Foes

I got so damn used to being attacked all the time that I had to relearn how to be friends with things.

It's why it's a relief to have external enemies, sometimes. The internal attacks are necessarily calibrated to your weakest points, and they gnaw into them relentlessly. Enemies can at least be strategized, or, if all else fails, run away from. Running away from yourself, though, never works-- not really.

It's the natural progression of learning. "Nothing is X." And then you are introduced to X. "Holy cow, all things are X!" But in my case I realized, and perpetually am realizing, that some things really are as kind as they seem to be. I had figured that the sweeter the honey, the sharper the sting. "This is so beautiful-- that can only mean that it hides a lethal trap. Anything this good must be secretly sour." But now I think this is not always so. Ultimately, you arrive at "Some things are X."

My little cousin had a lot to do with changing my mind. Children are not really possessed of guile, aren't really interested in disguising their motives. So when she clutches at my hand and babbles happily at me, I think, "She isn't lying, you know. She's recognizing something very good in you. It really is this simple." And thus to follow that string, it ought to be that other people feel the same way.

That there is nothing demanded by things being a certain way, that they are allowed to honestly be, and that no one is lying, and that there are no knives underneath the smiles.