Therapy was always a luxury that I couldnβt afford and didnβt think worthwhile because it was inaccessible growing up. Whatever was available to me as a child filled me with resentment instead, for the βschool counselorβ, for my problems, and for my parents and the events that happened to me to make me who I am.
βwhatβs wrong with me?!β
βwhy canβt I be normal?!β
I donβt even know what that means. Normal?
As I grow older, it seems like thereβs damaged people all around me. All coping. Some failing. Some succeeding. Some saying that those succeeding are lying. Whatβs the truth? The pain?
Pain is everywhere. Life is living with pain. With a rollercoaster of emotions and experiences to fill in the gaps. To remind you of the pain, and what it felt like. What it can feel like. What it can make you do. How it can destroy you, or build you up. Maybe itβll be so painful you wonβt feel anything anymore. Maybe, youβll become so deluded, all youβll feel is everything else, and never know pain again. Or maybe, youβll learn to love it. Love the pain you feel because you know nothing else anymore. You donβt remember anything else. All you feel is the comfort of the pain, the one constant in your life that has always been there, to fill you with a sense of emptiness you fool yourself into believing makes you alive.
This is normal. Normal for me.