Thursday, February 2, 2017
If given the option to be willfully ignorant or willfully indigent, I choose to be willfully defiant.
I am willful. I am one intrusive thought away from becoming the hillbilly hermit, the troll underneath the bridge, or the creepy castle recluse in some antiquated children's book..... Sometimes, it takes pure will power to just live. I have to fight or this disorder will take over and I will be damned if I am going down without swinging.
Am I willful? You fucking bet I am. Willful, spiteful, ravenous. with a stubbornness that burns stoic and impertinent. I am the loudly whispering insolence that only comes with a mindful defiance that burns itself with embers so hot it has etched itself in to the recesses of my soul. A spider like web of pure pigheadedness and sheer inflexible iron-will. I will myself out of bed in the morning. I will myself to brush my teeth. I will myself to leave the house and go to my appointments. I will myself to shower, shave, to brush my hair. I will myself to cook dinner and to eat. I will myself to walk outside and feel the sun on face. I will myself to help with homework, to do laundry, to talk to strangers. I will myself to sleep after an exhausting day of doing things I did not want to do.
I am not going to be told what I can and can not do. Not by my own disorder and not by anyone else. I am not afraid to stand up for myself anymore.
I was being willful when I disagreed with was a friend who claimed that I was privileged for being only mental ill. I was being willful when I told her that I refuse to accept that something that has ruined my life should ever be called a privilege. I was being willful when I told her to go fuck herself when she continued to argue with me as if she had any idea what hell my life has been.
I earned this dysfunction with hard work. Before this dysfunction was me being unable to function at all. My life may be screwy but it is now a life because of pure stubbornness.
Yeah, I'm willful walking past those who choose to be ignorant with my gaze held forward and my head held high. I am not ashamed to be me anymore and the likes of supposed friends aren't going to change that. I accept no one in my life trying to tear me back down where I used to dwell. I will not go quietly into the night. I will scream, yell, claw, grab, and scratch my way back into the light. I am not a whisper but a sonic boom. I will not be unheard.
I want to live. I want to taste the snowflakes on my tongue. I want to feel the breeze in my hair. I want to go out of my house and be out of my house which is both exhilarating and yet terrifying all at the same time and I am doing it one day at a time... unapologetically, unabashed, unashamed, unafraid.
Because I am willful, therefore I am strong.
This is my life and I will carve it out as best I can with whatever shitty tools I find along the road. I will claw at it with my bare hands if need be. I will tear out chunks with frozen fingers and broken skin. I will carve out my life regardless of pain, discomfort, or complication. That could be the "crazy" in me, or my red hair talking, or just that I am very much my grandmother's granddaughter in that way. I am busy carving my life out, with lopsided shovels, broken down spades, plastic forks, and tarnished silver spoons.
Yes, I am willful....and there is dirt under my fingernails again.