without this dying narrative

And when you can no longer lift your right arm above your head or allow yourself a good pandiculation first thing in the morning, it occurs to you that maybe you have been treating yourself the same way they have, subtly at first,  but enough to know it wasn't kind, telling yourself it's not a big deal, there's nothing wrong with your body, wear and tear is all it is; ignore the red flags, stop asking for help. 

It would be easier that way, making them right. In the short term anyway. There are immediate advantages to not trusting your inner knowing; there are benefits to staying stuck. For one, the fight is exhausting. Ignoring yourself is effortless; it feels so familiar you hardly notice. Monkey see, monkey do.

Until the short term becomes longterm and you loose half of your body to the neglect you bought into, wanted to believe. For a million reasons that you've believed before until you could no longer sustain yourself on those beliefs, you had to accept that something was really not right, that, no, it's not all that normal to not be able to lift your arm over your head, just like your brother said it wasn't right when your leg wouldn't straighten or your face felt tingly. You knew it then like you know it now. You know now that there is only so much that they can do and that the doing is on you and you alone, the same way you know you will return, like a moth to light, with your dead lighter to the old narrative and it's dying flame because now what? 

 Now what?                                                                 

Now what without this dying narrative?

Of course with emptiness, with all else