Lucifer in the Mirror

14/11/2008

So your back to play round four are you? 

I just saw you lurking at me from across the room, igniting layers upon layers as you let it it surround the air breezing around us. 

I inhale, carefully at first of course, always the way i was taught to encourage things, proceed through this world with caution, observe from the outside before jumping in. 

You know more about this than i do, well part of you does. 

The part that you’ve hidden and i’ve taken. 

The part of you that loved me. The evil and delicious part of you that is being deprived from me right now. You made me fall in love with you, and then you left me. I fucking hate you for that, its downright obvious  what you did to me. 

You call me cruel for cheating on you, well your 100 x worse for leaving me, let karma roll out its dirty and sly path in front of us now. 

Lets allow time to direct us too whatever lies ahead, expect the unexpected.
I’m fucked and i’m dying. 

How does it feel? 

Because its tearing me apart. 

I FUCKING HATE YOU FOR THIS, 

HOW DOES IT FUCKING FEEL 

I HOPE THIS FUCKING KILLS YOU,

 

YOU'RE A FUCKING MONSTER AND THE EARTH WILL SWALLOW YOU WHOLE FOR THIS DREADFUL REALM YOU LEFT ME IN.

ALONE, COLD, SHIVERING IN THE DARK.

You speak in tongues within my head, the oh so obvious black and white, devil and god dichotomy that rages inside your manic depressive heart.  

Your moods will one day coexist with mine again, i believe and then you will completely understand again. 

But your out their, surging with manic desires as i watch you evolve. 

You told me i was fucking ugly, you hurt me terribly. You knew it would kill me, you knew that this would kill me, but you carried on with your selfish fucking shit. You wanted to get rid of me in the classiest and most eloquent way possible, a way you could blame me directly for the breakup- oh she cheated on me, she deserved me leaving her. But that just gave you an excuse didn’t it? Another fucking excuse to run and hide from the raging truth i had exposed to you. The water will never wash this away, one day maybe but not today, or tomorrow, or even two thousand centuries on ward will the water wash it away, but regardless still maybe one day.
I hate you, i hate you for the cruelty you rolled amongst my life. Your  A FUCKING MANIAC, YOU PSYCHOPATH. 
 
Remember this when you fall asleep each night, with alcohol flooding your veins and the taste of other girls painted across your lips. 

Remember that you spoke these undying curses to me, 
and once you sip from this cup you must repay me for the bullshit you induced. Remember a glass can only spill what it contains, 

and for many people all they see you is as a half diluted, 

uncherished, disheartened, half empty glass.

"How do you do, how do you do? My name is you." 

33838383838  
 
"i don’t want you to be alone to be alone down there. " - modest mouse. 
 
Are you still having fun?

I hope you die alone, 

i hope i find somebody who will love me like you never could. 
 
I hope somebody will fill the gap because you failed so miserably, just like all the rest. 

Only this time worse, far far worse.

"How do you, how do you do? 
My name is you. 
Flies they gather around me, and you too."
 
Well you can deny and hide from the vicious circumstance of truth but its time for me to let go, to move forward with my life and let go of the past. 
 
I rise. Even in the ashes I'm burning alive within now. I will rise. 
You can’t drag me back to your lair, only to push me away once again. 
 
Love has killed someone who loved death, and now I can't even fathom dying. 
 
Love is the most powerful lifeforce that creates new life. Sex and death. 
 
I love you dearly, but i don’t love the new you, 

But I am the new you, you embody the old me. 

i simply love who you used to be. 

I will love who I can become through learning who you taught me to be. 
 
Goodbye you liar, when you can own up and face me again we will resume our quest, whatever that means, but until then i say goodbye .
 
You wanted to take the path that was the easy way to bow out, the cowards way, that time your sadistic stepmother won your heart over me. 
 
I guess your love for me was pale compared to the love I burst with for you, because IN NO UNIVERSE OR TIMELINE WOULD I EVER DO THIS TO YOU, OR ANYONE. 
 
Lucifer once more fills my spirit with the companionship nobody else can and when 

I look in the mirror I see his luminous stare strangling my reflection, urging me to take back my power, 

LUCIFER IS MY CHILDHOOD FRIEND.
 
HE IS MEANT TO BE YOURS TOO, 

But you have betrayed us both.
 
take the blade over what pain you caused me, 

this heart shattered already is now fragmented into embers of oblivion. He keeps me sane, when the pain eats away at what sickness once rotted my brain. 
 
I hear your logic, your words of mercurial wisdom, your Gemini triplicity. 

It comes off as borderline sociopathic but in the most endearing way. 

More compelling than being an impulsive, messy, melodramatic, hyperactive mess like I. 
 
I will task your inner voice that is not warm, but cold and dark. 

Lucifer offers more warmth than your memories do.
 
I will task the memory of your wit and merge it into my brain so you will always be inside me, a perfect way to sanctify my heartbreak and ritualistically kill the love you stole. 

Forever I will benefit from the best of you, 
You cannot take from me until you learn how much pain this has caused me.
 
You have gone too far.
 
You will be BOUND to pain and made felt equal proportions, 

I summon LUCIFER to seal your fate, stab your heart thrice, until your quest is complete. 
 
The grand equaliser, the scales of justice and the law of balance.
 
I stare back and my eyes green, glisten, 

Lucifer, slides inside my soul forever, for you will never realise the errors of your ways. 

Lucifer says I must call forward higher legions of demons to bind you, and I am here to learn my lessons. 

But the deep knowing is clear that you will be made to feel many things that are born from pain. 

This is due to your shunning my pain, how dare you turn your back on what this was for the want of complacent fear!!
 
How could you think that could be anything but a recipe for the worst nemesis to rise from the false sense of security, and empty words, was it even real for you or was it all part of your pick up manual ?

**** 

No retrospective thoughts, feelings and comments other than my pain was on par to this line of thought. This is my thorn, and because Lucifer is the morning star, Venus, in mythology, I possibly embodied that to protect and preserve myself.

The other woman. No other woman. Where are the other women like me.

“Those women always seemed like a false character in a mythical fairytale, an illusion. 

No hay banda. 

These women were two-dimensional envelopes, and to me, they always seemed unreal, even as a child. 

As you will begin to learn, infant school was a living hell for me. I acclimatized to how different I was from my same-sex peers and felt dejected and lost. 

I always felt displaced and detached from my peers; like an outsider looking in on another species; from five years old I knew the girls that surrounded me, were somehow different.”

—

Borderline to Babalon, 2017

Borderline to Babalon

 “There are days I wake up, the weight of the world resting on my shoulders. 
I can never remember the carefree bliss of childhood. 
Innocence was not a companion of mine. 
Instead, I was bound by the lacerations of rage, trauma, suffering and mental anguish. 
I would be lying if I said that I didn’t still seethe inside because I am not one of those pure and pristine girls with the perfect straight hair and the flawless and unblemished facade.”
—
Borderline to Babalon

Flashbacks

As a child I would wish for the shadows shrouded by darkness to swallow my corpse.

I hoped if I lay still enough 
For long enough 
I would disappear 
Or cease 
Slip away into the void 
Vanish
Simply cease existence 
Fade into darkness. 

No hay Banda, silencio.

Devoured by the cloaked rhythm and silent whispers of nocturnal prowess. 

Lights ruptured the panic attacks and dissassocation attacks I would endure at night as I grew older.

Light solidified the demons circling my mind and made them real.

Proving this wasn’t all in my head, this was in fact a very real experience. But I was determined to flee my body at all costs. 

If I was caught up in an episode, pacing beneath moonlight as a war waged inside my mind, dread and fear and an array of complete panic and raw anxiety throbbing through my soul. The light would bring my awareness back into semilucidity.

But the truth was always too hard to stomach.
The constast and switch to abrubt light would bring me back to reality. 

Dazed. In a stupor. In a trance. Sleepwalking. But awake. Disassociating, often I would wander the streets in my pajamas barefoot, and be seen by neighbours who called my parents who were oblivious to my nightly roadside adventures. This started when I was around ten years old.

Light transports me to being split open and having my insides pried apart. Since I was unable to form words. The lightbulb has haunted me.

My legs spread. 

The lightbulb. 

That unrelenting flash bestowed by the lightbulb? 

If you stare at the lightbulb long enough it will make an imprint in your vision, and then if you blink really quickly you can make the lightbulb move around the room.

The light was blinding. It stained and stung my vision. But It resonated. 
That flashing halo was a welcome distraction to the unrelenting prying between legs spread, painstaking and through examination and violation of a toddlers genitalia is not exactly a normal practice little girls should endure. But I thought I was evil for feeling a perverse sense of pleasure from those silent and bewildering examinations. I liked the attention. Maybe. But in my heart and beyond it made my soul feel filthy and sticky. It was a chunky maggot of sick and guilt to swallow but I couldn’t resist because the pleasure was immense. It felt good and I was too young to know it was wrong so I complied. Maybe I wanted to. Or Maybe I didn’t know better. In retrospect the subsequent degradation following a ruptured hymen and the abuse of sexual pleasure by a trusted adult almost a decade before the onset of puberty was a violation of a basic human right. 

Such a minor violation of my orifice has fucked me up profoundly into my adult life. 

But how does a child know any better ? The child is trusting. Gullible. And susceptible to predatory adults who want to fondle the genitals of the cute, pure and untainted, innocent, sexually oblivious toddler. The toddler is confused because obviously this can feel pleasurable. But the toddler knows instinctively there is something full of revulsion and fear beneath these transient moments of pleasure. It made the bile burn the back of my throat. Sick with perversion and pleasure and pain..It felt so good but so wrong. It hurt. It felt pleasant. It was confusing. But now I see I was exploited. Used. By a trusted adult who was delegated by my parents to protect me. Not fondle me.

Why *anyone* can find pleasure in such a predatory and demoralizing act is beyond my comprehension. This question will plague my psyche for the remainder of days.

To take advantage of an innocent creature. 
To corrupt it into a world of sex and violence long before puberty hits? Why? It’s illogical. How selfish must one be to even begin to entertain such nauseating notions, let alone to actually inflict them. 
Child sex offenders and paedophiles are the epitome of damaged and defunct humans. The gene must be eradicated. 
Child sexual abuse is truly an evil deed for one human to commit upon another. To exploit a biologically immature and unprepared minor is horrific. How can you? How could you?

I could never bring myself to inflict an unwanted sex act on another adult. Let alone a child who is curious but vulnerable and ultimately INNOCENT. How do these people think? How does it even get to the stage of occupying a sexual urge for something that is not sexually mature? It makes no sense scientifically. Children exploring sexuality with other children of their own age is one thing. When an adult uses a child for sexual gratification, this is truly an atrocious act of exploitation and a hideous abuse of power. 

It hurt to use the bathroom for many years, the stinging of urinating was akin to a nefarious tentacle wound from a venomous sea creature. Bath time and shower time became dreaded events bestowed by fear of undressing. 

I thought it was normal for a four year old to never let herself be seen without clothes. For a seven year old to lock the door when she showered and scream and sob loudly and hysterically if anyone accidentally opened the door as I showered. Or even tried. 

I guess it was normal for me. My genitals always hurt. They itched. They burnt. I would cry in agony from the pain. Trying to hide it. Nauseous and sick and full of self hate and regret. Never reminding myself of its origin. I was long gone by this time.

Instead of using a toilet normally I would hold on and avoid using the toilet for days and days. I would tell myself intricate stories to urinate. 
The pain of urinating was too immense for full awareness. I’d rather my bladder burst. Or die. 

When it was dark it went away. Sometimes. Sometimes it just made the sick secret carried like a stone in my stomach easier to swallow. 

When it was dark, at least we could fabricate a comfortable illusion. Fantasize, imagine another world desperate to avoid the painful and confusing truth instilled by sexual abuse. 

Thus the inclination towards darkness. My love of night and shadows.

Soul shaking suicidal ideation & survival of it through spiritual mindfulness

 Sometimes I am in so much emotional pain I contemplate throwing myself off a bridge, or under a train, but I don’t because reincarnation. And suicide would let everyone who has hurt me win. They would roll their eyes and let an exasperated sigh: “it’s about time she gave in, it was bound to happen sooner or later”. 

I don’t want to start over at level 0. I don’t want to endure the confusing torment of childhood again. The amount of agony I have endured in this lifetime would render any ‘normal’ person obsolete. I am sure of it. 

There are days where it all accumulates, and I am unable to stop the unrelenting sobs of hysteria from bubbling forth, so I give in and I succumb to the ache. I let the pain swallow me whole, and subsequently a lifetime of repressed hurt and memories spew forth. It is amazing how much pain one person can harbour within the cavity of their chest. It still astounds me how much trauma I can endure without giving up. All I bear is a wound so insurmountable it would be unfathomable to the average mind to even comprehend. It is immeasurable and irrexpressible. 

No action nor word can convey this unrelenting ache permeating my soul. I have searched the depths of this despair for meaning, swum to the surface seeking resolution within this raw agony. Nothing. I have swallowed a concoction of mind altering elixirs to render me whole, or comatose. Still no solution. Only further into this void I was drowned..

All I found was a path to unrelenting passion and purpose, which forces me to persist despite all adversity the universe throws at me. All this opposition I have endured has only moulded my determination, and sharpened my willpower- now I am driven to succeed at any cost, failure is not an option. It is do or die. 

At moments like these I know exactly why the suicide rate for this illness is so high,sometimes it feels like there is no place in this world for me, that I am destined to be an outsider living on the fringes of society for the remainder of my life,that I will endure this haunting isolation until the universe implodes on itself. 

I am so intensely sensitive and fragile that the tiniest trigger will render me immobilized by my own worst fears manifesting before me. In these dark moments, I honestly believe that death would be the only resolution for my pain. But it is within this suicidal agony that I find hope,because I hold onto the hope that I am not alone in this battle,I know there are others on this planet who share the same pain. I know I am not isolated in this experience. That same will to die, burdened by this acute hypersensitivity, perpetual feeling of solitude and misunderstanding. 

Why must we all fight this never-ending battle alone any longer? I seek to commune the souls of those who suffer like I do, and transform their agony into purpose. 

In this moment I resolve to live, to pave the way for survival for my kind of soul. I will reinvent the archetype of this disorder,and transmutate us from helpless victims into powerful warriors. My will is to help other sensitive souls thrive in a world carved by mechanical soulnessness and malicious superficiality. A world that is invalidating to the very essence of our core. My will is to help those who suffer. I know the depths of this pain so well, these angst is familiar to me, and that familiarity induces a nauseating climax within my chest. Reminding me that it has spanned across lifetimes. But I endure it all and traverse shards of glistening malice, for the hope of reaching out and helping someone else who feels just as alone, sitting on the edge of death in times of despair. No one should ever have to feel this way, no one. This is a pain so intense it surpasses depression, it pales against anxiety and it makes solitude seem warm and comfortable in comparison. I know it, oh so well. I will outlive it, to help you.

One day it will be worth it, saving a life that was otherwise engulfed by the angst of existence, providing companionship to someone on the precipice of life and death. Giving hope to someone who has lost all will to live. 

These moments where I can extend my limitless empathy and utilize it, because I have the capacity to feel the pain I see in others,to show them how to find meaning within the ache, will be the day I have succeeded in adhering to my will. For we are all carved with a unique configuration that aligns us on a path in this life, and those who feel devoid of purpose only need the guiding hand of another to validate their experience and lead them towards refining their true potential and essence. I seek to quench their suffering in anyway I can. I seek to be for others what has always been absent from my life. I seek to validate, to build up and to reassure those who feel like aliens in this world; the sensitive souls,the wounded empaths, the battered and broken beings with too much love to give, who were born into this three dimensional prison of devoid of soul. 

I love you all, and I am here for you. I ride out another night of soul shaking sobs and existential despair for you. I stay alive one more day to slay this mechanical matrix for you. To override the control system. To reprogram this reality that seeks to annihilate our authenticity. I stay here for you, to recreate the paradigm that would rather render us obsolete. I have a will and I will die adhering to it. For if I give up, and succumb to death,then I am not only letting myself down, but I am letting down thousands of likeminded souls who I could of assisted.

Do what thou wilt thou shall be whole of the law, thou has no law but to do thy will. Love is the law, love under will.

Left Hand Path & My Trauma Past

My past is a school yard massacre or an overgrown, desolate graveyard. 

When people claim to know light, or purity I am unable to relate. I never have. I never will. I have been tarnished most of my life. Growing up in a religious school, and being told by my teachers “I was going to hell” because I was snide and outspoken regarding Christianity and dared question the validity of the holy trinity. Being told I would be going to hell excited me. It gave me purpose. I am forged by darkness. 

Darkness is inherent within me. 

They first tried to teach me about jesus, god and salvation at six during a religion class at school, and I could only fathom ‘god’ as being like a whispy white cloud, just like the floating fragmented spirits who dwelled with me on the ceiling when I dissociated while being sexually abused by the pumpkin eater. If this ‘god’ really did see everything, I speculated, then he had of seen that, and if he had seen that he would hate me. 

On learning this ‘god’ was the reason behind creation, and all seeing; i blamed him for everything. In my mind, ‘god’ was responsible for this. 

because if god saw this happen, why didn’t he fucking do anything to stop it ? My mind uable to fathom gods logic, shattered. This ensured I quickly concluded I was a bad person unworthy of gods love. I prayed for salvation a few times late at night when my mind cycled endlessly. Often the choice between vomiting and being sexually abused would be presented as an ultimatum. My two biggest fears. This choice devestated me, as I was a child intensely phobic of vomiting, funnily enough as an adult I have linked this phobia back to anxiety associated to the sexual abuse. I was maybe 7 or 8 when one late night, I bargained with my unrelenting thoughts and I chose vomiting as the one thing I would rather endure again, it was late and I needed sleep and the only way to sleep was to agree to one choice bred from this ultimatum. A few weeks later I vomited. I later prayed that next time would god “please let me be abused again if it meant I could avoid vomiting”. 

Lived on trembling in fear in anticipation of the next incident, developing severe ocd traits. 

This was the regular momentum my thoughts endured as a child. 

Around this point, I had enough and climbed inside a capsule of imagination. I stopped praying to an invisible con artist, and started creating made up worlds using pen and paper. I would design towns, houses, schools and entire citities of inhabitants. I would spend hours drawing the architectural layouts of extravagant houses, and grandiose towns that were filled with inhabitants who posessed desirable traits. 

I would draw families and schools I wished I could be apart of, I would imagine being in these makeup worlds instead, with a different name, a different family and a different face. 

In fact the only way I could ever use the toilet as a child, was to imagine myself in one of these stories. 

I was finally aware of what it would be like to be god. 

I was so ashamed of this secret world I fabricated, I would destroy my creations and fear my mother uncovering them ever. 

Sometimes I would slip, and draw pictures of dungeons with naked girls chained to the walls while they bled profusely. 

This was bad.

This terrified me. I wondered if the othet little girls did this ? Did they have dark secrets to conceal and dirty habits to overcome? 

Did they fake a facade just like I did?

No they didn’t. There was no one else like me, I was isolated and alone, and the other girls who were, would always move around, never staying here for more than a year or two of my life. 

I could never relate to my same sex peers, in all their pristine and well maintained brilliance. They had no dirty secrets to hide. I was the only girl in my grade with the messy hair, the dirty fingernails and the dirty secrets. I was always getting in trouble. I climbed trees and played outside games with the boys, hid in the library reading books, or wandered around talking to myself, and because of that, I was an outsider. They played with dolls, ponies and skipping ropes.

For me, darkness was apart of my being from a very early age. I always looked on death with intrigue and fascination, rather than with fear and revulsion.

Darkness is inherent in my being. I am a demoness in the flesh, livid with rage for being denied the ability to experience wholeness or bliss. Bound to this earth by an eternity of reincarnations, there is little of this planets sordid, malevolent history that my soul has not witnessed. I have never known light. Connection. Fulfilment. My life is void of light. Nothing ever renders me whole. Aside from the spark within me. god is a concept, which I can only comprehend in the form of pantheism: with the organism that encapsulates the complex biospheres that shroud this earth being akin to ‘god’. Humanity is the DNA molecule observing itself. The inherent intelligence that aligns matter, embodied in the human form. God is dead. All my psychedelics trips reconfirm the notion of only the earth as god, a cruel and menacing god. But powerful and never missing a moment. There is no collective higher realm endowed by bliss or perfection, there are only the realms of my own creation, and then reseivours of unending darkness. The first time I took LSD, I secretley hoped god would reveal himself to me. The allknowing deity he was, I expected a voice booming from the sky revealing himself to me. He did. He never came, and simultaneously I realised the earth was a heaven or a hell: whatever you could make it. I was aquainted with earth aligning to the hellish realm, however. But I could experience momentary bursts of pleasure. As for an almighty force, or an endless source of illumination though, my mind struggles to grasp this concept. I am the illumination in a world of barren desolation. An all knowing, all seeing deity? No. I ate the poison apple, and I pay the price with the darkness of knowledge. I often wondered whether I was self aware before this incarnation, or whether I have known all along? I am the only form of ‘god’ I can ever fathom. The only illumination comes within. And if humans are the universe embodying itself, technically humans are also therefore god. God made himself, but can god undo himself? I am forged by filth and darkness. I know no other way. My allegiance is in darkness. Yet I am more empathetic and compassionate than most people who correlate themselves to light. This is why the left hand path corresponds and resonates in such a profound manner with my being. I have traversed and battled with the abyss all my life.

Let’s talk about sexual assault: the truth about RAPE. real non consensual sex; RAPE

 Sometimes people don’t listen to you when you state adamantly that:

“no, I don’t want to fuck you right now”

And they proceed to violate the physical temple that is your earthly form, the vessel the eternal goddess glows through ,to convey her imperplexible luminous residue. They slash that sanctuary to 1000 shards, with the slaying carnal lust. 

Not all people are like this. Only primative ones deprived of the ability to see what lies beyond their own shallow desires. (In my experience) Mostly depraved men. with no self control and poor boundaries embody the predator, but then again not all men disrespect the goddess as a primitive, predator rapist does; the saddest part is in the depths of your crying and adamant protests of objection, the rapist cannot put aside his salacious carnal desires for a moment to spare you the agony of the repeated violations.  
He knows your ache, and that ache is what satiates the pulsation reverberations of lust that flow through his being. What is fucked up about rape is that fact that he is inherently programmed to behave like this, and lacking the capacity for self awareness he is unable to change. If it wasn’t me he was violating to fulfil his unrelenting urges, than it would be some other girl, probably with a history of sexual violations that makes her vulnerable to emotional exploitations. 

“Oh come on, look how sexy and desirable you are” 

“Those titties are just so succulent and luscious when you bounce on my cock, and that firm, round ass… I am so hard” 

Hell..disconnect. 

And it continues into the darkest hours of dawn.. “Come on baby girl, I just want to make love to you” 

Numb with sleep deprevation somewhere through the harrassment, you give in. 

They use false declarations of love and flattery to persuade you into their lure. 

Manipulation. Incessant.

It is unrelenting. It wears you down. Until its easier to submit than simply resist. There are only a number of times someone can keep pulling your underwear down until you grow sick and tired of it, and sick and tired of fighting before you realise it is easier to submit and get it over with. 

The rapist is not a true man, rather he is a slave to shallow desires. A weak projection of masculinity.

Someone who has to manipulate or coerce a woman for sex is not even a figment of real masculinity. A real man would make the female seduce him with his ability to tune into the goddess frequency and worship her as the divine vessel she is. And in consummation of that, she rewards him exponentially with her femininity.

A rapist is a seed of destruction to the frequency of life. He is a parasite that sucks from the goddess without nourishing her, or respecting her. A real man doesn’t need to rape a woman to feel powerful, for real men are powerful exueding their masculinity in their own right. 

I am an emanation of the eternal goddess, and any violation against my sacred temple is a violation of the lifeforce that permeates us all- to violate anothers personal space might not be right or wrong, in a universe so chaotic and devoid of morality- but to intervene with an others personal temple who has the power to seize and transmute your actions against you- is lethal.

You will be destroyed by the pain I compartmentalized and boxed up targeted with your name, and you will be tormented by the agony you inflicted. 

“I will use your mistakes against you, there is no other choice”

The start of a new chapter; DBT outpatient therapy

 I saw my new psychologist this morning. Somehow I ended up talking about my family issues in depth for the first time ever and this resulted in me bursting out in tears at the end of the session. It was painful. DBT group begins next week and part of it involves doing psychotherapy each week for an hour with a therapist for an entire year. I can’t run anymore, I am weak. I can no longer bury the past because every defence mechanism I exhibited to protect myself has only left me more fragmented and broken in the end. They all failed me and left me bleeding and desperate. I will have to confront all those chilling, gut wrenching, petrifying demons that reside within the depths of my subconscious that I have avoided and hidden from for years. My childhood, the one place that terrifies me the most will be brought back to the surface. I am so scared. This is my one last chance to begin my journey to recovery and bury my past once and for all. This is my chance to live, to be liberated from all the self loathing, self destructive, suicidal behaviour I have come to regard as ‘normal’.  We made a list of things I’d like to accomplish by next year through doing DBT, they are just standard things most people take for granted such as talking on the phone to people, going to university, getting my license, being able to work, moving out, having control of my finances, being independent, getting out of bed every day, being able to communicate effectively with the people around me, pursuing my hobbies and interests without the immense anxiety and shit that seems to come naturally to everyone around me. I would never wish this dehabilitating mental illness upon even my worst enemy.