spent a life time quite literally killing myself to avoid. I am all those moments and heartbreaks and trauma and the pain and neglect and the shame and the eternal yearning for safety and for love and the blame and I am the kid who stood there and took it all for my family only to be discarded and i am the man who stands here triumphant and alone and broke and completely free and happy. Breathing a sigh of relief I thought would never come. Ready to draw that breath back into my lungs and begin the process again.