Friday, December 20, 2013

MISSION TWELVE: Mission Accomplished-ish?

Twelve Days of Christmas, Twelve Steps and Twelve 
Maniac Missions... Coincidence? I think not. 
Though my tree is certainly dressed with 12
crazies cackling. Creepily...

I received an early Christmas present this year. At my last meeting with my therapist, she said the following words: "So... I don't think you need me anymore." Yes, cloud bursts of awesomeness rained down fireworks in my brain when this happened. When the person who has objectively been guiding you out of the woods says you have what it takes to find your own way, it feels pretty awesome. That being said, whatever instantaneous self-gratitude I felt was followed with the reminder that walking alone could lead to some problems: getting lost, muddying my boots, or being mauled to death by a large bear. We'll veer on the side of positivity and say that, in most cases, the metaphorical bear-- my greatest enemy-- is generally my own mind, and that I need not fear such a drastic crash and burn situation. Plus, l like the wilderness, so I would rather go out like a vintage world explorer than lying in bed with a catheter in my... place. Basically, win-win. I celebrate in my victory. I did indeed beat the pulp out of my psychosis Sasquatch. One out of 4,375,295,385,199 psychologists agree. I'll take those odds.

Still, just because I have come to terms with my mental vulnerabilities and misshapen place in the world, just because I have forgiven my past errors and now embrace the opportunity to correct the preceding years of damage and live the Hell out of life like never before, doesn't mean I'm not aware of the challenges that still lay before me, those which I have shared on this blog. All of my so-called "missions" remain open. I haven't totally completed them. I doubt I ever will. Life is a series of transitions, and that's all. I don't expect to make it over a hump and then be A-OK ad infinitum. Nah. I know there's another hurdle coming. I always did in fact. I don't consider this pessimism but mere, general awareness. Before, the forthcoming humps gave me brain ulcers and made me want to cuddle up into a slowly disappearing ball. Now, they make me want to embrace them moment. My malleability has become active instead of passive. I shift with the world instead of letting it take pieces out of me. I (puffs out chest) adjust to the necessary disturbances of life like a master tight-rope walker. Life is crazy anyway, isn't it? Doesn't the danger make it more interesting? (Spoiler alert: the answer is "Yes").

Don't worry. I got this.

In a way, being comfortable with my crazy has helped me explain my originally forbidden eccentricities to myself. I no longer frown on my tendencies to walk in the opposite direction and explore the alternative "just 'cause." Who wants to live a life that's already all mapped out? Not I. Sorry. "I'm nuts." I always will be a little nuts. I'm always going to whirl like a dervish, knock myself senseless, overdo it, and indeed need to hibernate before coming back zanier than ever. I'll probably continue to drive people around me nuts too, because they'll never be able to understand why I just can't hunker down and "be happy." My version of happiness, being different from the mainstream, is incongruent with "reality." At least I know that those closet to me accept me and mercifully trust me to find my own way. 

Indeed, it's all balance. Balancing relationships; giving without completely giving yourself away. Managing criticism; allowing others to help. Keeping the interior battle of "but" or "I don't know" vs. self-confidence in a temperate and not tempestuous place. Taking the bad days with the good, celebrating the victories, and leaving the defeats in the past where they belong. Accepting the integrity of the universe for all its flaws, as those flaws are inherent in me, and then combating them with willpower-- the desire to evolve to a superior level of consciousness, conscientiousness, and spiritual incorruptibility: "I am crazy, hear me rant."

I absorb all of this now. The monkey is no longer on my back. I sent it to the zoo. It's caged, and that's sad. It is my carnival freak. I can occasionally, when forced, visit it and remember, "Yes, you are mine. You always will be. But here you must stay." It no longer lurks, nor threatens so menacingly with its tiny, monkey claws of vengeance. (What a horrible metaphor). Anyway, I'm ready for it. I'm ready for it NOW, that is. I was not ready for it two weeks ago...

I'm going to tell you a little story. If it had a title it would be: "Withdrawal: Fun for Everyone!" Can you smell the sarcasm?