Lost what to say, or lost the urge to say. Or lost. I think the days leading up to and around Remembrance day are particularly charged. I had been feeling very dull. Although i did finally wear a poppy, it took awhile before I felt I could. Seeing them everywhere felt odd. Some how at first I didn't feel able to wear one, not sure why. Likely feeling too dishonorable to have the right. This thought is often lurking about. I wondered about not blogging at all. I wondered whether I should have a happy or at least interesting but not so dirge-like blog. I thought about what I could talk about at the next session with my psychologist. Felt it was time to deal with the real rather than imagined guilt. I think it was a good choice, but such talk does wrench one. I thought if I could call and apologise to the person (one at a time) I felt I had let down, betrayed, etc that might allow some release. I can't however recall their last name. So now I am thinking about how to find this out. Yet it suddenly occurs to me that it is once again something I think will help me, ultimately not this person. That would place such action precisely into the not-even-remotely-altruistic spectrum of possible actions. Thought and counterthought really.
So on it goes.
Trying to give myself permission to create a space wherein to express these thoughts and feelings that I worry will offend, outrage, hurt others. I imagine "How dare she?" ad infinitum. Then I think, how powerful and important do I think I am? In any aspect of any and all "schemes of things" I matter not. People respond to people they care about, or know. Knowing is about recognizing a common ground, reading/hearing the words that pass through another's mind. Detecting the self in others. A potential to heal all hurts, to share at minimum, to parse out the hurts to many rather than one set of shoulders, particularly to banish the sense of such utter alone-ness.
I imagine there is no-one who understands or, what's better, can truly validate the impact I feel, fight against. Because it lays somewhere in the liminal spaces of experience. Always on the edge of comprehension, apprehension. There exist many shared traits, this human being ness. I have often thought there is more we share in common than not. That attaining a truly globally peaceful existence is rooted in detecting our "shares". It is to easy to find the difference, our survival brain scouts them out for us with boundless enthusiasm and reacts before we register. It is harder work to push through this fear. Our planet's survival, not just for we human types, depends upon it.
I do at times feel completely isolated - alien. There is of course great kindness, compassion abounds - just not for me (from me). People try to help me and it is wonderful to feel so cared for, I do appreciate the caring efforts. But. I wonder whether the effort is worth it because it does not register with me. I want to say to all the caring ones, stop trying, please stop, it's up to me. Please focus your efforts where some good can be done. Any good that can be done, that is worth doing on my behalf I must discover and do. I love attention, I want to feel that I matter, that I deserve to live this life I have been given. It hurts to hear people say "He/She just wants attention?". When did wanting to feel that you matter to someone become a crime? Why has it been accorded such disdain?
It's mid-November, the first snow has set down. I love Frost's "whose woods these are I think I know..." Music and muffled clarity in the deep snow. Thank you Robert.
Post from 2011 - Who am I if I'm not suicidal? What is life like? Where am I uncomfortable because I'm not suicidal? It feels anxiously flat, a nervous nothingness So I feel ...
11 months ago