Big Boss

Trying to influence someone, out of the best intentions (paving a road to a certain tropical place with those), with a suggestion that holds a tiny knife hidden behind it’s back. Mean, in order to make someone do something that’s better for their health or the quality of their daily life. I’ve seen myself do it, and more often than not could not stop myself because I felt responsible, and if I wouldn’t they would ruin themselves and others around them. Wow. Behold the arrogance. Imagine that. Without my incredible wisdom (sound familiar?) they would be helpless children. Which, of course, they are, but so am I. When oh when did it help me. When did it help me, make me feel supported or inspired to improve my life when a certain person gave me some well-intentioned ‘advice’, with the underlying suggestion I was a screw-up and wasn’t going anywhere with my life in the direction I was heading in. Did that help me? It helped me, alright, in the complete opposite direction. And now I’m doing it. Worried about someone, I stab them with my clever remarks, as if the pain will get them going. So, that’s my father. That’s not me. I’m doing it, but it’s not me. I don’t want it to be.

Beneath it is…grudge. How can they mess up like that and make me look bad. How can they not do as I say, when it is so obvious that I am right. I’m always right you see, because I know best. I am best. I’m highly elevated above everyone else in my family, or in the world for that matter. I’m far superior. Look at how stupid they are, so completely in denial about their addictions, messing up their kids and themselves and the world. How can they not do as I say? Everything would run so much more smoothly if everyone would just get in line and do as I say. I should run their lives, I should be making their decisions. Their lives are my responsibility. I rule the world, I am master, I am king, I rule supreme. I take over people’s responsibility for their lives because they are stupid children and they don’t know where they are going, they need me to tell them where they are going and how they are going there, and if they don’t do as I say, they do the wrong thing and I will punish them for it with mean stabbing commentary, to make them feel inadequate and inferior, which of course they are. They cannot handle their lives themselves and should rely on my wisdom and knowledge. They should realize by now I’m so much cleverer than them and I can see where they are going and they can’t, blinded by greed, addictions, anger and resentment. They should just hand over their lives to me, so everybody can rest easy again, knowing everything will be fine.
So, not just my father, but my mother’s ex-boyfriend as well. The ‘I’m worthless and inferior, so develop delusions of superiority to balance things out'-shtick. The roots go deep, I can feel it. How did it feel when it was done onto me? Made me feel small, insignificant, brushed aside like an insect, a mere fly. Not worth time, effort, attention, support. Brushed aside. Not mattering. Judged to be incapable of living my own life. Dismissed. Put on the bench. Sent away to stand in the corner facing the wall like a bad little girl, while the people who knew better made decisions about my life.
I consider this to be serious scrutiny, and maybe I’m being impatient (and I never ever am impatient, how dare you accuse me) but it doesn’t feel like it’s unravelling. So is there more beneath the surface or should I give it some time? Observer? What do you say? Enough for now, leave it til later, it might be something else that’s poking you.

I’m scared that without this process I am nobody. If I didn’t ‘have’ this, I would be a complete failure.
So that’s in the line of the same subject of inferiority.
And what would be so terrible about that? Oh my god. This is my life. I have the right to complete failure if that’s what I wanted. I have the right to do anything with my life. Anything I want to. Nobody can take that away from me, no-one has that right. My life is my responsibility and mine alone. I know best when it comes to my life. I reign supreme, when it comes to my life. I am king and queen, in my life. It’s mine to ruin and destroy, it’s mine to elevate and unravel at any given time. This life was given to me, it was put into my hands and into no-one else’s. Nobody has the slightest bit of influence over me. I am Me. I am boss. The Big Boss of my life. I sit in the director’s chair with a big fat cigar in my mouth, stroking a cat, mumbling orders. I can’t be touched.

Thank you, Observer, I trust you with my life.

Big, red square

This morning, before I started writing the first bit of the day, I turned on my little radio and the DJ said the title of a CD someone had won: “Do you want the truth or something beautiful?” Fun-ny. Happened quite a few times these past couple of days.
Been walking a lot too. There’s grief now. This afternoon it was anger, fuelled by the upside down society, burglars being protected by law against the people who’s houses they break into.
Whatever. At least it was a good reminder why waking up is a sensible thing to do.
Now I’m scared, for my sister and her kids, and because I don’t know what to write. I’m scared I will stop writing again and pick up the process later. I don’t want to go on at a later date. Feel lost. Confused, foggy. Please let me go on. Please. Even though this is a process of negation, it’s the only thing I can hold onto; the writing, the focus, the drive, the energy. It feels good. I’m in my element when writing furiously. And even though it’s scary sometimes to be brutally honest, at the same time it makes me feel lighter, open.

I find it hard to concentrate at the moment.
When I hear a song on the radio that I like, when I watch TV, when I’m doing something; I’m asleep. Almost instantly. There was this thing on the news that got me worked up and I walked along fuming. Couldn’t stop myself by reminding myself to observe. It’s the automatic pilot thing. Horrible, that. Going somewhere and not remembering how you got there, because you were on automatic pilot, like a machine. Going through life like a robot. I feel myself getting sucked back in, losing awareness. Back and shoulders are hurting viciously and that’s not helping my clarity of mind either. Dozy got his hands on me. Still hard to discern when to give in and accept a setback or when to struggle and keep writing until clarity emerges once again. Maybe it’s the sadness I feel that’s mucking up my vision.
Feel listless, tired, uninspired.

Ok. Something’s coming. There’s a subject on the program and it’s a biggy. Men. As a teenager some woman (mother of a guy I had a fling with) interpreted my natal chart for me; she said, somewhat taken aback, it was possible for me to become enlightened in this life if I would manage to overcome this big red square on the chart. What is it? I asked her.
"Men."
Didn’t come as a big surprise, but to have it that dominantly present on my life’s blueprint was unsettling. “You have a lot of problems with men.” She was not wrong there.
As a small kid I escaped rape for the first time (not the last), when I was playing in the park. First time my intuition saved me. My mother got herself a boyfriend who had a lot of pent up rage which he generously shared with us and especially me, for some reason. He also liked ‘jokes’, like pulling open the door to the shower when I was in there. Or lying on top me, tickling me. Which was just touching since I wasn’t ticklish.
Then the wonderful influence of my father, who made me feel I was never good enough and loved telling stories about other people’s kids and how well they were doing, how well-behaved they were and how smart. Who hit me in the face and kicked me when I was down, literally, on the floor. The men who started touching me when I didn’t want them to, lots of them, the boyfriends I had sex with because that was supposed to happen, or so I thought. It hurt so much. Sex felt like someone was sticking a knife between my legs. I let myself be used in spite of the excruciating pain because sex was all I had to offer, that’s how worthless I felt. A couple of abusive boyfriends, some escapes from rape and the one I didn’t escape, but came out of alive. That about sums it up.
So, lots of work to be done.
The one that still makes my blood boil is my mother’s ex-boyfriend. She went to his place once to have her car fixed (he’s a mechanic) and I was visiting her at the time so went with her. He made a demeaning ‘joke’ about me again, smiling at me mean-spiritedly with his beady little eyes and I saw nothing had changed. On the wall were photographs and I happened to see a picture of him as he was in the years when he was sort of living with us; it made sense for me to have been really scared of him as a little girl and his favourite target; he looked like a cruel Bud Spencer with calculating eyes.
He’s a mean man who thinks much of himself, considers himself to be a guru, a real wise man, he was always ‘educating’ my mother on the wisdom of the world. “Everything is sex.” “People who don’t learn get cancer.” Pearls of wisdom like that. Screaming in my face the next moment. Yeah, a real wise man, very enlightened, the women he cheated on my mother with thought so too, all five of them. A real prince of a man. The funniest part about all of this is that they still keep in touch and he still visits my mother and has coffee with her, sharing his wisdom and insights.
Wow, this really helps, just writing about him makes him smaller. He’s pathetic. The one who really was enlightened - who had been his teacher and became a friend of my mother’s – had told my mother that this man would never learn. She’d still hang on his every word though. I wouldn’t want to run into him in a dark alley, I wouldn’t want to run into him in a crowded street in broad daylight. But who knows, maybe now he wouldn’t have that much power over me anymore. Can never tell til it happens, can you.

Not much autolysis tonight, but that will pick up when it does.

Dozy & Observer

Feel sick. Nauseous. Rage and indignation for being locked in my house by the neighbour and his car, parked in front of my yard in such a way I can’t pass it without having to force myself and my bike through the hedge. I’m writing this down to get it off my chest, because it’s just the superficial reason for my anger. Thoughts are jumbling through my mind, no thread to follow.
I seem to be divided into two separate pieces. One piece is observant, knows what it’s doing and where to go, how to go et cetera, seems to have oversight, instructs the other piece, which is fast asleep, or at least likes to be. Likes that very much. That piece wants to watch TV, to forget all ‘my’ troubles by zoning out, consciously taking on the zombie attitude. Because it gives me a break from everything. Or so it seems. This all feels so unreal because this piece of me wants me to feel that this journey I’ve taken on is unreal, something I made up, something with which I am kidding myself. This piece is doing a very good job of kidding me. There’s a dialogue going on between these two pieces of me, because they are going in opposite directions, or at least they intend to.
How can it be unreal if it gave me the rare moments where I felt at peace with myself, where I could just be, and it makes me become more and more authentic? When Observer asks this I can feel the other piece getting more sleepy, or feigning sleepiness, which in turn makes things feel unreal indeed. However, if looked at this in a logical way, in a linear way, yes, but that doesn’t matter right now, there’s an upward motion, there is a moving towards less false and that was set in motion by the first experience of peace. Which felt very real. I could say that was all a fairy tale and I’m kidding myself by doing or trying to do something that’s (generally) only talked about in books, but the fact remains this journey has given me the best moments of my life. Rare moments, but calm and worthwhile. The Dozy moments, however, all seem to be equal, to be one and the same. Sleepy, comatose, zombie-like. So is this journey unreal or is Dozy unreal? And if I am in the middle, then who am I?
Maybe I have three different personalities.
I am even worried about my process not going as it should SEEN THROUGH THE EYES OF OTHERS!! Well that’s just silly. If a lull should occur, then a lull occurs. Life knows what it’s doing, so let go of a silly concern like that. There’s much rubbish and it will take the time it needs. In some way you’ve been doing this for most of your life, in another way you haven’t even started yet, so what are you so worried about? You don’t have to write a paper about it, you won’t get judged by the beauty and efficiency of your process, no one is going to compare your process to someone else’s and judge it to be inadequate, failing, not good enough. That’s you doing all that. You are the one judging. If you really want to go forward, you will have to let that go. Stop judging. This is your process, your journey and it is exactly as it should be, who are you to judge? As far as I can tell your bum is not occupying a throne in cloudy surroundings so get off it. Just do what you’re doing, just go forward, if slow, then slow.
This Is Yours, Completely Yours.

Autumn

How quickly things change. I had a good day today, which is very, very rare. I cycled to the volunteer's work, thinking along the lines of: This is really happening, I'm fulfilling my destiny, I will be free, this is really going to happen, I'm really going there. I'm going to the end of the world. Sailing off the edge of the earth. I passed an incredibly beautiful tree, glowing with orange and yellow leaves and I was so grateful tears came to my eyes. I felt happy. Happy and excited.
The day went well, I was feeling good, glowing myself, as if pregnant. It felt like coming home in my own skin, doing what I was meant to do. Always had been meant to do.
It's beautiful to see in others; people who do what they love to do, and now I was like that. When I came home I sat in the garden, listening to U2 on my headphones and I didn't even care about neighbour spawn, coming out into his garden, trying to be as loud as he could, just doing what he loves to do I guess. I saw this cute little hedgehog scurrying around the terrace but since it was dark it might also have been a rat.
I felt strong, I felt good, I felt like I was in the right place now.
Then, it began to dawn on me that this could mean I might never have children. There might not be a son in my future, the kid I somehow felt I would have at thirty five or thirty seven. That's the feeling, the sort of hunch I got: I'd have a boy when in my late thirties. If I go on like this, that could be the end of everything else.
I knew that, yes, but I've also known an enlightened man who had kids and I don't want to get into it whether he had them before or after he woke up. From what I half-know half-suspect it could be plausible; enlightened people who have kids. I mean, I read stories about men who say for example: before enlightenment I chopped wood and went to the well to get water, after enlightenment... I chopped wood and went to the well to get water. I don't think men and women left their children and spouses behind just because they woke up.
But. What I do suspect, is that once Awake there's no desire or wish to have children anymore. This I can understand. And I wouldn't mind. The thing is, if I go on like this, as intense and focused as I am now, I know where it will lead me. This is tricky. Now I could play games and slow down, thinking that maybe in the time I have before I get to the edge of the world I might meet someone and have a kid. Oh my. And if I speed this thing up I cheat myself out of love and ever having a child of my own. Well shit. So you know, the day was good and then it was a bummer. It hurt and I cried. I don't want to play games, you see. I want to be sincere about this, because it is so close to my heart. So, I'm going to do what I've always done when I really didn't know how to continue; I'm going to leave it up to Life. Life will decide. Has already decided, sure, but I'll put this one out there and go on as I feel I should go on. Listening to that voice for instructions. And I'll do what it says is the right thing to do and I'll go wherever it wants me to go.
Life and I have decided long ago, right? So whatever I choose to do, is what I've chosen a long time ago and so that will be the natural thing to do. The only thing to do. I fought and kicked and screamed right here on these pages, some (light-)years ago, about the illusion of free will. I was SO pissed off! Now... Everything happens exactly as it's supposed to. So if I'm meant to have a kid, I will. If not, then I won't. Same with love. I'm not going to play games. I don't want to. Not anymore. This is it. This is my process. It's mine, and we'll see what happens.
A few tears. I did want to be a mother some day, when I would be able to be a good mother. But this is what I've always wanted.
Life's timing is never off, so there's a reason for me to dive into the process even more deeply at this point in my life. Who am I to doubt it? What a day though, wasn't it.
All in all, it does feel right to be doing this. It still feels like it 'fits'. Like I'm in my rightful place.

Unreal

This feels so unreal. Surreal isn’t the right word for this. As soon as I continue reading the book, I’m in it, I’m there, no doubts. I know it to be true. Then, when I wake up after a nice deep sleep (funny how I love sleeping), or I’ve been exposed to daily-life-things for a couple of hours I have to drag myself back into this process. I know at any moment I can ‘take a break’ and slow down the process if I’m not careful. It’s alright I guess, since no matter what I do I always come back to this, but let’s see what happens when I keep coming back on a daily basis.
How come it feels so unreal what I’m doing? Like daily life is so real. Yeah, I see people’s fogs clear as day, I see my own, a little less clear, yet doing this feels unreal. What’s up with that? It’s like I’ve been dabbling in this on the side and suddenly someone tells me this is the only thing I should be doing. Only I’m that someone and I haven’t been dabbling, I’ve been kidding myself. This was always most important, why else would I have made that conscious, deliberate choice to listen to that little voice inside, of intuition, my heart, God, Universe, whatever, at twenty years old? That was the day I turned homeless and I've never been happier, putting myself in the hands of something bigger.
I am still kidding myself. When I read Jed it feels completely and utterly real and clear and clean. Then I look up and it doesn’t. How can there be any progress when this doesn’t feel real to me?
I don’t even know if this is my ego, if there is such a thing, trying to trick me or cause a delay, or if this is a genuine issue for me; how can anything like this process be real when it’s done within the dream? Or maybe. Maybe I can see it as that trick used in a dream when asleep: look at your hands and your dream might turn into a lucid dream. Is that what it’s like? A process within the dream to become aware within the dream that it is, in fact, a dream.
I’m asleep, having a dream and this process is like an elaborate attempt to look at my hands and wake up within the dream. Only the dream ends when that happens.
Am I sweet talking my ego? I sure need a lot of convincing for someone who made up her mind light-years ago. This is what I’ve been doing, why is it such a stretch to be doing it more often, more intense, more single-minded? It seems that I’m my biggest roadblock at this point. If/when I get past this there’s no stopping me. I look forward to that.
Until now there wasn’t a lot of fun to be had, but reading last night, laughing my ass off, I suddenly realized that if I am serious about this, I am progressing towards/into an incredible ‘thing’, I’m moving towards perfect freedom and what could be better than that? For me; nothing. No more chains. It’s all about the struggle at this point, so maybe I should keep in mind what I am moving towards, keep in mind the ‘prize’ at the end, cos no matter how ugly and unappealing Jed makes it in the book, I want it and there is nothing that I want more. I don’t even want anything else, every other little want is just a handful of shiny beads, nice little mirages, reflections in a faulty mirror cos it’s not who I am.
Once again, my dearest; I was born for this, born ‘to be wild’, born to be free. Completely, utterly Free.
Well, that should be enough to keep me going. Ha! Like there’s anything that could stop me. Nothing. Nothing. Delay at most, but stop me? Never. You’d have to kill me.

ugh

I'm so, so scared. I'm so scared I feel sick to my stomach. Is it normal to be this frightened all of the time?
At this point it's the training. I'm scared to go, to see them again, to have their eyes on me. I'm petrified actually. Also, I'm scared because I might decide not to go anymore. Now, it is this. When that's over it will be something else, some other thing will take it's place. Worry over my sister and her kids, for example. Worry about the flu killing the little kid who gets sick all the time. Next it might be my Ex who's slowly, surely destroying himself through alcohol and drugs, alienating everyone around him (know how that feels). It takes over. I have no control over it. Fear is ruling my life, eating away at my body, making my heart beat faster, giving me a headache.
Ugh. Is that normal? To be scared of such stupid things? Stop judging. Will this ever end, all this fear taking me over from the inside? I can't. I can't. I don't know what to do. This is not helping. Oh, how can I go on. Feel like a freak.
Feeling sorry for myself as well. Ah. God this is hard. I'm struggling, I don't know what I'm doing but I'm doing it and I will go on, although I don't know how. I was going to say: I don't know how to do this without falling apart. Hahaha!! That's right, dear, you're going to have to fall apart. That's right. Oh shit. Hope I have any guts left, will sorely need them.

Tangible

Twenty minutes into the walk I wanted to turn around, go back home and write. Went on walking anyway, with blisters after three miles. Other people’s opinions. During the walk I concluded that this might be my white whale for the time being. I have a tendency to look at myself through other people’s eyes, trying to see what they see, trying to understand what they might think of me and what I do.
Even when people weren’t judging me for my somewhat unusual passion, I’d feel this need to defend myself. Still do. Always ready to be judged. Quite understandable, since I got and get judged by family members all the time, I don’t know any better, I’m brainwashed. So I have to wash it right back. I’m nervous about doing this. Bit silly since this is what I’ve been doing for most of my life, but maybe something has changed now that I put more of it in writing. Self-conscious about it.
Why should this be any sillier than anyone else’s lifestyle?
It’s not tangible. I’m working towards a goal I can’t see, that maybe doesn’t exist, and all the while I’m out of a job.
God isn’t tangible, yet millions of people believe in Him, in some way or other. They don’t need to defend themselves. Maybe I have to defend myself against myself. How do I know this is real, that I’m not kidding myself with this road to nowhere? The proof is in the experience; I’ve seen the changes, even if this is going nowhere, I can see the results and that should be reason enough to keep going. The circumstances didn’t get better, but I did. I know I did, despite all this fear.
I’m afraid I might find out I was betrayed. That I fooled myself into going down this road.
I can’t see it, it’s invisible.
Since when does that stop me?? Is this ego, pretending to be scientific or something? Stalling? Causing a delay?
I look at everything around me and suddenly it’s a problem that Truth isn’t tangible? That I literally can’t put my finger on it? Is it Other People’s Opinions? Or is it My Opinion? Or did I for convenience sake make them one and the same?
Maybe it’s because I’m becoming single-minded about this. Somehow I always had this idea in the back of my mind that something else might come along, even though everything in my life has been leading me here. Everything conspired for me to be able to do this. And now that I seriously am doing this I’m starting to realize there is no back up plan anymore. The dream about other possibilities - because this certainly can’t be real, it was all a lovely fantasy, enlightenment and all that, where do I come up with all that stuff, but now it’s back to real life, jobs, kids, family et cetera, in which I’m of course a total failure – that dream is coming to an end.
Yeah. That’s it.
I’m losing my escape routes. There weren’t any, but I didn’t want to see it. I thought I could always do something else if this didn’t work out, even though this was and is the only real and important thing in my life. I kept fooling myself, ignoring the signs, ignoring the things the Universe kept throwing my way. I did what I had to do, I survived, I learned, kept on learning, but all the while in the back of my head was this reassurance that I could always stop if I wanted, turn left, leave the freeway. The dreaming is coming to an end and THAT’s what’s scaring me. Cos now I can’t be half-assed about it anymore. Now I have to stand up for myself and admit to what I’m doing. This is it.
Thankfully people usually ask what kind of a job you have, they never seem to be interested in what your goal in life is. Typical. “What do you do?” What a mind numbingly dull question, yet that’s what people ALWAYS ask. This would make for an interesting refreshing change: “What is your goal in life?” I might even answer that truthfully, depending on the person asking. In the end I don’t have to fear other people’s opinions, I have to fear my own. If I can accept what I’m doing, others will too. They’re irrelevant. I have to come clean to myself. This is who I am and I can’t keep denying it, trying to find excuses, playing down what I’m doing, cos it’s important, it’s the most important thing I’ll ever do, it’s the last thing I’ll ever do and that deserves some respect. I have to stop running away from what I was meant to do, even though the running was in my head. Isn’t everything in my head?
Why is it so scary to be single minded about dedicating myself to this?
Because I might lose everything.
What is that?
Connections. Love. My sister and her kids.
Well that’s okay, you can be scared about that. As long as it doesn’t stop you.
No. It won’t. It won’t. It doesn’t seem like it because I’m doing the hermit thing, but this is best for everybody involved.
I feel awful. Vulnerable. Scared.

Nothing else

Nothing is a frightening prospect, still not as frightening as being here. At least it’s true. What a waste of time to be living in such falseness, fake is everywhere. Or maybe I should go and live with the Aboriginals, going on walkabouts. That would burn stuff away for certain. But. It could be just the thing, to be surrounded by false, fake, untrue, fog, to remind me of what I do not want to be my reality. Maybe those stretches of time where I paused in the process were necessary, the valley parts of the waves, things had to sink in, changes had to be assimilated in my body and battered mind. My surroundings might be best for me, with neighbour spawn to remind me daily of what life is like when you’re living your nightmare of ignorance.
As a young girl I was angry and surprised to see what people could do and get away with, I wanted to see them punished in some way, it was much later when I started to realize that the way they were living their lives was their ‘punishment’. Direct cause and effect.
Now I don’t know what is true anymore. Anyone can choose a point of view, read books to support that particular view, look at the world and everything in it with that specific colour of sunglasses, discuss your beliefs of choice with people who cherish those same beliefs, et voila, there you have it: what you believe must be true! This way there are endless possibilities.
I liked those Conversation With God books a while, because they seemed so all-encompassing. And knowing stuff was my most satisfying addiction when fulfilled. But any point of view could become true if you search for evidence to support it long enough. And some logic would be nice, I like logical stuff. This journey has always seemed the most logical thing to do for me. Becoming less false just seems like a logical thing to do right? But the journey itself is still inside the dream, inside the Universe of False. So that’s weird. That seems weird to me, as if it’s just another dream, that journey. And maybe it is, since the underlying reality is Truth and anything elaborate, constructed, made up is… well, made up.
Still, this seems the only sane thing to do, although the ‘prize’ at the ‘finish line’ doesn’t seem very desirable. I want it. I want it so badly. I must have wanted it always, why else would my life have taken these roads? It led me to the perfect circumstances, even though I (ego) would like to be more comfortable and temporarily rent a small cottage by the sea for example, with nothing else to do but write and walk and burn.
This will have to do, but I have to take care and not get distracted for such long periods of time anymore; when on a roll, I should keep rolling, no gathering of moss et cetera. Family stuff… tricky stuff. Sister and her kids, very, very tricky. It’s easy to let my mind wander, worrying seems to be my ego’s biggest, easiest way to divert my attention, to direct my focus elsewhere. Don’t let it happen! You’re no good to them anyway in this state! Give them a moment and return, to your real work. This is your life now, everything has led you here.
One half of me Knows this; I was born to do this, nothing else will ever satisfy me, not for long. I’ll always be looking for the next thing more real, the less false.
Just now my Ex sent me a text-message and I responded and that was it, just a minute, even though he’s in a real bad state (aren’t we all?). That’s good. Focus. I’d like to say I will force myself to write two times a day, but that’s also my red button: having to do stuff, so I don’t know if that’s going to work. I will keep the focus and go on burning in my mind, it’s not something that happens only while writing, but also while reading (the right stuff, which at this point is Jed’s S.I.E.), and walking.
Right. The other half of me doesn’t comprehend what’s going on, it still doesn’t after all these years, that’s the part that feels asleep, like it goes through life dozing, that’s the fuzzy part, always just that little bit fogged up, just enough not to put my foot on the gas pedal. Just enough to shroud that sense of urgency in a fine mist. Dreaming of men, romances, heroic feats, martyrdom, kids, fame, riches, safety. Going round in circles, using the mind as a pleasurable pastime. I’m self medicating with those dreams, aren’t I?
Proud not to use any drugs or drink any alcohol because it makes me foggy, which is a waste of time since I can’t use my deductive powers, yet I dream and dream and fantasize a hundred miles an hour. If that’s not effectively keeping me in a half sleep I don’t know what is. I need to wake up in order to start Waking Up. Even though this could be just another way of viewing the world, this could be my delusion. My special brand of decorating the world to my liking. Even if it is My Special Brand of Illusion, it’s still the most likely brand to get me anywhere that’s not here. I hope, I so desperately hope. It must. There’s nothing else, my life has already been tailored to this exact purpose. When the dozy part of me wasn’t looking, the know-it-all intuitive part of me shut off all other exit ramps. Now I’m headed towards the part of the free-way that ends right smack up against a wall or onto a ramp which sends me flying through the air into Jed knows what. (Or onto platform 9 ¾, haha!) For better or for worse. I’m going to die. It’s the only way, there’s nothing else for me.
I have to keep writing in English, if my family read this they’ll have me committed and even though a nice padded room might be very conducive to writing and thinking and burning, any kind of medication might not. No fog, no doze. I might have to get that tattoo.

WUF

I took an old laptop up to the bedroom earlier today; when I wake up in the morning (can still call it morning at a little before noon), often my mind's already racing with thoughts on the process even before I open my eyes. It's a rusty old thing (the laptop and my mind), but small and sturdy and just what I need; perfect for writing.
The Process continues however after I stop writing and it's as if I am missing something when I don't write down what I have thought of without a keyboard at hand. But never mind. Important stuff will float, irrelevant stuff will sink.
I've been doing this process since I was eighteen, I just realized, but without having a proper name for it. I asked myself: is this who I am? Who do I want to be? How do I want to be? Then I observed my thoughts, actions and the things I said to others. That's when it became familiar to me, always observing, finding out what I wanted through the process of negation.
I didn't know at the time it would lead me here. And now I'm scared all the time, just like I was then, but hopefully not at the same level anymore. I remember writing then as well, massive amounts, and shredding all of it. If they'd make hamburgers out of me now, I'd be full of hormones, fear hormones, if there is such a thing. Adrenaline, cortisol? Oh so what. Details.
Things are happening in my body again. Guess the body has to adapt, to keep up with the changes. The body has a memory of it's own and therefore must be deprogrammed as well.
Is the ego really that conscious? It can think of distractions? Does it have that much autonomy?
After writing today I started to think of all the things I should do, like clean myself up and get rid of some dust. Then more stuff came to mind and I started to protest, cos no way I'm gonna do all that in one day, secondly, what the hell? Is this part of me my enemy? Really? I never thought of it as Maya, I just figured my mind had some ruts, some well-worn paths like 'you're not good enough' or 'sex is all you have to offer', charming stuff like that. I never saw it as a separate entity. Well, whatever. Gonna keep an even closer eye on it, and that's the end of that.
Anyway. I hate to be told I have to do things. "Cleanliness is next to godliness" and all that crap. Well then let me introduce you to Satan's spawn. Hi!
I'm having trouble discerning the next step.
Parents were wrong, very wrong, I get that. Nothing was my fault or responsibility, get that too. This is my responsibility, so moving on from there. Next. But what comes next?
I'm some lucky gal to be living next-door to another spawn of Satan (maybe we're related). It's like living in a pressure cooker, with clear disadvantages but the advantage of making me alert, ever vigilant. Screaming still scares me, especially unexpected screaming, with that aggressive, dangerous undertone of his. Brings up a lot of old shit. That's probably why I came to live here; the perfect place for this process. At least this explains why I'm so afraid so much of the time since I moved here. It's the process under pressure, not just from me but also outside pressure.
It's not because I deteriorated, that's a relief, sort of.
Although I do feel like a pathetic excuse for a human being sometimes. My big mistake being I look at myself through the eyes of others, mostly my father's, wild guess. Like I'm not allowed to choose to do this with my life. I'm not allowed to cost society money. I've been out of a job most of my life because of physical problems (backproblems) and I'm costing the taxpayers money with my worthless good-for-nothing life. And now I think I'm some guru living some important life, doing some enlightenment ritual, still not making any money, wasting my time and other people's time and money and not supporting my sister, and being a worthless daughter, nothing to brag about. Something like that. I shouldn't be allowed to do all this stuff because I don't make a living.
So. Be vigilant and don't do that anymore, M. If society doesn't want to pay your rent, you'll go live in the woods or something, but keep on doing this. Keep On Doing This. You can't spend so much time on other people's opinions. Use the energy to go on, keep on going. No turning back you know, there's no back-up life for you. Oh my god. There is nothing else. I have succesfully eliminated every other possibility. ThIS IS IT. No refunds. There you go.
No roadsigns, no spiritual advisors, no map or users manual "A Concise Guide From Abuse to Truth-Realization". You're all alone in this and you better get used to it. You're still hoping for a knight in shining non-dual armor, but you can forget about that, since you're going where not many go. No armor allowed. This is it. You better realize it, REALIZE it. Use the time you have. Use it, as much as you possibly can. Can you be brutally honest? Cos you'll have to go places and write about them here, places that aren't pretty, to say the least. Filthy, humiliating places.
Cut through it with a sword. You always dreamed about being a warrior, now's your chance! Be your own knight! Who says women can't wield a sword? Off with their heads!
Observation is my strength, a desire to Know truth, and a willingness to be truthfull, well, increasingly so. I KNOW BEST!! I KNOW WHAT'S GOOD FOR ME! I KNOW BETTER THAN MY FAMILY, THAN ANYBODY! Well maybe not anybody, Jed would probably read me like a book and I'm still unclear on some things, sometimes. Other than that, I have to respect myself as my own authority on the subject matter. Forget everything else said on the matter.
Let the moment speak for itself. The moment knows best.
I want to keep writing, and writing, and writing. I'll be writing in my sleep. Haha! Oh right, when I stopped writing this afternoon, I put my headphones on and the first thing to come on the radio was this: "Back to life, back to reality." Funny right? Life is a funny mother.
I don't want this to end, I have this feeling that something will make me stop, and I don't want that. Maybe the Mexican flu will get me and I'll die in the next week. I don't think I want that either, that means I have to get born again and start all over again, and god only knows how much time it will take to be at an age where I can start this process again. Stop rambling, sis.
Just a feeling, or maybe a fear translated into a feeling. Whether or not something is going to stop me, I will go on as long as I can, on screen or in my mind, or in a notepad or scribbling stuff on my hand, I don't care. Further. Considering having it tattooed on a finger, or W.U.F. on my wrist. Wake Up First. Sounds like a tiny dog protesting. Wuf!
Never mind all the other things you think you have to do, you made the right choice to give this your full attention, now keep doing that. Once you get 'there'/it, everything else will fall into place, in the sense you don't Have To anymore. Do this first and if you still want to do all the other stuff after, you can do that, after. Wake Up First. Being a good sister doesn't mean sacrificing your life to please your sister. Your life is just as important or irrelevant. It's yours so take care and do with it What You Want to do, not what you think is right, or what you should do, that's all rubbish, instilled in you by your relatives. They are all relative. This is real and you need to focus! Don't lose this opportunity! Don't let it slip away! Pay attention! Keep your focus on the subject. Wake Up First. Further. Let nothing take your mind of this. It's a waste of time, it's a fucking waste of time, nothing is worth it, nothing. Yeah, only Nothing is worth it.

P.S. I have to repeat this: There Is No Back-up Life For Me. This is really it.

Hopeless

So what would happen if I let go of those high hopes for the future? I won’t be killing myself (my body anyway) since I’m in no mood to come back and do it all again, no thank you. So what terrible thing would happen? I’m already scared as hell, so no changes there, so what’s the problem? Am I holding on to keep going or am I holding on to keep from really going forward, Further?
Is it a trick? A distraction? What would happen without it and would that be such a terrible thing? My total collapse would actually be a pretty good thing, but that’s only on paper/screen, to be in it, to be unravelling, which I’m already doing anyway is damn scary when you’re in the middle of it. No place to run.
So. What would happen? Suppose I’m not going to write this important world-changing book even though I’m convinced that I will be. Suppose I won’t be a balanced person, a healthy ego, ready to fall from the tree? So what? Would that really stop me or am I just kidding myself? Is there anything that would stop me from going on like this, from writing, digging, shovelling crap out of my pond? My dank, polluted part of the world.
I thought about it in bed (where I spend most of my time now) and realized even giving up my beautiful images of the future won’t stop me now. It might happen, and it sure is indicated, but that’s not the point. The point is, can I let go of it because I’m holding on to it and I don’t want to be holding on to anything anymore. Free fall, no hanging on to outcrops of rock. It will only hurt more and delay the inevitable. Let’s pick up some speed, shall we?
This is what I’m doing, this is what’s most important to me and if I can’t get There in this life, I will die trying and I mean that literally; I will be doing Spiritual Autolysis on my deathbed, on my last breath. That’s the way I’ve lived so that’s the way I’ll die, there is nothing else. Nothing else matters this much.
The thought occurred to me though that maybe I should write in Dutch, do my autolysis process in Dutch, since that’s the language that provided the audio for my life. I grew up with it. It might be better, because I feel resistance, a sure sign it would be effective. On the other hand, most of the books I read, including Jed McKenna’s books, are in English, and a lot of the time I’m thinking in English as well. Because of TV, because of my Irish Ex.
I will leave it till later, maybe the question will answer itself, for now, I need the invisible audience and the invisible audience I write for is English speaking. Even the question might be another detour.
I’m filthy, my house is filled with dust and cobwebs and the kitchen is disgusting but I’m writing, because my cobwebs and my dust are more important roadblocks and I need to get them out of my way, the rest will follow. If not, who cares, I’m alone here. So how do I get them out of the way? Is it enough to see them for what they are? I’m not going to analyze every little thing, that takes way too much time and I have the sneaking suspicion it’s just another detour. Clever little ego, or should I say humongous ego.
What’s next?
I need to dig.
I don’t know what to do so I’m going to write down whatever pops into my head. Don’t mind family. Don’t mind work. Friends. Sports. Concern yourself with this, this is what you should be doing, that’s why you fell and hurt your foot, you needed to take a step back and contemplate stuff, get this process going again. Two steps forward, one step back, even though it always feels like ten steps forward five years back. Do this, don’t let fear hold you back, what are you afraid of anyway? People judging you? They will always be judging you, that’s what people do, no reason to be mediocre, no reason to adapt. Stop adapting!!
This is your thing! Do your thing! Stop letting others decide how you should be living your life! So what if you’re strange in their eyes, so what if you can’t explain what you’re doing, you don’t need to explain yourself. They should be explaining themselves! They should be the ones in the courtroom defending themselves for staying asleep, not doing anything to wake themselves up. Go on with what you’re doing, you were born for this and you know it in every pore of your being. This is you. You is unravelling, you is void, you is nothing and the road towards Nothing, no-thing. (Yeah, English for now.) Don’t concern yourself with other people’s opinions because is it really that terrible to be considered strange? It will help having them steer clear of you, do your work, do the work you were born to do so be brave and face the crap lurking in the corners, don’t hold back now.
Dread. Hesitation because I’m alone, doing this alone, no one to catch me when I fall. As it should be I guess. But the image of me falling in a great big void, flailing arms and legs trying to get some footing, to grab something to slow the fall… oh man scary shit. I’m really scared, I want someone to catch me, or to stand there and watch me as I fall, I don’t care, but I’ve always been alone and somehow this image frightens me more than being a hermit.
The Big Fall, the leap, the jump. Maybe it’s a case of the wrong metaphor. Crossing the border? Nah, that just doesn’t feel accurate. It feels like I’m falling and without the beautiful hopes for the future it’s a Really Big and Scary Hole I’m falling into. It’s very dark. I don’t want to be alone. Is that it?
I trust myself a lot, all things considered, but on this I want someone to be there, I want to know I’m not the only one and I’m not going to Ghostland. It might be exactly where I’m going though. I won’t be who I was to all the people who thought they knew me.
Can I trust myself enough to jump? Do I need someone there? Can I trust?
Oh god I’m scared.
Look at the fears, you had them all before. It’s old stuff. Nothing is true. Nothing they told you is true. You don’t have to believe it anymore.
My ego just asked me: but what do I believe in when I stop believing in what they told me? That’s what was true to me all of this life. I have to believe in something. I keep seeing this in images. My ego as a scared me, looking around at an empty space, looking for something, an object, an idea floating by, anything to grab hold of. Treading water, kicking my legs in an empty space. Holy shit.

Unsure

The fear won't budge. I'm postponing going to training, making it increasingly difficult to eventually go there again. I could just give in and quit it altogether, cos this is no way to live, to do sports; I'm in constant fear to go there, because I might be vulnerable and close to tears and can't stand the slightest bit of impatience. I'm so on edge.
I don't want to tell them, and they're nice people, most of them, why I am so sensitive and stressed out all the time. I want to do the sports and go home after and feel satisfied. It's the first time after a long period of absence that's the hardest, I know it'll be easier after that. Ugh.

What I've seen in myself, and recognised in autobiographies by other people with abusive backgrounds, is that the black hole of insecurity instilled in us is compensated by big dreams and hopes for the future.
In dark times, the insecurity rages like a tornado and gets 'balanced out' by feelings of superiority, fantasies of light.
Funny how that works; it's possible to be extremely insecure and astonishingly arrogant at the same time, thinking you're better than all the stupid people going by, busying themselves with insignificant, inferior petty stuff.
Is that the ego trying to hold on to something? Is it intimidated by it's 'owner's' insecurities and that void inside? It's not the good kind of void, I mean, not the void I'd prefer. And which I is that? Do my ego and I actually agree to a certain point?
Neither of 'us' want that void, being a nobody, and my mind, thoughts and thought processes have assisted me a great deal on my road to the other Void, or so I think. So it seems. I'm not clear on that yet. Maybe I don't need to be, I don't know.

The further I get, the more ground I can see still has to be covered. Like swimming towards a raft or beach in the distance, the closer you get, the farther away it seems to get. Then, suddenly, you're there.
The suddenly I'm there part, I'm not there yet. Obviously.
I tend to think I'm getting closer, only to discover there's endless planes of learning and I've only just begun.
Yes, I have compared myself a lot to other people, telling myself I am doing well, because others are so fake it's hard to be with them, or rather, to adapt to their fakeness. I don't speak about my interests, because I only have one when it gets down to it, and that's not something people usually want to discuss.
And why would they, if they're happy with their lives. It's me, I don't do well with chatting about weather and football, I get impatient myself, not bored exactly, but I just don't know how to respond. Would explain my lack of friends, sure, but I'd rather have two real friends than a lot of phonies.
Some people, I just want to slap them in the face. Like Ex, he's absolutely miserable and keeps wasting time by numbing his issues instead of dealing with them, despite a beautiful, generous, spiritual side that wants to learn.
But, that's none of my business and I'm finally starting to realise that although knowing better means having to do better, it doesn't mean he's my responsibility just because I have a clear view of where he is and what he can do to improve his situation.
The question here is, why do I feel responsible for other people like my sister, Ex, nephew and niece? Even if I could see things more clearly, even if I saw exactly what someone can do to get themselves out of their situation, it's not my place to tell them when they don't ask for it, is it?
Is that arrogance on my part? It may well be. But there's also a genuine concern and powerless feeling when I see my loved ones suffer as much as they do. I have to learn to let go of that feeling of responsibility, I'm no one's mother.
Is it a distraction?
Maybe I get sidetracked this way. It sure takes up a lot of time and energy. Maybe that's my way of numbing my issues. Or my ego's way of slowing things down. Is it important to know exactly what it is? Not sure about that either.
There is love and worry, too much of it; I'd be of the most help to them when I put everything into my own journey. Get 'better' myself, that way I can be there for them in a healthier way. If, at that point, I still want to.

Things seemed so clear this morning. Now it's all fuzzy again. Can hardly wait for those talks with a psychologist. Now I've been honest here, but I can still feel something nagging at the back of my mind. What is it? What am I so scared of?
I feel lost, is that it? Losing grip. Should be a good thing. Maybe just plain old fear, let's leave it at that, and it's being compensated with plenty of arrogance.

(...)

Been trying to get at it since I wrote all of the above, but I still can't put my finger on it. Only thing I'm sure of is that it's fear.
Weird though, usually I get quiet and turn my attention inward and then I just know. Weird. And how come I'm so fuzzy in the head?
The feeling's getting stronger. A sharp sensation in the middle of my chest. I could be on the edge of something.
I'm going to bed, reread Spiritually Incorrect Enlightenment again (not all of it, it's past 2 a.m.), maybe tomorrow will bring some clearity.

Day terrors

There I am at thirty four; sitting on the couch, alone, unemployed. Waiting for the punchline. Waiting to see the point in all this.
What a waste of time.

Today I realised I am not the crazy one in the family, my family is crazy, or rather, messed up, shortsighted and prejudiced. Even my sister once said I was really difficult when we were young, with an expression on her face that told me something else: she understood why my mother and father had been worse with me than with her.
She was the baby, I took the hardest blows so to speak, so sis, how do you think I became like that? She doesn't have a clue, she's still in denial.
It's a weird thought, it's something actual crazy people would think; I'm not crazy, everybody else is! But today I suddenly saw that none of it was my fault and I had not deserved any of the abuse, rejection and guilt trips. Not then, not now. I did what I had to do to survive.
I'm okay. I'm actually pretty sane.
Today I'm also grateful again for not having any children to pass all that crap on to. I won't have kids till I'm good and ready and able to be a balanced, capable parent.Today I also wished my mother had had a miscarriage when she was pregnant with me, but there's no point in regretting things of the past.
A psychic once told me I didn't want to be born (Can you blame me? Really?). I cried a lot after I was born. Again me, in two pieces. One part of me badly wanted to be born, to do something very important with my life, and in order to do that I had to suffer immensely.
I even survived my very pregnant mother's belly-first fall into a concrete pole; stubborn before birth.
The other part of me saw what was coming and was scared shitless.
I can't blame me.
So what's next? How to go on? Is there something else I can do or is this going to go on as always; a never-ending wait? Can't believe how patient I've been. Not that I had much of a choice of course.

I've been dreaming loads the past few days, lots and lots of dreams and colourful images. The anger sure kicked up some dust, now the dreams are a way of working through it I guess.
Sometimes it's hard to believe there's people who are actually having nice lives. Sometimes it's really hard to believe they don't see the hurt, the pain and the violence until it's right in front of them.
The nightmares might be nightmares but the pain is very real. Yes, I can understand it when the enlightened say it's all fine, everything is okay, exactly the way it's supposed to be, and they can laugh at the pain because we're all dreaming, it's not real. Well it feels real and that's all that matters.
So if anyone is holding back, please don't, I would very much like to wake up from this horrific thirty four year long nightmare and if you need to smack me in the head to help me wake up; go right ahead. Be my guest. Kick me in the shins if you have to. I'm so done with this part.
Wish I knew if there's ever going to be a good part. If not... I don't know. Might give booze a try. Sick of all this shit. Sick and tired.
In a way, giving up would be a relief. Not caring anymore, just drinking and watching tv, occasionally eating, or not.
The best part would be not caring. Not caring about people's opinions, cos then they'd be right about me; I'd be a lazy good-for-nothing. It's very possible I'd be happier that way. Mh.
Feel awful. Don't know what else to say.

Never ending story

How long will this go on? Is this ever going to end? Isn't there supposed to be progress? I can see change, but at the same time this seems to go on forever and ever and ever. It should get better and instead there's new realms of pain and hurt opening up for me. Wonderful! I'm so glad I'm on this journey!
It's such an honour to be able to experience all the different varieties of pain available in this fucked up life. What's the fucking point here? To prove I'm strong, because I didn't die on the way? What the hell does that prove? I wish I had died, I wish I'd never been born, I'd be so much better off, my whole family would be better off.
What's the point if it doesn't get better? The only reason I never committed suicide was cowardice and scarring my sister. Now all I can think of is my niece and nephew growing up surrounded by screaming, name calling, verbal abuse.
Like we did. Great. And nothing I can do about it because bro-in-law's behaviour worsens when I'm around cos he's jealous of our history. So the fan-fucking-tastic solution is not to go see my niece and nephew anymore.
And I keep worrying about them. I keep worrying about my sister's addictions. I keep worrying about my Ex's hurt, his childhood and the way his parents put him down. I feel his hurt, I feel her hurt, I feel their hurt and I feel my hurt. FUCK IT FUCK IT FUCK IT FUCK IT. FUCK THIS LIFE, FUCK GOD, FUCK LIFE, FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU.
The violence, the pain, the hurt, everywhere. Children abused in every imaginable way, people so lonely it hurts to look at them.
Wonderful how I'm opening up and not only feeling my pain, but everybody's pain, every person I hear about or read about or see on tv and you don't have to look far, god no. I was ridiculously sensitive and eventually was able to successfully shut myself off from the poor little children in Africa, even to the extent I was bored when there was yet another sad little face staring at me on the tv screen. That's why we invented remote controls. And now I have to get back to that? WHAT IS THE USE?
Tell me; what is the use? I am in no position to do any good. I'm in deep shit. My shit. I'm shoveling great big heaps of crap, shit, manure, all kinds of awful matter and what on earth is the point of feeling other people's pain again? I mean, a little, yeah, why not, I'm an empathetic person, always trying to do the right thing, always understanding, but why now? THERE'S JUST NO POINT!! Leave me alone!! Leave me to do my work, I'm not whole, I'm not an adult yet, I'm not even a regular Human Teenager yet. I'm no use to anybody if I can't get my shit together!
STOP THROWING ALL THAT SHIT MY WAY!! I HAVE ENOUGH! ENOUGH! ENOUGH!!! Leave me alone, I just want to be left alone, I don't want to be here anymore. I want to disappear, I don't see the point. I work so hard and now the pain is all-pervading.
A whole cavernous space of hurt and human suffering opened up inside me and how am I supposed to deal with that? How can I deal with that when I'm alone and there's people hurting man, how can I go on, when their pain is my pain. I have enough on my plate without all their stuff.
How am I supposed to go on like this? I don't see an end to it. The only reason I always kept going was I never stopped hoping and convincing myself that some day the pain would be over, one day I'd have peace, some day in the future (yet eternally 'in the future') I'd be able to do something with my life and use what I learned, what I went through.
I kept telling myself this wouldn't all be for nothing. This wouldn't be a useless life, even though that's what it seemed to be most of the time.
I CAN'T DO THIS ALONE! THERE'S TOO MUCH ON MY SHOULDERS.
I think I've been incredibly patient. I've been working non-stop since I was eighteen, trying to end the pain, to lessen it. Now it feels like it's being dragged out, like a bad ambitious movie.
Audience tired and done after an hour, but no, movie lasts and lasts and lasts and you finished all your popcorn trying to get through what you thought was the tiresome first part and now you're trapped in the movie theater, the movie hurts your eyes like a knife on a plate, there's a drunk fat guy sweating beer in the next seat, fondling himself and after three hours you think it's finally over but what you thought was the end of a crap story going nowhere was just a break and you're going to have to sit through hours and hours more of the same garbage.
Life sucks.

Woolly beast

At least I'm not fighting my own defenses anymore. After the 'shake up' he asked me if I'd had any physical sensations I wanted to share with him, and I told him that (apart from the fact my boobs hurt from furiously jiggling around in a non-sports bra) beneath all actively participating body parts, I sensed a plank or column of rigidness, right through the center of my body.
Like an iron fist clenched around the parts that cannot be relaxed yet. Probably because I wouldn't be able to handle all of it at once. Baby steps in releasing the inner doggy. No point in releasing the enraged mammoth.
"Can you welcome that rigidness?"
I directed my attention towards the plank and felt that yeah, I can do that. I already am. I used to fight the tension, trying so hard to relax. Not anymore. I'm not mad at the various defense systems giving me physical problems either. They all served to protect me in a hostile environment.
I understand, I'm not struggling to let go of them, I appreciate what they've done for me and they'll leave in their own time. Don't want to go around unprotected because I got rid of them prematurely. Not that I can.
Anyway. It's a good thing, not adding any more tension to the mix. I was surprised by my own mildness on the subject when we discussed it. Nice.

The anger is still stampeding around inside me. The knot still hurts.
Wish I had some salty chips, and cola.

Bit of mitts

'violent sneeze'
Well, I sure pack a mean punch. You do not want to be on the receiving end of my right hook.
As far as my anger, I couldn't say if it did anything either way.
I can't go on for long, the asthma constricts my breathing after only a few minutes. To make up for it, I went all out. Continued to punch fiercely while wheezing just as fiercely. Hurt my knuckles a bit, even though I was wearing boxing mitts. Ha!
I'm going to fix myself some dinner and let things settle for a while.

Shaking things up

Did some shaking at the physiotherapist's, on music. Previous time, I declined, wasn't feeling up to it, but today I felt sort of neutral.
"Are you feeling good or bad?"
"Uhm... neither, actually, a bit in between."
"Is your body tense or relaxed?"
"Uhm... well, both, sort of, not especially one or the other."
"Are you feeling sad or happy today, right now?"
"Neither, I'm feeling uhm, neutral. If I wasn't I'd tell you." (I would, I'm quite sincere.)
I thought about it out loud for a minute, saying I might be in that flat place in the down-position. Sounded nonsensical so tried again.
That moment right before you inhale; you don't have any air left, you're all done exhaling and your body is getting ready to inhale. The mental equivalent of that moment.
At least, when I said it, I hoped that would be it, that really deep and dark place from where I could only be going up. But I'm guessing it's not that, judging from how I feel right now.
Shortly after shaking my body for twenty minutes, and after we talked a bit, anger started to surface. Yeah baby, that's good, go with it. But it was more like a knot in my stomach, tense and sharp. Felt like it could grow into flat-out rage, that's why I wanted to write here early in the evening instead of early in the morning, as usual. Grab it while it's hot.
Maybe I shouldn't have done other things online first. Oh well.
I feel where it is and what it is, so I'm going to push my own buttons.

I know it's to do with people taking from me whatever they want, because I won't mind, I'll be okay with it, I won't speak up, I'll go along with anything. Since I'm not a strong personality and I won't make any trouble if you take advantage of me.
In fact, it's not even taking advantage, since I'm going along with it, approving it in a pathetic, docile way, that's how I was taught. Just go along and shut the fuck up. Don't even think about speaking up. You have no voice. You have no voice in what's happening.
Just go along with it, you're just not important enough to take into consideration. You understand, you're a good girl, a smart girl, you understand why it's too much of a hassle to include you and your opinions in what's going on. We can't be bothered, it's so much of a burden to raise you as it is, you're so much trouble, such a difficult girl to deal with.
Just shut up and take what we have to give you cos it's all you're gonna get anyway. Ungrateful shit. You should be grateful merely for being alive. You're nothing you know, you don't deserve to live.
You're black inside. These are actually my mother's words, what she said to me in a resigned tone of voice, which made the impact huge and unforgettable. Not in a good way. "You're black inside."
We put up with you, so we can do whatever we want.
You deserve every bad thing that's ever happened to you.
You'll never be good enough.

Ouch. The knot is quite painful, and strong. If I could just use that energy, use that anger to eat my fears, like Packman. I'm not sure what to do with it now. I can get it to surface but then I don't know what to do with it!
Maybe I should use the punching bag in the shed. I don't know.
Is there something else I can do? Something useful? It must be good for something, it's energy.
Aw man, it's painful. It's physically hurting me. I think I'll try the punching bag, and maybe I'll get back to it later.

Princess of Tides

This is the most horrible movie I've ever seen. Don't ever want to see it again. Can't stop crying. Tears are streaming down my face, have to blow my nose constantly. The main character reminds me so much of my little niece and it just breaks my heart. What an awful, awful film. "Tideland." Can't watch, can't not watch. Just want it to end.
Oh god, it's getting even worse, nauseating.
(Watched "Alive" last night by the way; mesmerizing.)

Haven't cried like this in a long time. Just want to go to sleep and sleep, and sleep, and sleep, only to wake up when I'm not so afraid anymore.
Today made it clear that other people's opinions are still more important to me than my own. A matter of life and death, like walking a tightrope, trying to stay away from people as much as I can, without angering them or raising suspicion.
Paranoid, much?
Being paranoid means staying alive, someone said that today in "The Closer". It sounds about right. There's a good reason for me seeing danger at every turn. There was. And now I'm so wound up the stress and fear is constricting my every move.
My opinion should be the one that really counts.

Thank god, the movie is over. Horrific. At least it ends with the hint of a safer situation in the future for the main character, but you just know she will always be seriously screwed up. Trying not to take it too personally!

Truth. If the point is to write truth, then I might as well stop writing. So the best I can do, is make a genuine effort of writing as truthfully as I can, about my personal truth, as objectively as I can. After all, I am becoming less false.
I suppose I could say 'more truthful', but maybe truth is what's left when you strip away all that is false. After all, I have a lot of experience with what's false in life, and not much with what's true. Although I can sense it beneath the surface.
Lots of times I've cursed the fact that I've learned ever so slowly what I do want, by experiencing almost everything I didn't want, over and over again. Seems like a major detour to me, but I did need to learn a lot.
I started out as nobody. I did not have any opinions of my own. I did, said, thought what people wanted, and what I anticipated they'd want from me. I didn't exist as a person.
So when I finally realised - at eighteen years old - I was an empty shell and had no idea what I wanted, and that maybe it mattered what I wanted, I started to learn; I started the process of finding out what I wanted by discovering first what I didn't want. And I didn't want to be a puppet anymore.
After all this time, my opinion still isn't the most important to me. But I'll get there. As long as I keep observing my thoughts and fears and don't lose myself in them. Keep seeing myself in those two separate ways. Being scared while observing myself being scared. Eventually I'll become un-screwed.
Less false. More real. Closer to Truth. Me.

Hidden work

Exhausted. Maybe I'm going into hibernation early this year. Woke up at 12:40 even though I went to bed at 2am (and listened to music for an hour; falling asleep takes time).
Wanted to see the movie "Alive", that true story about survivors of a plane crash in the Andes, eating their dead. Don't know if I can though, eyes are burning. I don't know why I'm this tired.
Didn't do much today. Read a section of a self-help book, taking notes for Ex, cycled to the volunteer's work, did a small amount of work, gave someone a Reiki treatment and cycled home. Oh and I wrote a column, but other than that..
Maybe because what I did wasn't much, but did require a lot of energy.
I actually wrote my column about some of the things I write about here. It will be published on my Dutch blog tomorrow, where I know my family will read it. So I was a bit apprehensive about the vulnerability part, about the softening and the safe places.
Even writing about it made me feel vulnerable; I observed how in the back of my mind I was reading along, seeing things through my father's condemning eyes. But I did it anyway, assuring myself he's not right just because he's my biological rain shower (term used by my sister to support her name change when we were young).
He thinks any money spent on me by Social Security is a waste and should instead be spent on 'people who really need it'. He seems to think I'm faking my 'misery' and my life is one big vacation. I'm just plain lazy.
I've stopped trying to prove otherwise. It's important to know better than that and that's how I wrote the column; it's important to me so I will do it, nothing will change his mind anyway. His loss, right?
Exhausting nonetheless.

Stormwind outside, lovely. Maybe I'll go to bed early and enjoy the sound of the wind blowing through the birch tree.

Collector's item

Physiotherapy yesterday. I told him about the big effect of his small touches the previous time and we did a body consciousness exercise, after which he gently put his hand on my solar plexus. Instant pain, a sharp, shooting pain, and tears streaming down my face.
I told him the same thing as my contact at Social Security; he's a safe place for me and that's why I cry so much. He also guided me through gently rubbing myself on the solar plexus, which made me break down and sob loudly.
The difference is huge; with my Ex I felt unsafe, to say the least, and now I'm slowly, carefully 'collecting' safe places.
Got the name of my psychologist-to-be, but she's on vacation so it's another three weeks before we get to know eachother - before I'll know she's right for me or not, safe or not.
At first it felt like yesterday it was hard for me to be sincere, to be myself, but being at a safe place, with the physiotherapist (whom I have known for some time) I felt something was happening. Maybe it was the quality of the energy in the room, or my conscious effort to shed the "I'm fine"-mask, knowing it was alright to be vulnerable, I don't know, maybe all combined. I softened.
The "I'm fine"-mask is from the same place as the sarcasm, the lame jokes, the physical comedy and the not-quite-sincere-over-the-top-enthusiasm I display when I don't know how to be in someone's presence. Writing about it is enough to cause pain in my solar plexus again; the area where I feel changes when they occur. Or truth. So truth does hurt.
Of course there's the added pain of not knowing what to do to help my Ex, who's slowly but surely self-destructing, and who's the great love of my life (until now at least), even though I feel very unsafe with him. I'm aware of the advantages the distance between us provides.
In a perfect world I'd either not know any people or nobody would hurt as much as my Ex or as I have. I still hurt, but I have the comforting knowledge that I'm progressing 'towards' something.
Comforting because I see myself change, so, even though it's not done in Awakening-World, I have something to give me hope and hold on to, light at the end of the tunnel. But, you know, even if my nightmare slowly transforms itself into a dream, I am not going to lose momentum, far from it. My motivation and drive are too strong. Even a pleasant dream won't be the end of the line for me, no sir.
Anyway.
Since my insurance pays for many more visits to the physiotherapist, per calendar year, we agreed that I will be going there once a week instead of every two weeks. That's right, just because I can.
No, we both see what it's doing for me. It's important for me to be more vulnerable, but that's something I'm only willing to practise in safe places, because as I told him, red warning signs, flags, sirens, lots of warning bells go off telling me it's dangerous to show any vulnerability, to be feminine, soft. Not weak; soft.
I've always tried so hard to be like the boys, then to be like men. Tough, strong, indestructible.
Yet all the while my strength was in my flexibility, my ability to bend, not break.
I'm scared, it scares me, the thought that I should or could be more feminine from now on, it scares me shitless because I don't even know how to do that, it's completely foreign territory to me.
"Be kind to yourself, gentle." My physiotherapist knows what he's doing. He's going through a process of his own and uses his experiences. Most importantly, he was one of the first people to actually openly admire my sensitivity.
I never thought that was a possibility, I've seen it as a hindrance for most of my life. No doubt dutifully accepting other people's opinion as my own. I was surprised, taken aback, when he was touched, even moved by my sensitivity. He saw the beauty of it, whereas I had learned to perceive it as weakness.
Wish my Ex would realize that people aren't necessarily right just because they are his parents. I'm not the only one in need of some femininity and soft touches.

Ex-pletive

Happened upon my ex in the street today; not My Ex (he lives in England), but my schizophrenic ex. I was mumbling "idiot" under my breath at some old fart who nearly ran me over with his car, when schizophrex called out to me.
That's how we usually meet; I'm in town shopping for groceries, he sees me, I try to pretend I didn't see him because I don't want any company, he yells my name, we have a nice routine going.
He was in some weird playful mood, with a mocking undertone of bitterness, which he wasn't trying to hide. He jabbed me with 'why don't you'-questions, which today were like a red flag on a bull to me.
You want to push my buttons; ask me 'why don't you'-questions, causing me to either withdraw and not speak to you for months or snap at you, which I did today. In a very reasonable manner of course, I'm not the person to say something nasty and hurtful to people who aren't My Ex or family. Even with them I've outgrown the expletives.
He was in a bad mood as well I'm guessing, because usually we get on okay, appreciating the fact that we're both the only real people we know in this godawful town. Today he was a real pain though, asking me how I was and when I truthfully (and already irritated with him) answered "Life's a bitch" he told me to either use drugs ("opium is great!") or stop whining, pointing out how attractive the wine bottles were laid out in the shop, even taking photographs of them. I nearly bit his head off. "I don't need remarks like that right now."
I didn't invite him, he tagged along, as always, why do you think I want to be alone? I don't want anyone near me. I don't want to talk to people I don't trust. If you don't want to hear the answer, don't ask me any questions, just f**k off and leave me alone. That's how I felt.
He's quite sensitive, so he must have picked up on it because he left thank God.
I don't feel bad about it, it was good to notice the anger surfacing as well, not just the fear.
We don't have to explain things like this to eachother, we both know where we stand and what's going on, sort of. Next time it will be like nothing happened.

Lot of difficulty breathing this evening. Tension in my chest, like something wants to come out but can't yet.
I feel a load of grief just lurking under the surface, a massive amount that could swallow me whole, suck me into a hole inside of me, a bottomless well, where I stuffed all the pain and hurt and tears I wasn't able/allowed to express when growing up.
On one hand it's scary, on the other; come on and let's get it over with. Sick of always being alone, even though I need to be. Still sleeping like a bear in winter, waking up around noon. Miss the support from the texting-contact I had with My Ex. Lonely. Tired.

Super scooper

Back to toast and sardines. My bank account was empty when I dared to check the balance today. I don't care though, well not much, the books were worth it.
Not going to training tomorrow. Once again. Doesn't say much good about my state of mind when such relief washes over me every time I decide against going. I have to move my fat ass more though, with or without the weekly training; my pants are getting tight. Maybe that problem will solve itself, what with the sardines and toast I'll be eating this week.

One thing I am glad about, and a little surprised, is that although I'm a mess at the moment I can keep my perspective. I know what's happening, so the process itself doesn't scare me. The only thing that doesn't scare me, it seems. I can still see the overall picture of where this is going.
It's a part of the process; I might have struck gold actually. Or, well, the deepest shit available, the hardest, oldest, toughest layer of shit on the bottom of the pond. Gold sounds so much nicer.
What I'm trying to say in my flawed English, is that during my many years of DIY psychotherapy I peeled away layer after layer after layer. Yet every time I told someone about some of the things that have happened to me and messed me up early on, I talked about it with virtually no emotion. I knew I was meant to feel something, so tried to reproduce the proper emotions, because I didn't want to be like a robot, but they simply weren't there.
The times when I did cry or express a lot of grief was when someone unexpectedly asked me something in a caring way. That could break me. That would break the hard shell, genuine concern would have me in tears in record time.
Now everything is coming to the surface and I know that when I'll start talking about it, that is, if the psychologist they'll assign to me is any good and trustworthy, I'll start feeling it all again; the shame, the rejection, the hurt, the abandonment, the shattering loneliness.
This time I will not be going through the motions. This one's for real. This time I will be going through the e-motions.
After my holiday almost two years ago, when I met an old friend in the supermarket and we talked a bit, I told him about the rape and he said I was like a junky, talking with no emotion whatsoever.
That shocked me somewhat, although I did understand the mechanisms behind it.
Anyway.
The rape brought out a lot of fear, old fear. The old fear and all the other old stuff is the problem, not the rape, that's a mere symptom and I'm not worried about it ruining my life. The old shit is what's been keeping me from life and now it's all floating to the surface waiting for me and my pooper scooper.
I have to go through it, allow it to surface, no suppressing it or running away from it. Not that I could, there's no money to go anywhere, so hurray, I'm here to stay.
After this gruelling bit, things might become easier. It's a very good sign that I'm able to keep the big picture in mind and not lose myself in panic attacks like I used to. I do experience them; waves of terror, panick, difficulty breathing. Going to bed, trying to sleep feeling absolutely horrified, terror residing in my chest, heart beating against my ribcage like a trapped animal.
Yes. But the fact that I have that big picture to reassure me at all times, to me is a sign things are different from other times when I went through periods of extreme anguish and 'hermitting'. Sometimes I'd forget or lose faith in the reason and motivation why I was doing all this.
It doesn't even matter that much, I don't really need the overall picture to know I'm heading in the right direction, I can see how much I've changed. I don't need no proof other than myself.
Every time I go through the deep part of the ocean is less hard than the previous one. Despite the fear. So, when I tell people when they ask me how I'm doing, "I'm feeling horrible, thank you, and things are going well," I actually mean what I'm saying.
Like looking at myself in two different ways. Weird, but it seems to suit me. Scoopy Doodie Do.

Shock & yawn

"In our own practices Alicia and I have noticed that women whose mothers were the victims of sexual abuse, for example, were likely to manifest all the signs of a sexual abuse survivor themselves.
[...]
In my treatment of PTSD sufferers I have achieved most success when I examined and treated the earlier childhood traumas and resulting depression first rather than the more obvious secondary trigger. The original trauma can induce a rather rigid, fearful personality, one less able to cope flexibly with stressful events in later life.
[...]
This is as true of rape victims as it is of war veterans. In treating rape survivors, it is important to find out if there is a history of sexual abuse in their family.
[...]
One last point to be born in mind in treating all victims of traumatic stress, whether the result is depression, anxiety attacks, or PTSD, is that the trauma is perpetuated in the body as well as in the brain. It is as if the body of the victim is perpetually on alert for the next blow, critical remark or sexual attack and is therefore held very rigidly.

These people are more prone to injury because of this 'emotional holding pattern' as I call it. They are also less likely to let go of the emotional impact of the trauma while this somatic pattern persists.
[...]
PTSD, like depression, can also be somatized. In an individual who was not allowed to express negative emotions as a child these emotions can be expressed as physical illness such as chronic fatigue syndrome or fibromyalgia."

By Bob Murray, PhD
and Alicia Fortinberry, MS


I was looking for books on domestic violence and PTSD and stumbled upon a website with so many true quotes I was just shocked. Just shocked, because it rings so true, all of the above and completely applies to me. God.
Anyway. I'm exhausted. Finished reading the Victor Rivas Rivers book; it's stunning, amazing, mindblowing and hilarious (very important to me).

The only reason why I'm not in bed yet is because I am scared to get up again tomorrow. I'm trying to come up with reasons why I shouldn't go to training, without having to tell them I don't want to go because I am afraid of being with other people at the moment.
There are so many stops along the way. The road is still so excruciatingly long. I'm so messed up I actually feel bad for writing about my problems here because it's meant for autolysis, not DIY psychotherapy. But since it's unavoidable to take that step first, to go there first, I will have to keep going like this and write about whatever comes up.
Oh and I started to walk in the dark again. I start off my walks alongside(?) the canal at dusk and when I return from the bridge it's dark and the stars are out. Wasn't scared. Again: whatever they can do to me, has already been done. I prefer the feeling of freedom, peace and quiet, and being beneath the stars with the risk of seriously getting hurt over staying inside out of fear.
Ah man, I'm too tired. Up to bed.

Wear and tear

Exhausting day. I was in tears even before he called me into his office. He asked me how I was doing and I said “not here.”
He grabbed two cups of coffee (tiny, next time I'll bring a mug), I picked an autumn leaf out of my hair and we sat down in a closet size office. “So tell me.”
Leaking tears, trying hard to keep the crying to a minimum, I told him about the questionnaire and how I’ll get a call next week to hear who my assigned psychologist will be.
I went on to say that my neighbours had gone for three weeks and that in this period I experienced so much quiet time and moments of peace that it opened up a space wherein hurt and grief were free to float up to the surface. I told him about my pond comparison. Stir around in the thick layers of crap and mud on the bottom and stuff comes floating up, and can be scooped off carefully. Little by little the water gets clearer.
But if you keep stirring it, the water stays muddy and disgusting. Those three weeks have done a lot for me, apparently. So has he.
I told him he represents a safe place for me. And he shouldn’t underestimate how important that is, since I’ve never had that before, not with my parents or anyone else. Now that I have the physiotherapist and my contact at social security, it’s time for all things moldy, crap and decayed to start floating up to the surface (had a dream about rotting corpses again last night).
“Anyway,” I told him, nearly exhausted after only ten minutes, "that’s why it’s a positive thing that I’m crying all the time when I’m with you, it means I feel safe. The safety creates a space for things to loosen up and be released; I can let go. It’s a compliment to you.” So he took it as a compliment that I was crying my eyes out.
I thanked him and asked for another cup of coffee (I can’t help it, they were tiny).
I told him some stuff about my past and family and he listened, which was amazing. Not many people are capable of listening.
I needed that second cup of coffee to keep me steady because I was literally shaking in my boots. My knees were weak, my legs felt like pudding and I carefully walked outside to my bike, fiddling with the lock trying to postpone having to stand up without support.
I was so tired I felt like sleeping even though it was early afternoon, so I walked for some time, bike in hand. Took me a few bags of chocolates and two croissants before I felt able to do my work at the radio station. At home I had to lie down, so I made my trusty bed next to the radiator and listened to Edward Sharpe & the Magnetic Zeros for an hour, in the dark. I was cold and so, so tired.
It wore me out, but, as I told my contact, that’s a positive thing. There’s so much stuff all pent up inside of me, it’s way better and healthier for it to come out, even if that means roaming the streets all teary eyed and weak in the knees.
The fear didn’t diminish alas. This morning it was a cold hard clump in my belly, very bad. Fear is an omnipresence lately.
What a difference between that cold hard clump and the soft sweet peace of my quiet times in the garden. I hope there’s a porch in my future. Told The Man hope for the future is all that keeps me going.
What a day. Wish I could sit beneath the stars with a cup of decaf, to finish it in style, but I guess this will have to do. All in all I think this was a good day, even though it didn’t feel like it.

Dwellings, canoes, dwarfs and unstoppable M.

Feel as I do when something is about to change. Dropped off the big fat final questionnaire on my way to the volunteer’s work today (the psychologists’ office is right next door from there, very convenient). Was a great deal of work filling it out. Didn’t go unnoticed by my body either. I slept away the morning again, as usual lately, and woke up from an unusual dream.
Now I know that being in the dream state is enough in itself, we don’t need another layer of dreams, but hey, it’s my diary, so here goes.

...I’m in the house where my father lives with his wife. There are many guests who have come to see the canoe race in the canal in front of the house, and to join the party afterwards. My father’s wife says goodbye to me, indicating it’s time for me to go. I’m scared to go however, because two guys, dwarf sized, are attempting to break the lock on the front door. At the same time I break out in a cold sweat trying to lock it. When I retreat up the stairs, seeing no way I can stop them from coming in, a nice young couple approaches me; new guests, and I see a way of delaying my exit by showing them the gathering area; a large circular room. There are so many guestrooms in this place I muse, and wake up thinking In my father’s house are many rooms...
Then stop to wonder why that sounds so familiar. "In my Father’s house are many dwelling places", I realize, suspecting it's something religious. (In Dutch the two sentences are alike, without distinction between rooms and dwelling places.)
This struck me as funny, since I don’t ‘know my bible’. I have no religious background whatsoever.

Anyway.

Was busy for hours, filling out that autobiographical questionnaire, my back hurt and neck and shoulders were totally cramped. Not much better today, took a painkiller. Ever since I came home the fear has taken up a very prominent place in my chest, increasing all the time. Now my whole belly and everything in it is tense, tight, cramped up.
Seeing the friendly guy at social security again tomorrow, to fill him in on what’s happening.
I’m scared. Yes, as usual. The fear has surfaced, boy has it surfaced. Also, I’m starting to see and acknowledge what a mess I really am. Maybe I wasn’t able to before, because I still had some desperate hope that somehow I’d Wake Up really, really soon (canoe race, party after the finish line!) and so would avoid any more pain.
There’s no short cut, I have to pass all the stops along the way.
Ironically just today someone came up to me and told me I was a picture of relaxation and ease, as he has informed me before.
As I did then, I told him not to judge a book by it’s cover, I’m merely very practised in hiding my unease and nervousness and overall stress.
There have been times when outward I was joking and smiling and inward was trying to contain a hurricane of raging terror. How people didn’t see that, is beyond me. Most people don’t seem to be very observant.
Since it’s all I ever do, observe everything I do, think and say, it was only natural for the habit to extend to observing others as well.
I only needed one look at the women in the psychologists’ office to know which woman I didn’t want to talk to; she had a hostile look on her face. I doubt if anyone saw that but me, but it was obvious she didn’t feel good about herself, she radiated animosity against the world and everyone in it. How could she be the right one for me to talk to about the most sensitive issues in my life?
Useful hobby, observation.
Next Wednesday or Thursday I’ll get a call from the office and they’ll let me know who the lucky psychologist is.

I’m a mess compared to the ‘together’ people who need no more than two years to follow the process to it’s ‘end’. It has taken me a long time and literally blood sweat and tears to get where I am now. Can you imagine what a mess I was before?
Maybe it’s naive to think I can do this like anyone else, like the people who start out normal, with lives, with healthy, ripe ego’s, ready to fall from the trees. Maybe.
On the other hand, this is all I have been doing for half my life now, I have no other choice, this IS me. There’s no going back for me, no turning around. The choice has been made a long, long time ago and I’m charging forward like an unstoppable force of nature. It will happen, I was born for it.
So on one hand I’m a dishevelled mess with lots of fears, but on the other I’m like a fish in water with this. Is it possible to develop in this area while neglecting other areas of life?
I did get a little taste of almost everything. But little tastes were all I needed to know that wasn’t what I wanted. I’m just picky. I knew what I wanted from the start, that’s what I suspect. I knew what I wanted from this life and I got busy attaining it. I don’t see why else I would have chosen such a shit life for myself.
I wanted to get straight to the point. And along the way I did and do learn about all the other things in life. They’re just not a priority and never have been. They were and are important, but This is my priority.
So maybe it's possible after all. Even though I don’t take care of myself right now. The changes are happening fast lately. The ground work has been done in the past five years.
As I’ve said here before, the quiet moments are rare for me, but I’ve experienced four or five this year alone. Not much maybe, for you lucky people out there, but compare that to let’s say five in the past ten years and you’ll know why five in one year is a whole lot to me.

Well, I just can’t say where this period is going to end. Might just be in another period of nothingness being a depressed hermit. Might also be something entirely different. In my Father’s house are many dwelling places. Whatever that means. Just thought it appropriate.

***M.

Intense

Feeling ill. Watching a programme about a school for difficult kids. Difficult because of a traumatic background. Duh. That's what people keep overlooking. Because it's easier to treat the symptoms than the cause.
Incredible dedication of mentors, all that time and energy and astonishing patience. Nothing but respect for them. But then, after three years of diligence, they put the children back in the same home environment that messed them up in the first place.
Those kids' parents should get therapy at the same time. There's a lot of people who shouldn't be allowed to become parents. Why is it that hard to get a driver's licence (in Holland) and that easy to have kids? No permit necessary. The programme is horrible to watch, fascinating too, educational.

Finished reading "Finding Fish" by Antwone Fisher, started "A Private Family Matter" by Victor Rivas Rivers. Heartwrenching, beautifully written and what's typical of these survivors' stories: humour.
But it's making me feel ill. It's so recognizable.
A step for me is also acknowledging that what was going on at our house was not normal and did not happen because I was a difficult kid. I became a difficult kid after the bad stuff. Then got some more bad stuff, et cetera.

The mosaic's timing is superb, as always, since I'm having the intake at the psychologist's office tomorrow. Nervous. Hope I'll be assigned someone trustworthy. I got the bad stuff to come to the surface, now maybe with some help I can start scooping it off, releasing it.

Didn't go to training by the way. Went to bed terrified yesterday. First I was very angry, which is good, because I hardly ever get angry, and afterwards an immense fear took hold and all I could do was go through it. I was lying in my bed with an expression of sheer terror on my face.
Took ages to fall asleep, but it always does, so nothing out of the ordinary, but the fear was enormous, even for me.
When I tried to smile cycling downtown this afternoon, my face hurt.
My whole body is as tense as a clenched fist. I don't know what it's like to wake up with a relaxed jaw. I don't grind my teeth, but my jaws are forcefully clenched together during sleep. They hurt when I wake up.
I washed the salt of my face and decided I was too messed up to go to training. Sometimes it's the right thing to do, to give myself a little push and go despite fear or feeling bad, but sometimes it's better to stay home. I don't want something potentially nice to get an association with struggle and humiliation too often. So sometimes I give in to 'weak' moments which often makes them disappear sooner. Can't always fight.
How can a body endure so much tension for such a long period of time without reprieve? It's a miracle I have such low blood pressure.
I wish I could have screamed last night, I really wanted to and that's a rare occurrence. Didn't want friendly neighbour to call the police though, so I missed out on that. Shame.

I'm suddenly starting to feel genuine concern for myself when I read all this back. That's new. Not pity or self-righteousness, just a gentle concern.
Progress, lovely, I feel something opening up inside, a place where I care about this person who endured so much, without judgement.
A safe place. My god, I don't know how to express this in English words. It's scary and beautiful at the same time.
U2 singing "a moment of surrender" in the background. Hahahaha!!!
Isn't the mosaic awsome.