The mind protects us, it is so dedicated to keeping us moving and carrying on. As i walked today I was wondering who do i think about the most and the truth was of course, myself, sort of, all else is a fog, but it is very easy then to recall the names and stories of the others, the clarity and sadness which swiftly ensues.
I feel sickened by the ubiquitous presence of violence; willed violence, condoned, paid for, sought out celebrated, violence. Millions watch "Sports", modern bear baiting, want the fights to break out, cheer them on, deify the "tough" guys. Use words like heroic to describe a golf shot. Once again, I reiterate, we need new words, the good ones have had their meanings mined and depleted, all is surface, glitter, deflection, soulless. The onslaught of violent culture wearing down our defences, we create new, more complex ones.
My mind doesn't want me to think about the unthinkables. So it white washes, evens out, erases. All is illusory clean slate.
I stay in the fog, moving ever so slightly, testing the grounds, the waters, all directions become hazardous, all become one. It's safe in this haze, stay still I think. I am like a cat who sees nothing, therefore delude myself as safe. I cannot be seen, I want to be invisible, I dread not being seen, I want to be worthy, I fear being worthy. I feel a coward.
Others I have met, they keep going, why? I want to scream at them, why? I whisper, confounded. How can they? So hurt, so violated, so abused, how? why? But they do, they move. Does movement etch away the memories, does new skin form as the scars are worn away, washed away, by tears, by writing, by thinking, by fighting, by moving?
Am I just so enamoured of my heroic martyr-state? That I do not want to give it up? Have I found my fetid calling? Playing the mentally ill, celebrating it? Proud of it? Clinging to it? Is this the real truth of me? Clamouring for attention whilst hiding in my bed. All these apparently counter-intuitive cannot co-exist states are negated, trumped, by the stranger, stronger, older laws of the universe.
There is movement.
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 ...
1 year ago