Maybe.

I wonder if the problem was never me. I wonder if there was never anything wrong with me to begin with. I wonder if I just perceived the chains around my throat a little earlier. I wonder if I simply reacted against the oppression the suffocation the limitations the violence of factory farming children through structures and systems that shape and suppress. I wonder if my maladaptive was ingenious survival strategy in order to protect the precious wildseed within me. Once you question the pathology paradigm, once you throw away the master’s tools, you start to wonder why you thought you were broken because you didn’t want to waste your one precious life being a machine. Maybe mother hurt you because the world hurt her and taught her to tame her wilderness in order to keep herself and her beloveds safe but safe is an illusion and tame lands you in trouble with the predatory, parasitic, controlling and fearful people who want you that way. Maybe love is messy and complicated and as dangerous as it is beautiful. Maybe the only thing wrong with us is everything that told us there is something wrong with us. Maybe, in some ways, we need to regress back to our uncivilised selves, maybe we need to reparent, decolonize, rewild and heal in order to discover that when we are in our most primal power, we are no longer such compliant little capitalist consumers.

Maybe. I wonder.