In hospital, one of the nurses told me that people are self-healing. The body is self-healing and so is the mind, or the heart, or whatever there is. I took that away and I thought about it until later, when I said (less poetically):
But think of a cut. It heals itself, it gets better, it seals, the blood clots and the skin knits over it. But there’ll be a scar. Scars can be permanent and we may have been healed, but that doesn’t mean there’s been no change.
She said: Scar tissue is stronger than skin.
She said: Not all change is bad.
I thought: I have more scars than skin.
I thought: That change is bad. Has been bad. I don’t want to come back from this as a scar.
Well, I’ve come back. I feel more stable, more level, more capable. I look back on some of the things I was saying and doing before I went In, and they are scary. Worrying. Logical, channelled, certain… but not right. My logic went step by step on a parallel path. I need to try to stay on this one.
Am I more me now, or less so? I always come back different. Maybe it’s barely discernible, like a fleck of another colour in my hair. Maybe others wouldn’t notice. But it’s there, and for me it’s a shift of everything, however subtle. Sometimes it’s not subtle; sometimes my goals, my aims, my outlooks change. I know that might not be a bad thing, I’m told people change all the time.
(We self-heal, don’t we.)