Phone notes III

“At moments, I don’t know how to feel. I’m used to drawing from the supposed-to-well, feeling what I thought was the appropriate emotion for the occasion. Now, at times, there’s nothing there, the supposed-to-well is dry. Or maybe it’s still full but I’m not using it anymore. At times. It’s very hard not to instinctively hold onto something tangible but I can catch myself before the act of reaching out happens, the latching onto something false and its consoling solidity. Sometimes.”

“I can’t stand here, there are no walls, there is nothing underneath my feet and there’s nobody here. It’s scary.”

“Songs. Sad songs on the radio. Noticing my automatic reflex to allow myself get sucked in by emotions. Noticing stops it before it happens. Nips it in the bud. Then; sentimental song playing and… nothing. No emotions.”

Nothing there. I experimented. Listened to songs loaded with meaning, sad melodies, observed the automatic wave of emotions getting triggered and stepped back to see what would happen if I didn’t go with that flow. Nothing happened, no flow of emotions, no flow into another place – anger or annoyance or whatever – there was just nothing.
There was no effort involved, it was just an experiment and I didn’t have to try hard or anything. I was blank. I was a blank canvas. Nothing happened and sometimes I felt it was my loss because it can be so good to go with that flow of emotions and wallow in sad songs. It was quite boring to experience nothing instead.
But I am interested to see where that’s going, where that will take me. It’s a different flow, but there must be another flow nonetheless, right? Just not the automatic one. Although the observing has become second nature as well, another automatism. Deja vue, it feels like I wrote this bit before. Oh well.
I had a question but now I can’t remember what it was. It will come back to me if it’s important. Going for a walk before it gets too dark. Write later.

[walk]

"Maybe I can get more use out of the rape than I thought. I mean, even - or maybe especially - during the struggle and the rape I consisted of two separate (id)entities. One was literally scared to death, the other observed the whole thing with great clarity, thought of ways to survive, to get out of it, in an almost clinical fashion. If I can observe in a situation like that...
Then what? Forgot my reasoning. But maybe I should think of the rape more often. It was a present I left partially unwrapped. After all, as I told my sister when she picked me up from the airport not a week after it happened; it was an experience that shot the cork out of the bottleneck of my spiritual development, which felt pretty stagnant at the time. Not now, no sir. Maybe I can use it for death practise."