just a line I crossed

 Back to that Anna Tivel song, and the harder I try to look at myself the more I keep coming back to the question was I born broken or ruined early?  And I know the assumption that I must be either broken or ruined probably isn't true, but I can't even finish that sentence wth what I might be instead.  I'm perpetually talking with my therapist about this and neither of the choices feel good, but they both feel right, those are the two most plausible states I could be in.  Scars aren't actually stronger than skin, broken bones aren't stronger than unbroken ones.

 

As far as I can make a forensic accounting of my early years: I made up systems as a kid to explain the world around me. I tried to find patterns to feel safer. I tried to come  up with reasons why things didn't seem quite right. And I wanted so desperately for the thing wrong to be something under my control that I eventually just elided it into the thing wrong was me.   And I know I knew that from an early age, I have textual evidence of begging someone, anyone to to let me be someone else, which I think is as close to the desire to die as 9yo omnia could get.  It would take a handful, scant but still a handful, before my first unsuccessful suicide attempt.  

 

I used to be embarassed by the fact that I had multiple suicide attempts, like if I was going to try I should have gotten it right, I should have learned from my mistakes and done better the next time.  And I don't think my attempts were cries for help, or if they were, they weren't especially good cries. I hid my scars not because I didn't want anyone to see them, but because I wanted to know someone was going to look past the surface.  And I'm not sure anyone did. I started smoking because I wanted someone to stop me.  (I kept smoking for a lot of other reasons, but that's how I started). 

 

I think I wanted to be outwitted, I wanted to not feel quite so responsible for everything, I wanted someone to know better, I wanted someone to know what to do.  I think I wanted a different kind of parent, someone with different expectations.  I wanted better grown-ups. And sometimes I still want that, some sort of authority, someone who knows better, who can back things up with proof, who can make for a moment all the very clever but still stupid voices in my head that try to find the worst possible interpretation of everything be quiet.  And I know that I have to be that person for myself, there's no authority I'd actually brook, but somehow that doesn't stop the wanting.