- back
But maybe there is no default. Not for anyone, and certainly not for us.
There's a wounded comfort in me that I am the way I am because something happened to me. There has to be something. I can't just own who I am. I don't get to own myself.
I mean, that's even how I describe it, right? It's "wounded". I was hurt. Wasn't I?
I can't pretend these feelings away. They're real, so they're grounded at least in themselves. Whether they're benign, or from some decade-past trauma, or just put there by God, I don't know, but I've learned from Jackie. (And Surge, and Whisper.) Every feeling means something. Every feeling is there for something.
I don't know what, though. I guess that's what's scary.
These feelings make me protective and skeptical. They make me anxious and attentive. They make me keep a cool head, because I'll hurt if I don't. (Hurt myself, or someone else. Usually both, the feelings tell me.)
I get it. I can stand by that, you know? Those qualities describe me - they're who I am, and I actually can let myself like that - and they're part of, not separate from, my feelings.
But how come I still feel broken?