Every now and again, I like to read over past posts to see where my mind was and what I was thinking. In reading my Maddening post, I felt like I sounded a lot crazier than I was or even intended to sound. I realized then and still now that what I was writing sounded crazy and could technically be considered crazy (though the ‘psychotic’ connection we like to make with the word is our own making, and not Psychologically sound at all), but I am not clinically crazy/troubled/insane or anything along those lines. Stressed, yes. Burned out, yes. Anxious, yes. But crazy I am not. And not to say that I am trying to justify myself or clarify that I am not crazy when I actually am (as many mentally deficient people tend to do), but to say that I do have a clear knowledge of right and wrong and can control my actions accordingly. I may make decisions that in hindsight are volatile or the wrong decisions, but in the moment, even if my logic is flawed, I am still taking calculated risks. In the moments even, I know that I will regret some decisions later, but I truly have lived by the mantra that ‘you only live once’ and you should therefore try almost anything once and/or live with no regrets. While I do live with some regrets, I learn more and more that I need to do more and think less to avoid adding more regrets.
In speaking of lies, I began to think about a lie we tell without knowing that it is a lie. The unconditional love lie.
Unconditional love should not exist to begin with except for the love between parent and child; and not even to the point of confusing forgiveness with turning a blind eye. Love is blind, but it shouldn’t always be. When you can’t love yourself, love should not be; THAT love should not be, and it certainly can’t be called ‘unconditional’.
I started the New Year reading. Meds help. I can read more easily, but what I really missed was the fact that I was losing my ability to ‘grasp’ anything anymore. It seems to be coming back. Meds help.
My childhood was not the best; it was not the worst, but it sucked more often than not.
I was an emotional wreck in High School and for a few years after High School because it hurt that I had to go back into Foster Care because the damn system couldn’t place me with a nice family to begin with. I felt robbed. Like no one cared to begin with, and they certainly didn’t care to fix their mistake.
This was true, of course, for both my adopted parents and the ‘system’ in my eyes.