“Fake it ’till you make it,” does not work for a person whose survival has depended on orientation to cold truth.
And I’ve already received my rejection letter from the Dissociation Association.
_____
The person I was riding with that day pulled ahead up the climb, and I felt my body raising its fist at me despite both of my hands staying on the bars. I throttled down and said, “You’re okay. Stay with me.”
During this ride, I had been thinking about impending change I did not want. I was looking loss strait in the face even as the power to choose otherwise was firmly mine. Yet between the relief of getting out on the bike and the confrontation of reality that could afford to wait for those two hours, I descended. And as I crested the hill where my friend had paused to wait, I held an entire reckoning behind an unaffected face as I said, “I’m holding back a meltdown again.”
I am permitted to ignore nothing.
I remember how my previous boss spoke over me as I shared something in earnest by saying, “You have to compartmentalize.” I have met more people that are downright professional at this than I can count.
I know well that between the hours of 9:00 and 5:00, you must shelve yourself for the sake of the job. Life is not happening during the day. If you can narrow your focus like a laser to the task, there are no problems to solve until you’re relinquished to be human again.
Yet I also understand that if I had learned to do so, I would have had no defense against inheriting blindness.
I would not be a person I can live beside, and speak to without torment.
_____
My investment in writing Reorganism came from observing my habit of interrogating complexity—witnessing opposing truths operating in tandem and in combat.
Emotion versus logic.
Movement versus statis.
Watching versus looking away.
None are reliable rules; all are unannounced variables.
I’m not sure I’m willing to shut down the lessons just to appease the most efficient one.
I will the machine. 