I continue to be stunned and fascinated by my own illusions and delusions and fuzzy perspective on life. I’ve  had about 30 years of therapy, analysis, psychiatric treatment, that is more than half of my life. What a mess, to need so much work. What a gift, to learn and understand so much.

Facing up to oneself, is lonely and isolating, one is forever a refugee in the world, perhaps that is one reason I identify with them so much. Not too many people wish to go there.

When I broke down nearly a decade ago, I promised myself I would do whatever I had to do to find love, take responsibility for myself and try to live a life of meaning, one free of fear and confusion.

I swore I would stand in my truth, learn to be authentic and face the worst truths about myself. I know that I have  succeeded to some extent, but I also understand that I have failed in other ways, that I have more work to do, that the work is never done, will never be done. I will never be able to stand in front of anyone, and say “I am done.”

In a sense, I am my own chronic illness, there is no miracle drug for me.

The search for self-awareness and health mirrors the search for spirituality. You are always on the path, you will never get to the end of the journey.

You can face yourself, see yourself. But you can never – and should never – completely escape yourself, or leave yourself behind.. I never feel easy when people suggest I have become a different person. I know that to be a lie.

I hope never to flee from myself and become a different person. I do not believe that is ever possible.

I struggle to not be a disappointment to the people I love.

I work to face the truth about myself, a willingness to hear and accept the worst things about me as well as the best. I hope to never quit on change.  I hope to never blame other people for my troubles. I hope to see and learn from the mistakes that I have made, rather than  deny them.

I hope to fully grasp the awful damage of co-dependency and anxiety, and understand that those things live within me and can be seen and known but never fully conquered.

I trust the fates to guide me and have learned acceptance, to live in hope rather than fear, to strive for good rather thank anger or argument.

I will ever again live a loveless life, I am opening up every day to the gifts life can offer, rather than dwell in the dark forest of fear.

I hope to be my own guru, and never again look for heroes and wizards to rescue me from myself. I am my own savior now, no one will rush in to save me, or to teach me things that I can learn and ought to know. I am fully engaged in a loving relationship, I will always  be alone in so many important ways.

I think the point is really that this my life, and my life is precious, and I am responsible for it. I no longer see a therapist, I no longer take medications for the mind that is my own, or need them. I sleep on my own, seek perspective. I don’t need pills to think. Or to stop thinking.

I find solitude every day and give thanks for it.

It is in solitude that this inner freedom can grow.  A life without a lonely place is a barren life, and a destructive place. When we cling to our own egos and actions as our only way of self-identification, we become anxious and possessive and defensive and look for enemies to be blamed and for people to push away. We cannot find friends with whom we can share the gifts of life.

I know that is a struggle for me.

In solitude, we unmask the delusions about ourselves, we face the truth. We are not what we can conquer, dominate or persuade. In solitude I can grow old freely without wondering how useful I might be to the world.

Writes Henry J.M. Nouwen: “To the degree that we have lost our dependencies on this world – father, mother, children, career, success, money – we can form a community of faith in which there is little to defend, but much to share. Because as a community of faith, we take the world seriously, but never too seriously.”

Amen.