{January 30, 2017}   Coming Out of Darkness – Rite of Passage 2015

How I was this time last week, is very different to how I am today. I’m not out of this and won’t be for a while. But I am a lot better.

I didn’t expect I would hardly be able to walk. I didn’t expect I wouldn’t be able to drive or go to work. I didn’t expect to not be able to come home and sleep in my own room, due to not being able to get up stairs. I certainly didn’t expect that I would turn around and hate myself for doing this. Today I am walking almost completely normal again and there is a lot less pain with movement. It still hurts, sleeping is hard to do and I get exhausted easily. My body is putting all of its energy into healing, even more so with the beginning signs of infection and the need for antibiotics. Now even the good guys are getting knocked down in order to stop things from going bad. Its all part of it though.

I know I’m healing. I feel it with my movement, with how I sleep and when I stretch. I’m healing inside as well. I don’t hate myself as much as I did, though I still don’t love myself for doing this. This was difficult for me. I thought I would see the images and be amazed with myself. Part of me is still disgusted though. I thought I would find it beautiful, because its something I have found beautiful for such a long time. I saw my mum the other day, she told me that she wasn’t surprised when she found out I did it. I had been talking about it for years and it was just a matter of time. If anything, she was surprised it had taken this long to happen. This was something I was always going to do and I never questioned my need for having it done.

But having it done has been harder than I ever expected it to be. The moment I started I regretted it. I hated that I was putting my body through such hell in the name of art. I don’t regret it now. I am happy that I endured something that I still don’t understand how I managed to endure in the first place. It was unlike anything I have ever done and I don’t think I will ever understand how I actually got through it. It felt like I was doing it to hurt myself, that it was harm and mutilation and not help. It scared me.

It was help though. It was my own personal rite of passage. It was the next step in my journey of becoming the person I want to be. I had to hurt in order to see my strength and I had to hate in order to see how much I love. I’m still finding it difficult to get through all of the emotions that it brought up. It brought things up for me that I never realised even bothered me. The emotional rollarcoaster that this one thing has caused, has been the hardest part of all of it to deal with. Wounds heal, but heads are harder to fix. For the first four or five days, I didn’t think my head would get fixed from this. I thought I had seriously fucked myself up.

I didn’t. I’m okay. I’m getting better inside as the outside heals too. But I still feel fragile. Like a gust of wind will blow me over. The wrong thing said will tip me back into darkness. I used so much strength to get through it, that now I have none left to keep my emotions in check. Day by day I get better.

But this was mine. This was my moment. This was my ritual. My rite of passage. This was what I needed. It happened how and when it was meant to happen. For my 21st I suspended, after saying for the 6 years leading up to it, that that is exactly what I was going to do. I never questioned my need to suspend and my need to do it to mark turning 21. A number I never thought I would ever each. And now I turn 25 and in celebration of that I have the only name other than my real one, that fits me perfectly and I have it with me always now. This wasn’t about my birthday, it was about reaching a place I never thought I could get to.

I am perfectly imperfect.
I am pretty imperfection.
This was my ritual.
My rite of passage.
And I look forward to figuring out what the hell I’m going to do next.


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