rehabilitation
apparently all it took to fix me was some kindness with no strings attached.
hours long conversation with a friend. we sketch while we’re talking to illustrate our points and i think
“no one in all of human history could look at these sketches and understand or decipher what exactly was said here”
that’s for just us.
we talk about drawing, all the drugs we did and how fearlessly stupid we were as younger hopelessly traumatized and romantic youth. romance in the sense of art and prose and everything romance could ever mean. we talk about subatomic particles that simply pop in and out of existence, we talk about everything wrong with us as punchlines. we talk about how no matter how far we go, how many books we read, how smart we think we are, everything comes back to how we were raised so horribly religious because actually i love to be acquiescent, i love to do what im supposed to do, i love to serve, and i love to be obedient when i can be comfortable and safe enough to know that i won’t be taken advantage of for this, that i won’t be hurt for wanting to please. ive had to operate in the exact opposite ways, and it’s been so tiresome. we talk about how without doubt there’d be no need for faith. we talk about this brand new experience i’m having where my stomach churns and hurts when i think about things i’m nervous or stressed about. “welcome to my world” they say.
i’m going to sleep on their couch and i’m realizing im no longer wound up tight, im no longer full of hate, im no longer the typhojem but he lingers; it seems i still don’t believe in forgiveness after all that but at least there’s doubt in that statement as i write it now.
still it’s nice to feel like a person again, i feel wistful, i feel tears because im being shown so much kindness from anonymous donors and by my friends who truly understand, who really believe me, who really believe in me
i feel guilt for accepting all these good things, but i know i have to be open to them for more good things to happen to me. and to feel like it’s okay for good things to happen to me, and invite them to be, i also truly have to start believing that I’m not a bad dog.
“𝖎’𝖒 𝖓𝖔𝖙 𝖆 𝖇𝖆𝖉 𝖉𝖔𝖌.”
and even if i was or am, all dogs go to heaven anyway don’t they? i’m pretty sure that’s a thing!
