We Are the Normal Ones: Memoirs of a Fallen Human

Pull the Cord

In that same session, I said these words. But my therapist asked a question before I expressed myself in these words. She asked, "what cut [the things you once had] off?"

I thought about it and realized that I have access to all the opportunities that I had before. I was no longer wheel-chair bound or in a suffocating depression. Could I still describe dance, pioneering, going to SKE, maybe even getting married, wanting to be in the traveling work as being "cut"? And I said these words:

"They aren't severed completely... How do I explain it?" I look around the room to find something that will help articulate the words I had in mind.

"It's like this," I point at an object. "I am the laptop. The cord is everything I want to be and have in my grasp again. I have the opportunity to be plugged back in. I can see the cord. It feels like cord is too short for it to reach me. In reality, I'm too far from it for it to reach me. The cord has been in the same spot it has always been. But... then I moved... once I got too close to it. And now... I feel -."

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"Let's do your check-in. Mood?"

"Stuck."