So far, it’s going OK.
I mean, I just declared this fatwa last night Hasn’t even been 24 hours yet.
But so far, so good.
It’s really a matter of endurance and persistence. Can I keep the pressure up for long enough to force my mind to change for the better, or will I slack off once the initial enthusiasm fades then eventually, in a moment of weakness, give up entirely?
Right now, I don’t feel like giving up. I am pumped up, jumped up, and spoiling for a fight. Locked and loaded and ready to drive the foreign imposter into the sea.
But then, I would be, wouldn’t I? Like I said, it hasn’t even been 24 hours. It would be pretty sad if I had lost the faith already.
But I know my sickness’ methods all to well. It is patient and insidious.
It will wait in the shadows, never stepping into the light where it can be confronted directly. And it will flow into any space my mind leaves open even for a moment until it has almost completely displaced the threat to its existence.
Before long, my determination is hanging by a thread. Then my illness shifts all its weight to the top of the thread and bears down as hard as it can so that the pressure and pain make me cut the thread just to get some relief.
Tricky, ain’t it? Unfortunately my illness is just as smart as I am!
But I am onto you now, sickness. I know all you dirty rotten tricks and I am not going to fall for them any more.
So fuck you, my depression. You are going to die,
And there’s nothing you can do to prevent it. I’m not going to negotiate any more.
Either release the hostages or we come in there after you.
More after the break.
About those hostages
Another of my bad side’s tricks that I will no longer fall for or even tolerate is when that sad, disgusting beast pretends to be my inner child.
True, my depression was born when I was raped as a four year old child, and a part of me has remained in that moment ever since.
But I have lived 45 years of life since then. More than enough time to pick myself up and move on.
But oh no, there’s my bad self dressed in a ceremonial child mask shaking that big ol unhealed wound at me to try to scare me away from trying to get bettter like it’s a god damned Scooby Doo villain.
And sure, I have a lot of pain buried in this graveyard of a mind. But I’m not afraid of it any more. It is MY pain and nobody else’s. It and I have been through a lot together.
We’re old buddies now.
So go ahead. Raise every zombie in my head. Summon all my ghosts and goblins. Resurrect every trauma and let loose all my demons at once.
Make a a regular Night on Bald Mountain in here. I have nothing to fear.
I’ll just invite them all in, pour them some beers, and we’ll party.
I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.