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I’ve never been good at being. I’m always too busy hiding.
🕑 Added 2024-06-24 05:51:34 +0000 UTC
I’ve never been good at being. I’m always too busy hiding. My father abandoned me at five. My mother abandoned me every day after that, so I developed a belief that there was something inherently wrong with me. I’m always trying to be less “me,” and so I spend most of my life shrinking into a tiny ball as though I can render myself invisible.
When I’m going through a bad patch, my therapist always reminds me of my assets and talents as though you can fight a self-esteem deficiency with facts. I always tell him I can make lists like that, too — Yes, even about myself.
My problem is not rooted in facts, but in the black mould that’s creeping up my throat and out of my mouth. Black mould doesn’t care what you say to it. It just keeps on doing its old, corrosive thing. Yes, I’m beautiful, doctor. I’m brave and strong and kind, but even while I’m being all of those things, I feel inherently unacceptable. This is the deepest secret nobody knows.
Here is the root of the root of the bud of the bud: I am inherently flawed. When ee cummings wrote that line, he was talking about how he carried his love’s heart with him. I don’t carry hearts. I carry rot and rust and grit.
My rational mind knows that's not true, but this black, mouldy scar knows differently. Maybe it always will.
My therapist often asks me to remember the people who love me. This is an easy list to make. I’ve done it a hundred times. I am so deeply loved, but even that doesn’t scrub the blackness from my lips.
Once a black mould infestation has taken hold, there’s no fighting it. The spores can stay in the air invisibly for years, so every time you scrub the blackness away, the spores germinate again. The only way to get rid of it is to block the area off, remove the grout, and start all over again.
People don’t get to start all over again. We are born once. We grow once. If that doesn’t happen right, we have to fight an interminable fight while spores hang in the air. If you’ve ever had an infestation, you’ll know how this plays out: Sometimes you think you’ve gained control, but then a spore germinates and you’re fucked.
Self-hatred will always be dormant in me. Depression and self-esteem problems are a brutal, deadly blend, so if you’re one of us, I carry your heart with me. I carry it in my heart.
i carry your heart with me (i carry it in my heart)
BY E. E. CUMMINGS
i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart) i am never without it (anywhere
i go you go, my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing, my darling)
i fear
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you
here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows
higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart
i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)
“i carry your heart with me (i carry it in my heart)” Copyright by the Trustees for the E. E. Cummings Trust
