Monday, March 06, 2006

the underbelly of the swan



My first close encoutner with a bird was with a swan when I was about three. I held out a piece of bread, my parents tell me, but then changed my mind, and as I was yanking it back, the swan grabbed my wrist. I remember that last part. A life lesson I didn't completely master. I write these long personal essays then consider yanking them back hours later or the next day. There have been times I've thought I had some sort of call to educate the world about mental illness, but the truth is at times I don't know if any of us are
"called" to do anything. Then I'll read a book like Paulo Coehlo's "The Alchemist." I can't get the italics to work right, that's why I used quotes instead. The concept of the "personal legend" is very attractive, just the kind of thing that would make my mom talk out one side of her mouth in spasms of derision. Some people believe that in some sort of spiritual pre-existence or transitional place between lives we make certain choices about the new lives we are about to enter, such as who our parents will be and what major trials and tribulations we will face. For example, our President made the choice to enter this life without a brain. You see how kind I am being, how much credit I'm giving him.

So I was sitting around sipping wine and talking to my spirit guides before I entered this life and I decided I wanted to see what life was like with an illness that made people suspicious of me, impatient with me, superior to me, and in some cases afraid of me. An illness that would cause me to lose jobs, to be locked up, to have to take medication that made me feel like s--- most of the time. An illness that would be embarrassing to talk about--yet built into my nature was a desire to be honest with people, a sense that one cannot make real friends if one does not tell the truth about oneself. Of course it's always possible to slip out of the One costume (ONE should this, and ONE should that, but I, on the other hand, am going to do This).

I was going to delete my blog entry entitled "The Underachiever," but there were problems with the server all night last night, and I couldn't get into the dashboard to delete. Now, even though at the height of my defiance of my atheist, anti-spiritual parents, I believe that nothing in this universe happens by accident (I have read arguments that this is compatible with some types of atheism) but I have to ask, well so it's not an accident, there's a cause for this effect, but the meaning of it might not be some drifty ethereal thing. In other words, my inability to delete my blog entry could be taken to be an expression of "God's will" or it could be taken to be a temporary inconvenience, and I could have deleted the offending blog entry today with impunity. I didn't, and now I'm writing more stuff I will wonder about in the wee hours--oh, blankity blank, I DO NOT have Borderline Personality Disorder, but I'm acting like a Borderline, all worried about acceptance and rejection, creating drama.

Ought I to be embarrased about my self-referential writing style??? Do I have to write about someone else to PROVE I CAN??? You know, the whole idea is just tiresome to me. I'll write about what seems appropriate. I don't know if there's any audience out there or not (hint hint) but on the other hand maybe I'd rather not know what you all are thinking.

---Harriet.

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