Pearls in crap

There have been moments of calm contentedness, in the midst of some of the worst inner turmoil I experienced this year. Little pearls in the mud; moments like that are a very rare occurrence in my life, so I consider them to be a good sign.
Yesterday I was riding home on my bicycle and feeling desperate, awful, torn, I can't find the right words to describe it. I felt really crap. Then I looked up and saw a hot air balloon floating across the blue blue sky. In darkblue against a yellow background it carried the word: "Joy".
I smiled and felt crap and relaxed into the feeling-crappiness; feeling so deeply unhappy had it's own beauty. It was remarkable to me, that moment. To not deny how I was feeling, telling myself things will get better, but instead to relax into the crap and appreciate it for what it was. Right there and then, that was my life, and it was what it was. Nothing more, nothing less.

Lonely business

Trying not to wallow.
It makes me feel bad that hardly anyone understands what I'm doing. I can't even properly express it in words myself and it's the most important thing in my life. It's becoming clear, ruthlessly clear to me that I'm walking this path alone. Completely, entirely alone. Knowing that and realising it are two different things. It scares me and hurts. Sometimes I reach out when I'm on the bottom of the well, I reach out for someone, for a sign of life, for contact, for confirmation I'm here, I exist. Seems a bit weird to write that, or maybe not. What would happen if I didn't reach out, if I didn't try so hard to find solid ground or consolation?
I've been told I'm invisible, so it wouldn't be much of a stretch if I was told I don't exist. Once upon a time I fell on the other side of the fences marking society and people can sense that.
They don't appreciate being looked into the eyes. It's the easiest way to see if someone is 'there' or not home at all. So I get strange looks, or guys thinking I want something from them. It gets me in trouble sometimes. But it's the quickest way I know. Why waste time and energy. Real people are very rare. Like beautiful men; they are very rare as well. Unfortunately.
Is there a way to feel less lonely in this process? A way that doesn't slow me down because of it's comfort? Maybe I just answered my own question. Any comfort or consolation or company would slow me down, wouldn't it. Goddammit.

How low can you go

The process is in waves; peaks and lows. This low is deep, and taking it's bloody time.
In my experience it's better (or more favourable) not to act when feeling like crap, because crap things tend to happen more often, as if gravitating towards the person feeling like crap. Lots of crap to go around.
But, living alone means I have to go out for groceries. I can get away with not cleaning the house for months, but my body needs food and such. When I left the shops an egg exploded just 3 feet away from me. Luckily I was on my bicycle, so most of the stuff missed it's target. But when I feel like this, it's as if people are out to get me (woe me et cetera, partII). When I'm sort of centered stuff like that doesn't happen.
Not much is needed to get me feeling like this lately; crumbling on the inside. A walking open wound.
It's a bit like after my period starts and I'm so horny I have to lock myself in the house and not come out for several days in order to prevent myself from jumping the mailman. On the other hand, it might be something completely different.

My bed and me

I'm back. Should've written earlier, maybe. Have been in bed, depressed, since a holiday with my family. Tells you all there is to know about the holiday I guess. Read Jed's Notebook and started to re-read the first book as well. Also every once in a while I pick up one of the books by Jeff Foster, who sort of has the same 'no bullshit nor incense' style.
Had it all figured out, what I would write et cetera. I was fuming and dying inside at the same time. Now I finally got my account going and I don't know what to say anymore. Typical. Maybe I need to just ramble on for a while.

Again it became clear to me that circumstances like the neighbour-from-hell who lives and terrorises next-door from me can be very helpful in speeding up the process of making all the crap inside float to the surface, ready to be scooped off. The rape; also very helpful since I was completely in the moment, not very bothered with yesterday or tomorrow, but just there.

I have been feeling so utterly crap the past several weeks. People can smell fear too, its true. Almost every time I go out for a walk when I'm feeling like this I get followed around by some guy, or people look at me funny (sometimes I check the little mirror I have in my bag for spinach between my teeth or whatever I ate that day), or kids make weird noises, indicating that I'm in some way mentally retarded, which maybe I am, since I can't seem to be social or normal - quoting my father now.
He doesn't understand why I don't just take pills to feel better. I told him that in my opinion that's a way to battle symptoms instead of going straight to the source, which I think I'm doing instead. It might take longer, but it's thorough and I don't think a dependance on drugs will get me any further. Another delay.
Maybe, in theory, it's easier for me to give everything up for Truth because I don't have anything, since I devoted my life to 'following my heart', trying to read the signs to see what my next step should be. What's indicated. So I never built a life for myself. Never found enough motivation to do that, because well, it didn't feel right to invest time on things like that.
I miss it though. Sometimes I long for the secure feeling of having a family or a nice house, or a decent job (instead of the volunteer's work). But in the back of my mind I know I'd become restless because it's another detour. If something comes along, on my path, then it's fine, but I won't pursue it.

In the book Jed says it can't take longer than two years. I'm trying not to feel bad about it, not entirely succeeding, and even though it's true that a horrible life is just a bad dream as opposed to a good dream, I think it causes a lot more rubble to be in the way, first of all of clear seeing. Lots of rubbish and old pain and destructive thought patterns messing up the view. All that stuff has to be moved out of the way. It doesn't exactly help to be mentally instable to begin with after a childhood of abuse, woe me et cetera.
I shouldn't even be thinking about this, I should just move on.

So anyway, today, in bed, I tried to find inside myself a confirmation of what I really want in life. Do I want Truth more than anything and am I willing to sacrifice (to keep sacrificing) the remote possibility of ever having a nice little family and all the good decent things a 'normal' life has to offer?
Yes. I want Truth more than anything. I want it, I need it and I will give up friends family and my sanity if that's what it takes, and sometimes it seems that's exactly what it takes.
Good thing people already know what the deal is with me. Sort of.
"Can't you just be normal?"
No, I can't and it's a hell of an effort to try and put on a normal face. I don't even know what it's like to be normal, haven't got a clue. Lost my mask a long time ago and have regretted it ever since. It can be quite usefull not to stand out. To not draw attention, unwillingly.
I can't be around people for longer than a few days, that's why the family holiday failed so miserably, for me ("but your whole life is a holiday!!"). I want to be left alone, I like being alone and I need to be alone for most of the time. I'm no good at chitchat either. Maybe for a few minutes, but please, no more. Maybe when I contemplate suicide again I can have somebody chat me to death.

Pfff. Sometimes I wish I had a big shoulder to cry on, to cry my eyes out, to cry out the pain until I feel clean again and ready for the next step. Crying on one's own shoulder is a bit hard, anatomically speaking. God, I'm such a mess. Feel a little calmer now though, because of writing it down.