You know what? I do not think I am getting out of bed today.
And I am working on believing that this course of action does not make me weak. No. This decision means that I am actually quite strong. Means that I am willing to get ready to go another round. Today I need to sit in the quiet and drink water and listen to the same three Carly Rae Jepsen songs over and over again*. Read the same chapter of the same fanfiction, the words of which do not so much tug at my heartstrings as fucking claw at them.
(I am indeed a frantic fool.)
Will put on “Princess Leia’s Theme,” and cry and cry and cry. For Carrie, for myself, for you, too, if you’d like.
Not to cross nerd-streams here, but I am actually thinking quite a bit about Steve Rogers this morning. “I could do this all day.”
Here’s the thing, Cap (I love you): Yeah, I totally could. I do, usually.
But I don’t fucking have to.
Again, this thing, this illness, this supervillain that lives in my brain… I am not succumbing to it today. Sure, absolutely, it got some good licks in, and I am feeling puffy and breakable this morning,
But, for all my sayings to the contrary, I am not broken. I have made it this far. I want to be here.
I want to be here.
I want to drink coffee while sunshine streams in through my windows, and I want to go on a long walk to get a bagel, and I want to listen to John Williams’ scores, and I want to giggle with my new co-workers, and I want to work hard, and I want to make things better, and I want to love my friends with my whole heart, and I want to GO BACK TO GALAXY’S EDGE, and I want to hear my play read out loud, and I want to pet all the dogs, and and and.
I want to be here.
I have written before about water damage. Today I am choosing not to pick and prod at my own wounds. (We’ll see.) Today I am choosing to fortify the soft monster that is me, to get them back into shape for all the things they still want to do.
Shelley, again, always, because I have to have to have to keep reminding myself: “Life, although it may only be an accumulation of anguish, is dear to me, and I will defend it.”
I dream of being strong enough to defend us both. I do not know when I might get there. Today I will sit down, and I will drink water, and this is how I will be strong.
Again again again: I am not a burden. You are not a burden. We do not ruin things. Not when we live our truths, not when we grow, not when we ache, not when we choose to sit this one out and hydrate for a bit.
Sunshine is streaming through my windows. To quote another old friend: “I’m going to go back there someday.”
* I blame Myke. Love you, buddy.
