Strength

I visited my psychiatrist today for my checkup. We talked about the things I’m struggling most with right now. He told me I was a stronger woman than I gave myself credit for, for dealing with the things I do. I disagreed. It’s not the strength of my mind, no, because my mind wants to kill me regularly; the same mind that reminds me of all the things I could do without thinking about. So is my body the strength instead? Again, no, my body clings to life because that is what its genes insists it does. My body cannot think, and neither can the pink chemical producing blob that is my brain. It is the mind that does the thinking, and that thinking is seriously flawed. In that case then where is the strength? I’m thinking it’s from the outside. The less flawed minds of others, reminding you to take your meds, telling you to stay alive. That’s why the words you use when you talk to people, the actions you take are so pivotal to someone like me. The strength is yours, not mine. Just borrowing it.