My Death

I found my death-tool! Hurray! I'm so excited ha ha!

Can't just jump in there without sharing some of the back-story, so I'll talk about my way of dealing with things.
You know how my teachers in this life have been In Your Face teachers? Like the rape and the psycho neighbour? Maybe that's what it took, I don't know, but for a while now I've been using subtler things to learn from, so there'd be no need for major ass-kicking and minor, gentle ass-prodding would do the trick.
Awesome word, ass-prodding.
Right. So for six months I'd been living in five different places and all this time I had a mole beneath one of my breasts. A new one. It sort of scared me because my sister had a mole which turned out to be a vicious cancer-thing, but I didn't have the space/opportunity to do anything about it since I was far away from my doctor.
Also, and probably most importantly, I didn't have the inclination to do something about it (it wasn't indicated, my intuition didn't spur me on to take action) so all this time it sat there and occasionally made me nervous.
When I returned home there was room for this kind of thing and I used it. I made an appointment with my doctor when the time felt right and another appointment to have the mole removed. Until then I used it to think about death, a lot. What if and so what, stuff like that. It didn't seem that malignant, it wasn't black and a feet across, but I knew it had a purpose and this was it.
I used it so I wouldn't need something more In My Face. If you can learn from the subtler things, by reading/interpreting the patterns, there's no need for bigger, more painful stuff.
It was beautifully designed, this piece of puzzle, cos the day of mole-removal coincided with the process inside me in the way that I had ended up indifferent to the outcome, to what would happen.
So the lesson was learned and there was no need for it to still be anything. I hardly gave it any more thought without knowing whether it was 'bad' or 'good'. Needless to say it turned out to be 'good' (although useless would be a more appropriate word).

And yesterday I had this idea, just awesome and it has been sitting there as a reminder so I wouldn't forget and why I didn't use it, I don't know, the time wasn't right/ripe yet, whatever, but now it is and so I'm wearing the plastic bracelet they put on my wrist in the hospital in Portugal, an hour or so after I was raped.
What better tool to remind me of death? My death. That was, apart from the overwhelming suicidal urge I felt two winters later, the closest I have been to my death lately. Also, it's been almost exactly four years ago, cos it happened a few days before Christmas.
What a perfect time and opportunity!! This is mine and mine alone, this suits me perfectly. I am so grateful for this personalised tool. No need to copy another's tool, I've had the perfect one lying around in a drawer for years.
Now it's on my wrist since last night and every time I see it or feel it against my sleeve it reminds me of the rape and the extreme fear of death I felt, how I was nearly completely convinced this guy was going to stab me in the gut.
Having my death close, trying to break through the doze.

Some intense crying bouts this week and some moments where this horrible heavy muddy insane petty ego made me want to scream in disgust and hatred. Each time when I got stuck in a thought-loop very much to do with family (it seems that in my case it's a whole lot harder to kill my parents (and the others)(metaphorically!!) than to kill the Buddha). I could see it go round and round and round and round, not going anywhere but down and dragging me with it.
Useless like that, thoughts, especially those badly programmed ones. Viruses.

In other news I have been tested for autism for the past 8 months but got told after lots of tests that there are many similarities but without a basis in autism, instead they are caused by 'more traumatic experiences than a regular person gets in three lives.'
Her words, not mine. So, one less thing to hold onto. No label, no security, no additional help with daily stuff that's real hard for me, but also no solidifying, no extra name or label to put on myself.
Less is what we want. Let it crumble.

And, it has started. What my life is all about; the book. I haven't started writing the book, but I have started writing, practising with very short stories, a few paragraphs each. What I so wished and desired all those years ago: to write a few sentences so crystal-clear the sun shines through them. I have been writing poems and diary like pieces about things happening in my own life, but making stuff up was never my forte, I couldn't do it and now suddenly images are appearing that cannot be put into poems but need those real short stories. So it has started, the engine is warming up. And the first ideas came right before and after I felt for the first time the true desire, the authentic desire to be a writer. Not just to write the book that my life has been all about, but to be a writer.
Sounds silly maybe, but those two things were not put together in my heart yet. It takes care of all the rubble of finding a job, something else to do to make money.
All will be taken care of when I keep listening and following directions and it's not possible for me to do otherwise, so that takes care of itself.

In the past few days I have thanked my ex-neighbour and my rapist for their amazing work and assistance in my life. My ex-neighbour caused all my fear to come raging to the surface where I could deal with it.
My rapist helped undo the spiritual constipation I was experiencing at the time and has now provided me with an excellent tool.
Thank you so much.

It's still hard at this point to be grateful for my mother's ex-boyfriend and I still have to kill my whole family (metaphorically!!), but, to remind myself, the stairs has many steps and I can't take them all at once. Patience.