Tipping Point

What it is, is that I can think clearly for a moment. It has taken so much effort to get here, I want to do ALL the thinking I can, before this clarity leaves. I want to record ALL of it in blogs. Atone for decisions made while my mind was cloudy. Set routines in place which connect me to true, grounded reality always, so I never get divorced from myself again: get ripped away from myself and drop-kicked into a dark, terrifying land of self-doubt and drowning regret.

I want to hammer up a ladder out; I want to frantically braid into being a lifeline, should this cloudbreaking insight fail me, and I be thrust back into despair and foundering mood again.

“It will happen,” shrugs The Professor. When I tell him why I’ve been ensconced in my room, writing all morning.

I look at him in fear. He doesn’t know this blackness, I think. He doesn’t know how entrapping it is, how terrifying —

Then I remember his stories of hospitalizations. His day of notification of his life-threatening disease.

He knows.

“It happened yesterday, and the day before,” he said just now. “You got pulled out of yourself by crisis. Now you’ve found yourself again. It’s getting easier for you to find your center.

“So if you get pulled away from it, you’ll just come back soon. That’s all.”

And the subtext is that this safe house, this fellow-intellectual who understands the research needs of an introvert on a mission, this comrade in chaos-upended plans, who gets it,

All of this is the structure, the matrix, which holds the space open for my journey back: the environment, finally which lets me come back to myself.

* * * * *

It has taken every piece built before this environment, to get here. When my healing is completed and I fall back from here, I will go raise my family in Mango, made possible by Angelus. My family will be possible because Z loaned me the funding to freeze my eggs. It has taken the grace of these men, their love, to raise me this high up.

Now, as I’m nearing the peak, the Professor understands what it is to return to life and its pains, from a self-imposed prison of numbness and distance. He hopes this house he’s been lonely in will serve as a setting for the last pieces of healing which I need.

And that hope of his, for me — a selfless hope to break my parents’ selfish curses upon me, their viral programmed beliefs that I was made to exist solely to fill their own needs — has joined with the selfless giving bonds before now gifted me by truly clear, bright friends.

THAT is my lifeline. That is the umbilical that lets me turn inward to incubate now; the yolk which feeds me as I cocoon up and set up to transform. Into what, before the administered viral infection and underneath it always, I originally was beautifully coded to be.

* * * * *

There is a system of efficiency and righteousness by which I can ensure that not just myself, but all the people interconnected with me, thrive and attain their best selves. I will find, or devise it.

For now, however, I am just infused with gratitude that I have finally stacked up enough resources, plugged into enough ongoing love, and am the blessed recipient of enough care to get to begin.

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