\ˈləv\

/'ləv/ 5.

     For years I spent my life reserved to a box of strict rules. These rules helped cage a beast I knew slept inside. I knew this beast was awful, could lash out with lethal claws and eat those I cared about alive. I would not drink to excess, I would never indulge in any mind-altering substance because I couldn't risk setting the beast free. For so long I believed I was everything my mothers ever called me. A fake, pretentious, selfish, bitch, who wore a human mask but was nothing more than an evil that needed to be tamed. Nothing that inner beast could do would be beautiful or kind or good, so I locked it up. 

     I sewed my mouth shut even as I felt it pressing up against the inside of my skin and asked for no help taming it. Too often it seemed the only way to contain it meant tanning the hide it hid in. Eventually, I forgot what it looked like at all. It was far too dark for me to see it and I was too scared to give it any power by acknowledging its existence anyway. 

     But she came to me in dreams and hid in the corners of moments where I had to confront my core beliefs from a place of compassion- if not for my sake, then for that of others. I was working as a paramedic and working in an area that had a large homeless population. I saw multiple homeless patients, addicts, and overdoses. All of which were very sensitive topics for me. I held no compassion for my biological mother- who easily could have fit any of those categories of patients- however, caring for them confronted a core apathy I realized I no longer had room to hold. 

That's when I first noticed her- the beast- out of the corner of my eye. She pointed eerily to circumstances outside of these patients' control, amplified their stories, and shook against her cage upon hearing the injustices constantly thrown at this population of people. I couldn't ignore her, though I was still too scared to look at her directly. Suddenly, I found myself covered in shame- for hating something I had deliberately stayed ignorant of. I let hurt and ego convince me I knew enough from experience and didn't need to learn anything more. However, face to face with these humans, I knew I  had to let the apathy go if I ever wanted to be of genuine service to these people. By holding onto that ignorance I was being the monster I tried to lock up and I couldn't stand that.

Thus the first stone in the wall fell. 

Months later I was watching over my friend as he took a macro dose of LSD for home-brewed therapy for his C-PTSD. He looked into my eyes and told me he knew I had been hurt deeply by drugs and those that took them. He told me he saw me as sturdy stone but hoped one day I would flow like water. 

I was at home pondering everything I had witnessed over the last few months. How something I saw as dangerous and evil had changed so much. How the problems and specific hurts I had were far more complex than any specific petty grievance I had for a substance whose meaning I could hardly pin down anymore. Being a stone had helped me survive until now, but it was time for change. 

     I looked within, for the first time looking my beast in the eyes.  And cried for the first time in years, because what I saw was just a child.  She was me and I was her, and suddenly I was forced to confront all the pain I had put upon her. Amidst all this pain I felt washing over us I also felt something else. Something that had been with me all along, resolve and compassion.  This was how I started the first step down the path of discovery and recovery. I vowed in that moment to learn how to love her right.