How to Fix Yourself

How do you sum up a life? Narrowing the focus feels nearly impossible. I wonder if other people’s lives are as full and varied as mine; so many selves to choose from.

So, I feel a moment of truth. And I want to stop taking my meds after this sentence.

I write, I post, I text, and that builds up the wanna-be. But where does that leave what is?

In the dark again.

Where are you, what is? Who are you?

Don’t stop there. How can I accept so vastly how I am without accepting who I am? What kind of bypass is that? Do not get poetic, damn it! Get real. Open up. What does it mean to love myself, right here, right now?

This is the way I am. Yes, I feel a small surge and tingle, very, very deep inside. Like a little worm trying to break through the earth. My hands are shaking in a way I’ve never felt before. Tremors. I’m familiar with this. The legal and illegal drugs are and are not doing their job.

I’m scared to keep writing.

No poetry!

Stop!

Start all over.

When it sounds too crisp and manicured, you need to start again.

Listen. We are here because you are not hearing me. You can’t fix yourself by trying to fix yourself.

What exactly am I trying to fix? The brokenness comes from breaking myself, and not because I am inherently broken. It comes from not appreciating who I am is already who I am. But don’t confuse this statement with self-love.

I am trying to repair something that is broken because I never loved it to begin with. There’s nothing to fix, only something to love. So basic. So unpoetic and uneventful.