Spiritually constipated
I wouldn't suggest this to anyone. It's too much work, takes too much time most of which you'll feel like crap anyway, no matter how hard you work at it. It might be better to remain as you are. Ignorance is bliss after all. I now get why that's true. You feel awful but not as awful as when you know you're in a certain state that can be 'fixed' and then go about fixing it. Or trying to. Stay at that nice and steady level of misery and don't bother yourself with change.
Just appreciate the little things in life and screw everything else. Who needs all that existential crap anyway.
I find that the moments I feel most calm and peaceful are the ones spent sitting, drinking coffee, looking at the garden where little birds hop and dance and the neighbour's cat looks at them in wonder. That's all.
The past several weeks have been about spiritual constipation, and I was sort of hoping it would resolve itself, but without the part where the butterfly gets squashed by the steam roller. You know, like the rape which unclogged my spiritual arteries last time and sent me on my merry way.
All I'm doing and have been doing is sitting, waiting, reading, doing nothing. Waiting, waiting for this part to be over. It's taking so long this time.
A week ago I thought I was being unclogged cos an ex called me out of the blue, even though I had told him I didn't want to keep in touch and didn't want him to contact me anymore. In his own endearing way, he completely ignored that fact, as if it spoke for itself that what I wanted didn't have to be considered At All. I tried to be polite and used the 'conversation' as an exercise, but he so completely ignored what I was telling him that I was mad as hell after I turned off the phone.
I now have his phone number, so if he calls again I'll see it's him and will be able to simply ignore the call.
I couldn't sleep until 5 am. I was enraged, frustrated, sad and I felt like a little girl and that's why I knew what was going on; it was the theme of my childhood/life: what I want doesn't matter, doesn't have to be taken into consideration. If I finally open my mouth and tell people what I want or what I would prefer, it's of no consequence. It doesn't matter. I don't matter.
He violated me. He kept on going, kept on talking. I don't like talking on the phone, it feels like an ambush, I can't prepare for it and get overwhelmed. I should have hung up the phone, which is what I'll do next time. It was very similar to the rape, although to others that might seem like an exaggeration. It felt like rape. Because someone who knows me and who knows what I want because I told them - several times - does something I explicitly told him not to.
I say no, he says go. That's rape.
My whole life has been about rape, in many shapes and sizes. That recognition wasn't enough to make me finally fall asleep, but it did shake things up, and for a day I thought that maybe that was what would end my spiritual constipation, but alas, it didn't.
So here I am, inert, waiting.
Reading serial killer fiction, recognizing what the writer says about pretending to be human, trying on facial expressions, trying to find appropriate things to say or do in certain situations: what would a regular human being do or say now? What would they feel? How would they react? As if every other person walking the earth has a manual and I don't, there's a secret everybody's in on, and I'm not. Weird to read all that. It's fiction, but it sure rings true to me.
I often think to myself: "What would I say or do now if I didn't try to exhibit the 'right' behaviour and reactions?" Then I try. It still feels unusual, different, strange. But real.
I'll keep practising. And waiting. And doing absolutely nothing but sleep, watch great TV series and eat, a lot. I'm getting fat too. No diets, no pressure, but please God let this period pass already, so I can go back to a reasonable way of eating, sort of.
Last night I vomited for the first time in quite a while and it's really not my thing. My kitchen's a mess again as well. Whine, moan, et cetera. Later***
Just appreciate the little things in life and screw everything else. Who needs all that existential crap anyway.
I find that the moments I feel most calm and peaceful are the ones spent sitting, drinking coffee, looking at the garden where little birds hop and dance and the neighbour's cat looks at them in wonder. That's all.
The past several weeks have been about spiritual constipation, and I was sort of hoping it would resolve itself, but without the part where the butterfly gets squashed by the steam roller. You know, like the rape which unclogged my spiritual arteries last time and sent me on my merry way.
All I'm doing and have been doing is sitting, waiting, reading, doing nothing. Waiting, waiting for this part to be over. It's taking so long this time.
A week ago I thought I was being unclogged cos an ex called me out of the blue, even though I had told him I didn't want to keep in touch and didn't want him to contact me anymore. In his own endearing way, he completely ignored that fact, as if it spoke for itself that what I wanted didn't have to be considered At All. I tried to be polite and used the 'conversation' as an exercise, but he so completely ignored what I was telling him that I was mad as hell after I turned off the phone.
I now have his phone number, so if he calls again I'll see it's him and will be able to simply ignore the call.
I couldn't sleep until 5 am. I was enraged, frustrated, sad and I felt like a little girl and that's why I knew what was going on; it was the theme of my childhood/life: what I want doesn't matter, doesn't have to be taken into consideration. If I finally open my mouth and tell people what I want or what I would prefer, it's of no consequence. It doesn't matter. I don't matter.
He violated me. He kept on going, kept on talking. I don't like talking on the phone, it feels like an ambush, I can't prepare for it and get overwhelmed. I should have hung up the phone, which is what I'll do next time. It was very similar to the rape, although to others that might seem like an exaggeration. It felt like rape. Because someone who knows me and who knows what I want because I told them - several times - does something I explicitly told him not to.
I say no, he says go. That's rape.
My whole life has been about rape, in many shapes and sizes. That recognition wasn't enough to make me finally fall asleep, but it did shake things up, and for a day I thought that maybe that was what would end my spiritual constipation, but alas, it didn't.
So here I am, inert, waiting.
Reading serial killer fiction, recognizing what the writer says about pretending to be human, trying on facial expressions, trying to find appropriate things to say or do in certain situations: what would a regular human being do or say now? What would they feel? How would they react? As if every other person walking the earth has a manual and I don't, there's a secret everybody's in on, and I'm not. Weird to read all that. It's fiction, but it sure rings true to me.
I often think to myself: "What would I say or do now if I didn't try to exhibit the 'right' behaviour and reactions?" Then I try. It still feels unusual, different, strange. But real.
I'll keep practising. And waiting. And doing absolutely nothing but sleep, watch great TV series and eat, a lot. I'm getting fat too. No diets, no pressure, but please God let this period pass already, so I can go back to a reasonable way of eating, sort of.
Last night I vomited for the first time in quite a while and it's really not my thing. My kitchen's a mess again as well. Whine, moan, et cetera. Later***
posted by M. at 1:28 AM
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