I’m trying. And for the first time in a long time that is enough. I’m still not stable, I’ve been trying to get stable for… years… But I’m trying. I’ve not been optimistic about therapy, I’ve had many unsuccessful attempts at making myself socially acceptable but it never seems to work…
Perhaps that’s because I’m not. Socially acceptable, I mean. Nor will I ever be. Nor do I have any desire to be. I want to be that old woman with long proudly gray hair pulled back in a pony tail. Wearing a tye-dye tank top and paint splattered bib overalls. Surrounded by color, and animals, and nature, and life.
I would however like to participate in society from time to time, and to do that, I must figure out how to at least pretend to be a hooman. So, I told my new therapist this, and I told her that pills aren’t going to fix, this, whatever “this” is.
Whatever I am.
I Don’t do hoomans anymore, in fact the second I sense the hooman coming out in a person, the second I am gone. I prefer the animals. I can trust the animals. At least with animals, I always know where I stand.
Hoomans, well, you just never know with them.
I’m trying. That’s all I can muster at the moment, but trying is better than the alternative.