I'm wearing my heart like a crown

This is a little aimless, im just chucking it out there. I think this is a kind of hell in its own way, or maybe not hell- cause hell always evokes this image of fire and brimstone. and thats not what my life looks like. And I think if it really was so hellish, I wouldn't still be here, I like it too much to call it a kind of hell. But, it is still really troublesome.

It's troublesome, I think, because of the dissonance. I don't think we live in a world where failure is expected. In the culture we inhabit success is expected. The idea of this guarantee of success is so widespread that I really think it leeches everywhere even after a conscious (and neccessary) rejection of it. Because our life is defined by us having to reject this idea that we have to win. that we have to be well. Its a constant acceptence that is never really done. Us sisters know that we our abilities are hampered, mentally and physically. We know that if we keep trying to run on broken legs its only going to make the wipeout all the more devastating. So we dont run anymore.

But, then we have to *replace* that idea with something. And usually it just takes the form of a lesser goal. Lowering of expectations. And I think you can argue this is good. You need to lower your expectations, and I think we have. and you think, you think- you THINK that this would work better. But I think I'm kind of finally internalizing that the idea of "goals" is corrosive to us. Not to everyone, but I think it's destroying us in a way. Because the inclination for self-harm, the bitterness of not being able to meet expectations that have been lowered brings forth brings even more taxing reconciliations.

I'm starting to realize the idea of meeting goals, building on them, kind of runs in a completely different direction to the course of our life. At least for the past 5 years, our lives have been marked by a slow and steady degredation of ability. The person we were 5 years ago is almost unrecognizable now. Someone far more able (not because they were doing anything right.) We are a continuation of that person. That person was only so functional because they never listened to their guts screaming at them to stop, screaming at them to change. Why would they have changed? What they were doing was working. Fitting into the world and accomplishing goals marked by others was working really well. For all they were concerned, they had finally figured it out.

This is part of the struggle, Its a double bladed sword of we need to reject goals, and reject expectations, we need to stop trying to slay a dragon, stop trying to prove ourselves, but the world we have lived our entire life in always treats failure as bad. And we internalize it as bad. But we're still taking the onus for it. We're still blaming ourselves. I've done a lot of reading, and I've done a decent amount of living. and in my experience, "failure" is a permanant fixture and status of life. So long as expectations exist then failure is certain, but *we're still blaming ourselves.* Even though our fate is tied to innumerable factors that we could never, ever control, we still feel that "this is my fault." And like, why? Because we have the curse of being locked inside a car with the check engine light thats been on for a decade and the highway falling into the ocean behind us?

...So why is it so hard?

What... stops us? no, what stops *me* from being able to internalize that?

I just remember the taste of it. I remember what "success" was. I don't think other people would have ever called it that- especially if you looked at the full picture then. But I felt it in my paws. Rasy felt it in her paws. Its the trauma that defines us two. She went through a lot of shit, but that never broke her. Billions of people are crushed by the world and are still themselves. What broke her, and why I'm so broken, too- is that she had it, she had something that she built, that she earned, that she could keep building on, something that gave her a place in this world and in the eyes of others. and it slipped right through her paws. The house she built crashed down on her. And she swore, "I can't do this again." And she gave up. she accepted it, she loss that ability and she recognized it.

But then.. but then I came around. and all I know how to do is build houses. Out of dirt and clay and sticks and broken beams that are almost certaintly going to collapse at the slightest gust, and I don't know how to do anything else. How can I accept failure when im still so attached to this idea of success? How do I let go of the thing that defines me, the thing that defined her- the most meaningful parts and memories of my life, that I can no longer achieve anymore?

How do I let go of the only thing im any fucking good at?

I can't see any better then you can