UNME

I finally achieved RADICAL ACCEPTANCE.

I never appreciated that concept before, just some more psychobabble to me. I particularly disliked it.

It meant letting in things that I couldn’t, letting on a saddle that felt like razors cutting my flesh.

It meant being infantilized when I was still an infant, 3 months, 4 months, 6 months old. I said it at Wernersville State Hospital. I said I couldn’t go to workshop because I had feelings of being a baby. Strangely enough, the staff member didn’t question or lash me, she just let me go back to the ward.

All I really know is how much I don’t really know about myself and maybe never will but my guesses are getting more realistic.

Radical Acceptance is about realism. I don’t really know much about it, just the term. I sit through endless psych hospital meetings in my mind. Maybe they were necessary to help the controlled hysteria of my life.

Now I am 60 years old and there is no more room for mistakes IN MY PROVIDERS EITHER.

Tonight I am trying to figure an odd mistake I made about the naming of the babies. I named the miscarriage baby “Alyssa” yesterday and thought that that was just right but then I remembered that that would apply to the piggy-back baby that I had already named Jasmine or Jade; so I am a little confused.

Crying.