I have been revised my inner biography lately.

Not about specific things, like whether something happened literally or only figuratively, or whether a memory is “real”. I don’t worry toto much about that. I am quite good at separating reality from fantasy and the inside of my head from the real world.

I kind of have to be, what with all the input from my imagination and complex thoughts and such.

No, it’s more a reappraisal of my life story. Specifically, why I had such a lonely childhood. I usually blame my family, the bullying, the schools, and so on, and I don’t know, maybe that’s legit.

But mostly, it was the disease. Depression.

And that’s a very depressing thought.

Having people to blame offers a toxic kind of comfort. It verifies your own innocence in the matter (meaning you didn’t make a mistake) and gives you someone to vent your rage on, even if it’s only in your head. And there is power in casting yourself as the victim. Power you could use, in theory, for revenge.

And that way you don’t have to own your anger. It’s not your anger, it’s anger that was put into you by others, and you just want to give it back to them, with interest.

But that means keeping it, burning you up inside.

Sorry, didn’t mean to make this into an anti-revenge thing.

My point is that I constructed a narrative of my childhood that served a purpose – it closed the wounds, kept me innocent – but I think it’s time to abandon it and move on. I want that energy that I have all locked away back, as well as the bits of me that were locked up with it, and this blame cycle is keeping me from doing that.

And this isn’t about forgiveness. Forgiveness is a very worthy goal, but it’s hard. It means changing a very deep entry in your fundamental table of values to something dangerously close to the intolerable thought “it was okay for them to do this to me”, even though that’s not what forgiveness means at all, and that makes it the sort of thing you work towards without expectation of achieving it.

So forget forgiveness. This isn’t about that. What I am talking about is different : de-emphasizing the anger.

Declare it unimportant, or at least, low priority. You’re not saying you will never ever right the wrongs against you. You’re just saying that you have more important things to do, like getting on with your life and learning to live it, and that means minimizing the energy budget allotted for keeping that wound fresh and open.

Who knows…. you might even heal. Would that be so bad? If someone said “I will pay your rent for the rest of your life if you just lay that burden down (without abandoning it)”, you would go for it. Think of all the fun you could have with the money you save! Your budget would go so much further!

Well that’s the deal this kind of non-forgiveness offers. You don’t have to let go of your baggage… just put it down. It will be right there if you should ever want it again. Putting it down just means you won’t be carrying it around any more.

So I am hereby declaring that whatever has happened to me in the past – all my ills – are unimportant. Yeah, a lot of heartbreakingly fucked up shit has happened to me in my life, but it’s not like I am going to bring the perpetrators to justice any time soon, so fuck it. I’d rather be sane and whole and enjoying my life without depression dragging me down than to be eternally vigilant waiting for some kind of justice that is never going to happen.

So I was molested at The Spa when I was three or four years old. So what? It’s not like I know who did it (I’ve thought it was my Dad in the past, but now I dunno) and it’s not like I am going to find that person some day and beat the shit out of them. So fuck it.

So I was bullied in school. So what? It sucks, but it happens to like half the people in the world. They get through it. I’m not that person any more… so why carry him around? I am sick and tired of his shit anyways. So fuck it.

So nobody paid attention to me at home. So what? For one thing, that’s not even accurate. People did pay attention sometimes. And even if they hadn’t, I did not exactly solicit help with my problems, so how were they to know what was going on in my head? They were living their own lives with their own problems that were just as legit as mine. So fuck it.

So I always either had no friends or had friends that were likely to turn on me because I was such a whiny wimp. So what? I was an odd specimen. Expecting regular people who were not psychiatric professionals to be somehow able to “get” someone with the sort of brains and issues I had when they are kids too and just trying to get on with life is irrational. So fuck it.

Same with the teach and school admins who turned a blind eye to the bullying. Sure, they should have been there for me, but they were just regular people too, and I was quite the prickly package to handle, and I didn’t exactly insist upon myself. At least people know better now. So fuck it.

And the thing that ties it all together – the bullying, the lonely school life, the lonely home life, the educational neglect, all ties back to the same thing :

When I was sexually assaulted, a huge thick pane of glass descended in my mind to protect me from the world. And that glass has a name : depression. That’s what took my to my distant, lonely planet and cut me off from the warmth of the sun. That’s what made me so awkward in the world both physically and socially. That’s what made it so hard for anyone to reach me. That’s why I can’t just relax and enjoy life instead of always trying to control outcomes through hyper vigilance.

Depression is a debilitating disease. And I contracted it at a very early age.

And there wasn’t a damn thing anyone could have done about it.

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.