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Two apartment buildings are under construction. One has a frame made of steel the other one is made from wood.

The last few years, I have been that wood construction. The fear of termites (symptoms) and the fear of fire (psychosis).

We have treated the wood with loving care, making sure every inch is covered with fire retardant. We have sprayed the building for pests.

It is time for me to sell the wood construction and buy the steel.

I want to be tough. I want to be strong. I want anything and everything that has to do with my illness to take last place in my heart, in my mind, in my life.

I want to start pushing myself to succeed. I want to have fewer fears and try more things.

I want to live as if my mind is solid, not something that can be attacked by bugs at any moment or be destroyed by flames.

I’m giving up the title of schizophrenic. I don’t want it anymore.

I am going to be writer.

I am going to be wife.

I am going to be aunt.

I am going to be daughter.

I am going to be sister.

I am going to be friend.

I am going to be steel, and I’ll withstand the pressures, with a slight bend, but the building will stand against pest and fire and the unforeseen force of an earthquake.

I’m redefining myself, but it is more than a makeover. I’m not just applying make-up to look good. I’m changing the stuff I’m made out of. I’m giving schizophrenia the back seat, the last place, a spot in a dark corner.

I’m moving on and I’m not taking the old splinters with me.