I'm walking to my second class today, with 15 minutes to spare.
I come to an opening where the sun shines clear and fierce.
"Ouch," I hear my heart say.
Not interpreting an emotion as if it were audible, but honestly feeling that singular word rise.
It is then that a mocking voice drips down through my brain:
"Funny that you think your heart has a right to say ouch about this."
As it seeps in, I am hazed by guilt and my own inadequate apologies.
"Hey stop that. We agreed to play nice remember? No more mocking your choices."
This voice is resurfacing from something I wrote ten days ago. I cannot remember what it was like to agree with her, but she is annoyingly congenial.
I step in.
"Can all of you just shut up? I hate fighting with you. I just want to go to class and do my homework and be normal."
Another voice quietly asserts:
"No you don't. You have never been normal, and you know that to quit this conversation would be to banish yourself."
The final voice
is my truest voice.
Being self-aware is a constant battle, and it's not about schizophrenia, it's about the recognition of all my complexities. It's about listening. (I think.)
Regardless, this last voice is hearing the booing crowds, the bias past, and again saying
"But this is who I am."
Resigned, I give my heart permission to say ouch, and keep walking.
* * * * *
From ten days ago:
Not only in my potential
-- which I always talk about.
BUT IN THIS CURRENT
-- which rarely gets a break from any analysis or criticism.
I will not be mocked for my conviction."
* * * * *
This is the cover I put on my newest journal.
I have since looked at it and wished I could make it words.
Because this image is how I feel. All the time.