For 40 years, I have pushed people away. Not because I thought they would hurt me but because I thought I would hurt them. I told myself I was doing it for their own good, because I’m broken. But I was wrong. I wasn’t broken. I was sick. And when you’re sick, you got to let the people who care about you help.
It’s weird, isn’t it, the way we think about our lives? What’s next? What happens next? Always moving forward. I wonder if things would make more sense if you looked at everything in reverse. Like, if you started at the end, and move backwards and try to figure out how you got there.