Thursday, 23 February 2012

Inspiration.

I have this... I don't know. This is going to sound a bit pathetic, but you know what I'm like by now. I want, I need, to be inspirational. I want to mean something and I want to make something of all this, be something for people who are where I have been. But the thing is, it's messy. It's dirty. Nothing in this, for me, has been pretty and it's not been inspirational. I suppose if any of this was, there would be workshops in slowly killing yourself, burning your humanity and then rising from the ashes. But some people and their beautiful words and sentences, they make it sound like something other than a waste of life and time and pain. But that's just not how it is for me, I've not burned and risen, I've sweated and I've slogged and it's made me dirty and ugly and broken. Like a thing that's been smashed into a thousand pieces and taped back together, some parts tarnished and crumbling, some chips missing, some parts not fitting quite as they should, cracks on the surface- damaged and never quite as it was before. I'm far more like that, than like a phoenix and the flame. I've hurt and cried. And I still hurt. Not as much, but I hurt.

People write such lovely things and some manage to make mental illness sound elegant at the very least, and their fight inspirational. They can talk about their fight and somehow sound strong and capable, about how they destroyed their demons and how they're better. But I can't, and this pains me. People talk about getting better and their lives, and it seems so easy. In some ways, I know it is- I'm a thousand times better than I was when I started this blog, I'm not the person I was two years ago. If I did that, it can't be hard, I'm not even sure how it's happened, but I'm happy it has. I couldn't have the life I have now two years ago. I'm happier. But I'm scared that I've not learnt what I should have, or made what of it what I should have. I don't have an inspirational story, and stupid as that sounds, it bothers me. My therapist said that getting to where I am, to a good university, getting a good degree, is amazing, with everything that has happened. But it's not pretty. And if I'm resigning myself to not being pretty, I need something to be.

But it's gritty. It's not inspirational, it's survival. I don't know, maybe that's all it is. Reading this back sounds ridiculous, I sound like a twat. I just expect more from myself, and it bothers me when I can't be all that I wish I was.

1 comment:

  1. To me, survival, in spite of everything, IS inpirational! x

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