I’m always grabbing badges like this, putting them on my blog, or intending to. Do I believe them? In honesty, no, not for me. Others, yes. They find peace or love. They overcome their traumas and become examples for others. They discover they are artists, or writers or photographers. They go out their front door. They leave bad marriages/relationships and find someone who loves them. This is all wonderful. I am happy for those people. And jealous. And judge my failure to act against their ability to do so. My cowardice against their bravery.
I messaged a friend the other day that I had been rescued from a cult of negativity, and was still being deprogrammed. This may take some time; I’m probably one of the toughest cases the deprogrammers have come up against. Dreaming and hoping gets me gut-kicked. Negativity is my shelter, my safety zone.
Do wish I could dream of butterflies, but the consequences of such “flights of hope and fancy” are usually a “crash and burn,” not soar, float and fly freely. But I still take the images. People keep telling me somewhere inside is hope; maybe that’s why I collect these. A hope I dare not acknowledge for fear of what might happen if I did.
William Blake wrote:
Every Night and every Morn
Some to Misery are Born.
Every Morn and every Night
Some are Born to sweet delight.
Some are Born to sweet delight,
Some are Born to Endless Night
“Wednesday’s child is full of woe” as the old rhyme goes, and I’m a Wednesday’s child.