Quite honestly, for all my confident talk suggesting I embrace all that made me, I wish I had been able to access support years ago. In adult life, I have taken refuge in my faith to overcome the inner torment, substituting for absent interventions.
I am bitter that on receiving a diagnosis which seemed to make sense of so much I experienced in my youth, nobody seemed willing to acknowledge it. I am bitter that as a family we never talked about it and that I was left to deal with it alone, but for the support of my beloved.
But then, of course, it is true, I chose my own intervention in setting out on this path apart, seeking solace in the One. For what defined me to all others was this break, rejecting the traditions of my forefathers, to pursue the prophetic way.
If what defined me in my own mind was the encoding of my DNA, to all others I was defined by my walking an alien path alone. Forever, I am measured and judged against that choice. Yet to me, that is just our innate nature. A garment that I wear.
So much more significant in its impact on me: all of these traits imprinted on my psyche. That all-pervasive shyness. My mental, physical and emotional development. My mental health. Formative experiences which directly impact my present.
Years ago, I dealt with the anxiety and depression on my own. For a few short months long ago, I prescribed myself alcohol, seeking refuge in the bottle to counteract my despair, until I concluded that was just a disguise, not a cure. So it was that I pursued the One in whose hand is my soul instead.
The One I seek, because we cannot put back time. We cannot make right what once went so wrong. We cannot change what made me. I cannot change that I made a humongous fool of myself, over and over again.
And I cannot change that collision course I was on. My mental state colliding with factors completely out of my control. Well, it’s all good in its own way. After it broke me, I sought repair. That collision was epic, but in the end it remade me absolutely.