Death and tv

Watching a BBC programme about death; photographs of people, taken right after they died and about prettying up the deceased before family members see them. The taboo of death, in short.
It doesn't scare me as much anymore.
It's really interesting actually, now they talk about preferations and how those are taboo as well, against the law et cetera. I'd like to have a Viking's funeral, if it is what I think it is; being pushed out into the sea on a wooden raft with flowers and all that, and then set ablaze, burning, lighting up the night sky. Beautiful. Or picked by vultures on a mountain peak, but I'm guessing that's even more unlikely to be allowed (and not even remotely possible in the flat countryside of Holland, do we have vultures here? I don't think so).

Maybe my fear of death has lessened because I almost got killed, I escaped death and felt it couldn't be my time yet because I hadn't written my book yet. Before that's done, I can't be going anywhere.

The programme came on after a movie about a family trying to cope with a son's suicide. Always appreciate it when they're not afraid to put some humour into the mix. Next week there's a theme night on suicide, which is also very interesting.
I still don't like corpses though, animals or people. They're so clearly not there anymore, and the empty shell is ugly, no matter how much make-up they put on them (which I don't want to be put on me after I die, since no-one would recognise me).

There must be a connection between ego-death and no longer fearing physical death. I know what's being written about it, but I want to make sure for myself.
I have been practising doing the right thing for some time now, with increasing 'succes', by which I mean ease. I want to do the right thing, the motivation is there, it comes from the heart, not from law or society.
Hell, I did plenty wrong and I'm not sorry about it either, since I always did the best I could at the time.
But anyway, I stopped doing what I thought I was supposed to be doing, feeling, thinking et cetera, according to some mysterious unwritten laws and started to ask myself, what's right? What's the right thing to do or say in this situation? Intuition or heart would speak up in the empty space I created by asking the question.
Things get easier and lighter like that, apart from the ridiculous amount of heartbreak I still feel for my ex, which probably has a purpose of it's own, since it's not going anywhere any time soon, goddammit.

I'm going somewhere with this.
Right.

It makes things lighter and it's starting to be so that I don't regret what I do. Didn't regret that much before, but more, and listening to the voice that tells me what's right is lifting the weight off my shoulders and heart (apart from the ridiculous amount of well, you know).
Despite everything that's 'wrong' with my life; on the surface, to people who 'have it all' I must seem like a sad, poor, traumatised hermit, in fierce denial of the deplorable conditions I'm living in, But. Despite everything, the weight I've been carrying around all my life is slowly lifting, and if I was told I'd only have a couple of years to live, I wouldn't do anything differently.
And you know what? That's what makes the fear die, and it makes me live. That's why, in my humble opinion, I've been experiencing moments of quiet peace lately. Cos I want to do the right thing and that leaves no regrets.
Not there yet of course, as I said earlier, I'm no frigging saint. But, at a snail's pace, I am getting there, slowly but surely. Even with a hand tightening around my throat my goals for my life didn't change, so I don't need to change direction like some people do. At least that's a load off. I'm on the right track, whew.

And I'm working hard on the patience thing, I'm still scared of just feeling the pain and hurt without numbing it with tv, food or books. Gotta just let it be, wait it out, even the ridiculous amount... yeah.

I'm not afraid of death. I fear the process of dying though; I've always disliked physical pain and hyperventilating and to experience excruciating pain while choaking on my own blood, or slowly emaciating until my lungs collapse, well, not looking forward to that.
But death itself, the end of my life? No. Funny, when I was still heavily contemplating suicide (when I was young and didn't know there was such a thing as reincarnation, boy that sucks when you want to die) at the time I was very scared of death and dying, it was on my mind constantly. In a bad way, cos I think about it a lot now as well, but from and with a whole different perspective, a peaceful and accepting perpective.
Now if I could see life that way!
Patience, M, patience...

I'm thankful for this opportunity. Writing, writing, writing, getting it off my chest (without any family reading along (if you are; f*** off!!)) really does make me feel better. Not in a pain-avoiding way, but in a sense of aaahh... warmth spreading through my chest. A bit of peace.
The internet is great.

Maelstrom

The hurt in my heart for my ex is a tool for change. I hope. It was relatively easy to let go of others, but not him and I don't know why. The absence of contact has left a gaping hole inside of me and it scares me. Like there's a maelstrom and when I give in and surrender it will drag me down, to... where?
I wonder if change felt so physically is common. Usually there's a churning around the rib area and the solar plexus, something pulling and grinding and gnawing. Hard to describe.

I get so tired sometimes. So much has happened in my life. The past few weeks have been the first period of rest I've had in... as far as I can remember.
The neighbours have returned.
I get tired sometimes, and frustrated. Very frustrated and angry with my life. God, the Universe, Life, Whatever, seems to expect of me a neverending patience, the patience of an angel or a monk.
Or maybe not, and the frustration is part of the struggle.
What would it say about me when I would be an obedient slave, without an opinion or mood? I'm no saint. I've been through shit, loads of it. I've been used as a doormat, and have fighted to change that something inside me that allowed people to use me like that.
I used to turn the other cheek, but not in a saintly way, but out of fear. Now I prefer to fight, struggle, even though the battlefield is inside me and all the outside world can see is this nervous insecure girl.

One of my tricks is to write words on my hand, to help remind me of important things, like Further, W.U.F. - Wake Up First, What's Right? and Sincerity. Sincerity is my latest reminder.
When selfpity arises, or I feel hurt and I'm not sure whether it's because I think I'm supposed to feel hurt in a certain situation or the hurt is real, I remind myself: sincerity. Then my heart gets in line. Course correcting.

My book is what keeps me going. After waking up, that's my main goal. Actually, those are my only two goals and they go hand in hand. Nothing else matters.

Stops along the way

Hurting. Maybe because I'm slowly coming out of survivor mode. The moments of quiet do that; they allow the deeper hurt to come to the surface. Odd how you can go over and over different painful memories without actually feeling them, they don't get to sink in.
Like a broken record, playing the same song over and over again without you even hearing it anymore. You just know you're supposed to like or dislike it, more out of habit than anything else. But what does it really do?
Right, so my father kicked the shit out of me and after the second time I pushed him down the stairs. But how does that feel, really? What did it do to me? Never really gave it much thought. Had to go on, there were so many problems and dangers in my world. Maybe in my time with a psychologist we will deal with issues like that. It's obviously necessary, things like that don't go away by themselves.
There's no shortcut from a 'negative' ego to no-ego. It's a process with many stops along the way. Unfortunately. I don't want to have to deal with my daddy issues. I don't want to have to deal with him, it's too painful. But I'm afraid that's what I have to do to get any Further.

Maybe I can. It's not all bad. There's also more and more moments of that wonderful inner quiet, a feeling of soft silky peace, of not needing anything, not wanting anything but just being there. Most of those moments occur when I'm sitting outside. Viva la deck chair.

I've been physically nauseous tonight though, I guess that's the effect it has on me. Scraping the bottom of the well tends to muddy the waters.
And of course I've been eating, excuse me, stuffing myself lately, I can't stop eating, too scared what I might feel underneath. It will pass, but I'm having a difficult time with damage control, it's a struggle.
I notice right now, that in my mind I'm playing the role of someone reading this and judging me, "what a pathetic excuse for a human being." That's my father's voice. I don't need that. I will write what I need to write.

One of the good things is I hardly feel any selfpity anymore. Not because I'm tough on myself, but well, I don't know really, it's just evaporating. The increase in clarity seems to decrease feelings of selfpity, of woe me et cetera. When I hurt, I hurt.
Yeah that's it; I hurt, but I don't suffer. There's a huge difference between the two.
So I guess that makes me okay with the hurt, since this time it comes with peace and clarity. Small price to pay.

Deck chairs and rotting corpses

Clarity, increasing clarity. Didn't expect it to be so cool. It feels... like something new and shiny, something I just got from the shop and am turning around in my hands to look at it from all sides. Novelty, that the right word? It makes things so much easier.
Quicker too. It makes me act sooner when something happens, instead of procrastinating endlessly trying to drag my ass over the hurdles of fear and inertia.

What also helps, is my neighbours are gone, have disappeared, my friendly neighbour and I hope they're on a permanent vacation or drove themselves into a ravine or got imprisoned or whatever keeps them away from here. It's been lovely and quiet.
I actually enjoyed sitting in my garden, looking at the stars. The peace and quiet gave me the opportunity to work through some things and made this wonderful new clarity emerge.
And things appear. I had just decided I was going to buy a deck chair when friendly neighbour wrestled herself through the bushes and asked if I would be interested in an old deck chair she had lying around in the attic unused. Well yeah!
Deck chairs are the best. Sitting around like an old spinster, with a cup of coffee and a neighbourhood cat coming round to say hallo, I was happy just looking at the stars.
Even if they return tomorrow it's been worth it, I had some peaceful weeks and got some inner work done.

In two weeks time I have an appointment with a psychologist, exciting and scary. I owned up to my situation at social security, told them I'd always been too proud to admit how damaged I really was/am, and that I was in now way capable of a normal fulltime job. I'd been eager to partake in any project just to show them I am not lazy and I do want to work. Which is true in the end, because when I have work I enjoy I work very hard. I do the best I can.
But I came clean and the guy was gentle and understanding. I have time and space now to get some work done with a psychologist as well, until the road is cleared. And I'm happy because it means I can do the most important job there is, namely this. Further. That job.
More clarity, more balance. I even spoke up to my ex, in no uncertain terms. Felt good, felt... clean in some way.
I am moving forward it seems.

Oh right, almost forgot about the suicide. A guy who lived with me and my family when I was a little kid has killed himself. Nothing like a juicy suicide to totally immerse you in The Play again. It was harsh, I cried a lot. For him, cos it was so sad, realising how lonely he must have been.
I also checked the internet to see what happens to corpses lying around in hot attics for three weeks, cos that's how long it took before they found him. I wasn't scared, I just studied the process of putrification because I don't believe in not knowing. It was okay.
A few weeks ago he came to visit me in my half sleep to say goodbye and let me know he was moving on to a better place. So I'm okay with that, having a new spirit friend. Maybe I'm better at friendships with dead people. At least they're more honest and straight to the point.

Time for bed now, since I don't know what else to say.