Distance

I have been reading Sedaris and Augusten Burroughs' "Running with Scissors." The events written in their memoirs are often painful and even tragic, yet there is not a hint of melancholy in their books.

I, on the other hand, tend more towards self pity.

Blame and grief are traps—cushy pillow beds with prison bars mistaken for cradle walls. I accepted mine with gratitude and held them tightly. I don’t remember choosing to let go but somehow, recently, they disappeared, taking my addiction to anger along with them.

It’s time to move forward. My past circumstances—memories, illness, addictions, healing—truly set me back, and I am aware of certain jealously towards those cousins and friends of mine who have manifested things that I cannot yet—jobs they love, for instance. Jealousy is natural. I let it move through me now like breath, and like an unpleasant odor, it passes. I am capable, and I am making strides towards distancing myself from my suffering.

I am conquering the world of Forms and Practicalities!