The voices told me I wouldn't live to see twenty-ninth birthday, which doesn't leave a lot of room for major life adjustments. You can't finish an education, buy a house, get married (perhaps this is the easiest of the bunch to accomplish), or find a soul-enriching job in just a matter of a few months.
It's easy to run to a life coach, and say, "Fix me."
YOu can, however, get pregnant in a matter of months.
I made the first step in going back to school in order to finish my education, even if it wasn't my first choice school.
STraightening out my personal life takes time, and a lot of looking inside. This is unusual. My therapist doesn't want to talk much about MOrpheus, and neither do I--and yet I'm accused of being dissociated from my feelings--and need help getting reconnected. I'm left with doing it on my own with my writing.
A part of me is still spooked by the voices and their "deadline" (pardon the pun). This is my third brush with death, thanks to mental illness. I keep waiting for the voices to just pop up and take over again like they did in the past. "You thought we were gone! Ha!" I go for a drive on May 27, 2012, and BAM! Die in an auto-collision. The voices knew the whole time.
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