Sometimes you just make friends with fear

What is normal? What is ok?

I totally beat myself up over my apparent failures in life. It’s like a bizarre internal battle ala Sia’s new Elastic Heart video (which I’m obsessed with, both song and video).

I’ve learnt in recovery that pretty much everyone battles not to be totally driven by the fear of not being good enough. A perfect body doesn’t mean that you are capable of a healthy relationship with another person, that you won’t be lonely. You can study and study, yet still not understand a billion things. You can be the most incredible artist or dancer, and someone will criticize your art.

Gosh look at the word criticize… say it, let it roll around your mouth for a moment. Critter-size? Criticize me and reduce me to the size of a bug you can squish under your cracked heels. Oops did I just judge you back?

How did we get to the point where we find it ok to hurt each other? I’ve said it before, how every so often I look at my own hands, my arms, I feel my own pulse – blue and fragile beneath the skin of my wrist. You are exactly the same as me. You hurt inside too. You live on the same hairline tight rope. So why do we thrash at each other? Would I be happier alone here?

I’m not even thinking of a specific human. It flickers between boys who have broken my heart to car guards who make my blood boil to friends who have thrown their hands over their eyes and fled from me. Look at me, I’m all bruised too. Maybe if I acknowledge your bruises you will acknowledge mine? I’m sorry if I inflicted any of those horrible purple blemishes. I’m really sorry.