The Beginning at The End (2)

Everything will be okay in the end. If it’s not okay, it’s not the end.

John Lennon

Well today is the day I said that I would stop writing this blog. There is no hearing to report from. The irony of my life never ceases to amaze me. Of course for the most part Haven has shown no interest, criticized me plenty, but mostly ignored me. As long as anything going well is credited to the institution and anything going wrong is by fault of the individual, this will remain the case.

But at least I was brave.

I am glad I wrote it–even the ending, which became far more personal, far more disjointed and perhaps far more critical. I realize that I should think more before I put things out there for the entire world. If I think, I say nothing. The consequences of saying nothing were far greater than the consequences of saying too much. Though I skipped over some of the more dark stories (trust me, it gets worse) I learned a lot about my experiences with sexuality and Haven, why I invented voices, how I ended up in prostitution as a young teen, and the consequences of being constantly analyzed (it took me about 6 months post-Haven to stop analyzing every thought and every spoken word.)

Though I haven’t gone back and read through, things that have stood out the most to me:

Maybe the whole world is bullshit, but I would rather be in it.

Do not worship the diagnoses, the anti-psychiatric, pseudo-spiritual, they tell the same story with different props

Our very invalidity makes it impossible for us to speak about our invalidity.

A true rebel would be a whole person regardless.

Years of silence don’t erupt as a yawn.

That could almost be a script. I suppose that living in a world where everything is performance and everything is a script taught me a lot. Was it worth living in a world where I trusted no one? No, but when does anything ever work out?

I called something else the beginning at the end, but it wasn’t the true beginning. Here is the true beginning. I wrote this a very long time ago.

Scene 1

I smile and nod and blurt out the wrong lines, I miss all my cues… they laugh.

We’ve learned to improvise. I’ve learned not to bother. I’ll be the token Shakespearean fool–drunk but wiser than any of the others.

Every little detail planned. Every dish assigned–you, you need meat on your
bones, you… not so much. Say what you’re thankful for.

“I went to school and played with my friends”
Cute, ain’t it?
Same answer every night. The lines never changed. What did we say on
Saturday and Sunday? I can’t recall…

But don’t you dare not follow the script, if we really must go back.
Don’t you dare sit in his spot. Don’t you dare leave the table until I
tell you to. Give me that cookie-cutter smile, Shirley Temple dimples

“Pass the water, please”
“Did you see those drug addicts on the news… what a waste… so stupid…”

End of scene 1. Retake tomorrow night.

No one says anything about the razor blades in the dressing room


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