Week 6

Tuesday

Trying to deal with my worst fear. Everything pales in comparison. I've cried for two days and decided if it gets worse, that's the end for me. I've reached my limit, this is where I draw the line.
Words have power so I won't write 'out loud' what it is. This is my worst fear, I should've known, I've been avoiding this thing for nearly two decades. It's not death, and it's not the death of a loved one. All other fears fell away as soon as this one stepped into the light, made itself known and impossible to ignore any longer.
All I can do is give myself Reiki and try to relax, knowing that if this doesn't work itself out, I have nothing left to live for. It can't be fixed again.

It reminds me of the time there was a huge fire at night in one of the back-door neighbours' yards, their shed had been set on fire with some kind of explosive accelerant. I was terrified. Not just because it was only a few backyards away but it was around 2:30 a.m. and it felt like I was the only one awake at that hour. Everything was so quiet apart from the crackling of the fire.
I packed a bag after I called the emergency number and left. I had been scared of house-fires since I was a kid, so I was very afraid it would spread to this house. I walked out and didn't look back.
Every little worry, every petty fear and insecurity, everything I tried to hold onto, I let it all go.
Afterwards I saw how readily I left everything to the flames, everything I held dear in this house; old photographs, books, diaries, drawings, paintings, letters. I was completely willing to walk away with a pair of clean socks, a T-shirt and some money. It was a small revelation.

I don't know how this will turn out.
I can't express the depth of this fear. Maybe it speaks volumes how quiet I am, how subdued and resolved at the same time. This is the bottom line. Rock bottom.


Friday

Almost as tired when I get up as when I go to bed.
At least I can pinpoint where this is coming from (the body side of the coin anyway); as is so frequently the case, my bowels aren't working properly and not getting the nutrients from food. So tired.
Most physical issues are on the right side of my body, but I forgot about left and right side of the brain and what they connect to et cetera. Also I don't care enough to find out.
I could go on whining about this & that, all the things wrong with my body, but it doesn't really matter. It's all just effect, not cause.

I've come to understand more about suicide. Not the dramatic, emotional, severely depressed kind, the way I obsessed about it when I was a kid, but the calm, clean, calculated way, when you have decided "enough".
Just being done and planning your way out. Now I understand more fully what you see in films and documentaries, about people seemingly 'getting better' right before they kill themselves.
I don't know what's going to happen, but I do know that when it comes to getting off the merry-go-round, I have my plan ready. Previous experiences (falling into the water, getting choked) offer the comfort of suspecting it will be gentle, as Jed said: "as easy as falling off a log".
Death can be a comforting thought. Just knowing things won't always be like this. It will end at some point. Knowing that has helped in the past, and now it does again.

I am not depressed, I'm still fairly optimistic and still think anything could happen, including good things, including all my dreams coming true, and/or Truth replacing the dream. Anything could happen.
It could also not happen. I could be here like this until I die, with no contribution to the world whatsoever.
But only that thought is terrible because once I'm dead I couldn't care less. Death is the end of that as well.

I just want this to be my final life, therefore Truth must remain the most important thing on my mind.

don't know what to say

Feel nauseous. Backlash upon backlash upon backlash.

I've finished the little felt tip pen sun sketch. Even though it's only a sketch, it's the first thing I've started and finished in years.
Another afternoon, relaxation occurred again in my chest, this time for several hours, which is unheard of.

It is like a release valve, because the amount of stress, fear, panic and adrenalin that came out was sickening, I'm still reeling from it.
Of course it has its sources on the outside, like my sister being in so much pain and going to the doctor again, which is always terrifying after you've had cancer, or so I imagine. I imagine a lot: the worst, naturally, because that's what life has always thrown us, so why stop now? Waiting for her to text me. I am so not beyond the big sister worrying myself sick part. Which isn't helpful to her in any way.
This coincided with discovering that the back-door neighbour not only comes into my backyard at night to place silly things like rocks or bricks, or other signs he's been there, but also stands at the front of the house at 3 am, looking at my bedroom window.
Two days ago I woke up as I had the night before because of I don't know what, but I actually heard his cell phone ring and him picking up saying "hello" like it was the most natural thing in the world to be standing outside someone's house at 3 am.
He has been coming into the yard for years and yes, I did find little signs he'd come by the front of the house as well, but I didn't realise he's standing outside looking at where I'm sleeping, although that might explain why I wake up all the time. Anyway. It made me sick so much that I dreaded going to bed at night, so I made a bed for myself in the other, still disorganised room. That way I don't know where he's standing, even though he goes to the back and front. So I'm not sleeping in my lovely little bedroom.
Tried to visit the neighbourhood cop but he wasn't at the weekly walk-in hour, so I'll just wait it out. The police didn't help things with the other psychopath neighbour at all, their 'help' only escalated the situation, so I'm in no hurry to involve them again.
The adrenalin was bad. I lay awake until 5 am, completely high-strung, sick with stress and a lead ball in my gut.
I still attract psychopaths. I won't ask why because I know why and am working on it.
I want this heaviness to lift off my shoulders, off my life. I want light, lightness, good stuff, nice things to happen, I know this shit by now, I know the shit part of life, I get it. Let it be good now, let it be light and fun and awesome, as it can be.
I watch Tree-house Masters, I know what an inspired life looks like and I want it (and a tree-house).

It's human to keep thinking good things are just around the corner, but that's apparently where they live, they stay there, around the corner, not ever getting closer. I am just like everyone else in that respect. It's how I keep going. Would anyone keep going without hope of things eventually getting better?

Saturdays in sixteen

Saturday - Week 1

Organised my kitchen. Yes. Slowly but steady. Only one room left. Amazing.
Dream last night: a ground floor building was completely emptied out, it was moments before the film-crew would arrive and while waiting, the people present cooked steaks on the floor and other food.
This I didn't get until later today when I was working on the kitchen: the floors must have been clean enough to eat off - which in real life is not the case.


Saturday - Week 3

Backlash. Feel awful today, but have to take into account the full moon tomorrow, it has an effect on me. Past weeks and ongoing are the Two Steps Back. But the one step forward - the one degree course correction - did happen and had immediate effect. The cat came by more often and my face lost ten years; I looked lovely for a few days.
Then the two steps back started and with that staying inside, eating heaps, worrying and extreme anxiety, fear. What else? With me it always comes down to lots and lots of fear. Staggering how much fear a person can walk around with each day. Vast quantities, a seemingly never-ending supply.

In 2015 I had a moment of real relaxation and enjoyment. It was on a long walk when I noticed a sitting area near the water's edge.
It was very comfortable and I sat there, leaning back against warm concrete, watching sunlight sparkle on the river when Neil Young's "Harvest Moon" came on the radio. I'd never heard it before and it was perfect. I enjoyed that moment. It was warm and wonderful.
Last year I drew an exuberant tree in my half-sleep, and it was better than anything I could have made while awake.
Last week I dreamed about rectangles of stained glass; someone was trying to destroy them, burn them, and when I saw them I knew they were my creations. Designs of a sun.
I've been sketching this sun. Nothing big, no real work, but it's better than nothing. Maybe nothing comes of it again, but it's good to be doing something like this, trying out colours and stuff.

Last night I had a tiny glass of Ouzo, because my muscles needed to relax. Imagine being so tense all the time, with shoulders set in concrete. Sometimes my body needs a break. A shame that it makes me lose my clarity, it seems like I waste all the time it takes for the alcohol to leave my body and mind. Useless time. Any time apart from sleep that is numbed in some way is a waste of time. That's how it feels.
Anyway, not much to say now. I want to get all this on the computer before February starts [oh well] but it's a LOT of typing.
The rules, the pressure I put on myself.. it's ridiculous. I notice more of that shit lately (because I'm willing to) and yes, I am my own prison guard and a mean sonnoffa[bleep]. Berating myself all the time, listing over and over all the things I have to do, improve, get done, etc etc. My shoulders tense up just writing this. --> 'Cracking noises.'

I've stood and listened carefully, but I can't detect any regrets or doubts about not choosing the family route of husband and kids.
I wouldn't know how to do that anymore anyway, but the main thing is: no regrets. However this turns out, whatever happens or doesn't happen, I don't feel bad about the road I've taken. It's the only one I could have taken. This is my path.