Day one is: Something you hate about yourself.
Tres simple. That would be my temper, Captain.
When I get mad I go all in and really quickly I am able to lie to myself long enough to do serious damage. What I mean by that is I can make myself believe in the heat of my anger that I won't be sorry later. Also, my ability to see the interconnectedness of things really works against me in those moments because by seeing how things work together, it is very easy to see how they don't. This often makes blame an appealing option and caring bystanders are pulled into the fray.
Now, I don't so much look to astrology for guidance as much as a giggle but my sun sign is Scorpio. And while I don't particularly care to debate the finer points of scientific rigor and passion, I do want to talk about the Scorpion.
It is the only animal that will commit suicide rather than lose a battle, and that at least I share with the name sake of my natal constellation. Suicide is meant figuratively for me, literally for the creature. But when I get mad and things go from bad to worse, it's as though I'm the only asshole left on the barge and I just start cutting the ropes. They're not easy to sever but I work very hard to cut each one. Not only so it hurts my fingers as it happens, but also so that if me and my barge ever stop drifting and want to tie into the dock again, it will be that much harder to start anew with these stubby shreds of rope.
Yep. That's me and my anger. On a barge by myself, with blisters on my thumbs and forefingers from cutting the ropes, blaming the dock for the ache in my shoulders and the harbor master for not sending the coast guard out to fetch me. Alone and adrift on a sea of my own rage. Not a perfect metaphor, of course, but as it's a course I have charted time and time again, and I can testify that it is an honest one.
Another challenge I face is when my barge is adrift and I want to come back I don't believe I can. I ruined it, or you ruined it, or it's simply ruined, this is it, this great important moment. I will spend hours in bed, or alone somewhere not speaking just staring blankly until I muster my forces and swim to shore or a floating ring is tossed out to me. I don't deserve it, and I will sulk for many hours there after, like a scorpion who tasted it's own poison just enough to remain immobile but not enough to be done with the bitter sting of defeat gifted and wrapped in the forgiveness of others.
I am lucky to have the ones who love me understand all of this and love me still. But I suppose I will have more to say about them, in the next 30 days.
Thirty Days of Truth
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