You see my heart does bleed, and I am fragile.
I have a spring steel core but you never ever want to see it exposed, because stripped of my Lovegoodian exterior, I am not a pretty person. Nor am I a healthy one. This blithe and bonny girl you see, she’s reading, she’s watching, she’s hurting.
Last night I dreamed something normal for the first night in — time. I can’t tell you how much time. But it was the culmination of a series of dreams; I don’t know how many of those dreams I have left in me. I’m actively seeking distractions from what is a very hard reality. It is no failing to admit I am having trouble with that reality.
I think about petty things like sewing. I watch oooold Britcoms. I change the channel when the news comes on (I can’t afford more nightmares). I pay attention to YouTube drama and give thanks that I was never in such a dysfunctional relationship as that. I reflect, even so.
I write fictional places that are better than this one despite plagues of things that are smallpox mixed with typhoid fever. I write people who can come to understanding and don’t grudge each other that, when it does come. I have a place to pour my fury that is not The Opposition and this soothes my conscience. Who am I if I am turning away those who hurt? I have to believe that the people I know, who love me, who are saying things, I have to believe they don’t understand fully the depths of my pain nor I theirs.
I need to radically accept the Hufflepuff in me, that is both spring steel and shearling-soft, that is trying to heal the world while injuries are still being incurred. I need to radically accept the Slytherin in me, that is not a puncher of Nazis but will slowly and softly and insidiously undermine them. We are not all Gryffindor and the world’s insistence that we ought to be is downright obnoxious. The universe sorts us differently for reasons.
I need to sit with my fears for my way of life. What will it mean for me if X, Y, or Z happen? What is driving the nightmares? Luckily I have a therapist now, and yikes, my CBT Skills course begins tomorrow. Gotta gird my loins. It’s actually DBT, but if I tell myself it’s good for me, I will get through this. I’m going to meet the infamous Diary Cards.
(Heraldry at work: the Nike swoosh is Kate’s maker’s mark in A Knight’s Tale.)
I need to play the long game. I think a lot of people are forgetting there’s going to be one. We will not spontaneously combust at the end of the first hundred days. Things will not be magically okay. Look to your resource levels. Don’t burn so bright and fierce that you snuff yourself out.
Love. Above all other laws, remember that one.