My Only Priority

As all of you know, my main problem in life has always been my crippling shame. No doubt. Whatever I did seemed wrong. Every mistake, remembered forever. I grew up abused with the word “inappropriate,” as if my family had cornered the market on civility. It reached a point where I could no longer move forward, backward, left, right, up, or down. I could get all the education in the world and still have no will to live.

Now my only priority is learning to love myself. There is nothing more important. Nothing else even comes a close second. Even if I cannot change my life instantly or get my act together at a rate that I can approve of, nothing else matters. It would be nice, of course, to have at least my own unconditional approval, but, for now, accepting my lack of self-acceptance feels like progress.

What’s tripping my issues are the after-effects of the accident. Dealing with the insurance companies. Seeing doctors. That kind of thing. And the fact that my parents were ready to simply leave me at the hospital without transportation. My true rage is reserved for my ever-abandoning parents. They can have all the sentimental feelings in the world for me, but their love is worthless if I have to beg for a ride home from the hospital after they almost killed me. Seeing the truth has been horrendously painful, but the truth is now obvious.

I need to re-parent myself. Beating myself up accomplishes nothing, no matter how habitual it may be. This is exhausting, but self-love is the only worthwhile goal. Nothing else in my life works until I get this up and running.