“there’s a dead man inside me”

– – –

There’s a dead man inside me. He feed me lies. And since the dead have no part in this life, he tries to pull me down and keep me from living. You’ve heard this voice, and you know it well. “You’re not enough.” “You’re not going to achieve anything.” Some even mistaken him for their true self. He thinks he knows us well. And we do too – we too think he knows us well. We welcome him and ask him to stay around. “No body understands you.” “You have nothing to offer.” We find his words to be comforting and calls him a friend.

– – –

I thought about this after having this awesome conversation with a friend on the topic of schizophrenia. Though I don’t hear voices, I do have thoughts that aren’t truly mine (because they are against me). Those suggestions enter and sometimes make a home in our minds.

Half-truths make the best lies. Yes, no one completely understands me, not even myself. Yes, I don’t always have much to offer. Yes, I am not always enough. Yes, my achievements will be forgotten, and even their value is arbitrary. But these lies purposely forget some parts. For example: I don’t understand myself fully, but the point of living is to bring that stuff out, to let my experiences teach me who I am all along. I don’t fully understand myself so other people can be my mirrors, and their love will clear up some misconceptions that might have clung onto me.

Things don’t come together by my careful observation. It is not for me to judge what I am, but just to be myself, and try to live with the most love in my heart as I can. Life still thinks I should be a part of it (as in, I’m alive still). It is not for us to judge our contributions to this life.

As Gandalf puts it

“all you have to do is decide what to do with the time you’re given”.

When I was in the desert (for school) and lost my voice, I felt alone. I felt small and insignificant, but at the same time, I felt loved and taken care of. I felt small, but I knew that I had a place, a place where I would be in my element. I felt insignificant in that all this beauty around me will continue to exist when I die, just as it has always existed. It was like I was being welcomed here rather than asked to offer something. It’s amazing how so much can be built on so little. And it’s amazing how much “so little” is.

Words stolen from a friend:

Two things I can know for sure

  1. I will sometimes fall short of my objectives and who I know myself to be
  2. Grace will always meet me if I’m willing to accept it

– Chelsea

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