The comments I have gotten from other people are like pebbles I have collected all my life. I pull them out and examine them periodically. Some of these people have a more complete picture of me than others.
“You are brilliant.”
“Your behavior is manipulative, abusive, and disgusting.”
“You are weird.”
“You are fascinating.”
“Your priorities are out of whack.”
“You are the best friend I’ve ever had.”
“You are kind, smart, and courageous.”
Some of pebbles are prettier and smoother than others. Obviously I don’t like to be reminded of my worst, nor do I like to be reminded of loves that expired. The grime. The rougher edges.
It’s also been hard to swallow that I grew up and learned that I was not who I thought I was, even though it may have been for the best.
The only constant in my life is that I have usually been desperate (not courageous) enough to be myself.
I don’t know where “this” will go. Where I’ll end up… If I run away, what would I be running towards? Skipping all the pebbles across the river won’t give me a clean slate. I don’t think I want one.
I have no choice but to accept the glorious, loving, confusing, weird series of extreme events and complicated people that have given me a strength and wisdom that I would not wish on anyone.
The pebbles are what they are. For better or for worse, they are mine. And even if no one else knows, I will always know.
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