Written in Davis, California, at the time of my breakdown and hospitalization.
This poor tree is hanging at the edge of the abyss — its roots have no soil and are trying to press into crevices in the rock, a powerful wind blows its shape all stunted; and it knows that it could create soil if it really wanted to — out of blood and sweat and tears and rotted hate — and it knows that it is the source of the wind…
And it is trying desperately to flower.
The pain of reading this again is seeing myself take responsibility for my pain. I could “create soil if I really wanted to…” What a totally crazy-making belief. I did NOT have the power to create soil by myself. Repeat NOT. Crazy-making because if I believe that I am holding on to my misery, I “should” be able to make it go away. But no matter how hard I try I can’t make it go away. But then I must really want it, otherwise I could make it go away, right?
I thought I had written a blog post about this, but all I could find was this one: Choices & Dysfunctional Beliefs. It’s not quite the same phrasing.